Month: August 2013

from a song by Bernart De Ventadorn

/ zdunno03 / 3 Comments

It is worthless to write a line
if the song proceed not from the heart
nor can the song come from the heart
if there is no love in it.

Maligning fools, failing all else, brag,
but love does not spoil,
but countered by love, fills,
fulfilling grows firm.
A fool’s love is like verse poor in the making,
only appearances and the name having,
for it loves nothing except itself, can
take nothing of good,
corrupts the rhyme.

And their singing is not worth a dime
whose song comes not from the heart.
If love has not set his roots there
the song cannot put forth shoots there: so
my song is superior, for I turn to it
mouth eyes mind heart
and there is the joy of love in it.
And the binding glance is food for it
and the barter of sighs is food for it
and if desire is not equal between them
there is no good in it.

translated by Paul Blackburn

untitled poem3 by E.E. Cummings

/ zdunno03 / 2 Comments

who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky–filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where

always’s
it’s
Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves

Joey Parker

/ zdunno03 / 3 Comments

it was the bop
a bounce on the balls of his feet
the arms swinging
the yo joe
he could stand for hours
concentrating on blowing bubbles
with his tongue
a circus trick
in the Parker Revue
he was what is called a stand-up guy
and I watched him stand up for others
always ready to defend a friend
he had, what Kevin called, heart
and once in some bar
he came flying across the room
pool cue a sword in his hands
to save Mike Velaquez in a brawl
and ended up with a glass in his face
forty-six stitches later
his badge of honor
I remember how he dressed first
tight dress pants
shirt open three buttons
crucifix around his neck
ankle high boots
jade east cologne
his hair combed and sprayed
he had to look his best
for the doctor and nurses
while they stitched his face
he never finished high school
was driving a delivery truck
last I heard
still blowing those bubbles
when stuck in traffic
with his tongue

untitled poem2 by E.E. Cummings

/ zdunno03 / Leave a comment

here’s to opening and upward,to leaf and to sap
and to your(in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain

and here’s to silent certainly mountains;and to
a disappearing poet of always,snow
and to morning;and to morning’s beautiful friend
twilight(and a first dream called ocean)and

let must or if be damned with whomever’s afraid
down with ought with because with every brain
which thinks it thinks,nor dares to feel(but up
with joy;and up with laughing and drunkenness)

here’s to one undiscoverable guess
of whose mad skill each world of blood is made
(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon

untitled poem by E.E. Cummings

/ zdunno03 / 3 Comments

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
–the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

a poem after Tu Fu

/ zdunno03 / 1 Comment

a breeze off the ocean
sand between my toes
a shadow of a dog chases a wave
and I stand hands in pockets
the pier off to my left
the sound of the carousel
still in my ears
here in a city without angels
looking for a few people
I used to know