close the windows
shut the door
breathe deep
she said
the only air
you’ll need
is right here
with me
In Memory: “friendship …the kind based on intuition, on what was left unsaid. With a true friend, one never needs to ask, because the other understands on his own accordingly. “
from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
” friendship …the kind based on intuition, on what was left unsaid. With a true friend, one never needs to ask, because the other understands on his own accordingly.”
in the air
what is left
a faint wiff
of perfume
in the air
between then
and now
Consequences by Pablo Neruda
He was good, the man, sure
as his hoe and his plough.
He didn’t even have time
to dream while he slept.
He was poor to the point of sweat.
He was worth a single horse.
His son today is very proud
and is worth a number of cars.
He speaks with a senator’s voice,
he walks with an ample step,
has forgotten his peasant father
and discovered ancestors.
He thinks like a fat newspaper,
makes money night and day,
is important even asleep.
The sons of the son are many,
they married some time ago.
They do nothing, but they consume.
They’re worth thousands of mice.
The sons of the sons of the son—
what will they make of the world?
Will they turn out good or bad?
Worth flies or worth wheat?
You don’t want to answer me.
But the questions do not die.
translated by Alastair Reid
from Those Days by Pablo Neruda
I don’t know why I’m telling these things,
these places, these moments,
the smoke from those bonfires.
Nobody really needs to
tremble at alien earthquakes
and truly nobody cares about
anyone else’s youth.
So I’m not asking for pardon.
I’m in my usual place.
I have a tree with so many leaves
that although I don’t claim immortality,
I can laugh at you and the autumn.
translated by Alastair Reid
Searching for You by Nizar Qabbani (Kabbani)
Love is my pursuit
You are my pursuit
Love roams over my skin
you roam over my skin
and I
carry the rain-washed streets and sidewalks
on my back . . .and search for you
translated by Lena Jayyusi & W.S. Merwinlove
at the café with V
there you are
leaning to the side
a strand of dark hair
falling carelessly
across your cheek
your chin resting
on the index finger
of your left hand
the cup of cappuccino
the foam undisturbed just yet
raised halfway
to your parted lips
and the look
in your curious eyes
as if contemplating
what to say
as if anything else
dear heart
but this
is needed
by me
