Month: February 2014

from Islands in the Stream by Ernest Hemingway

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“Tommy,” Willie said. “I love you, you son of a bitch, and don’t die.”

Thomas Hudson looked at him without moving his head.

“Try to understand if it isn’t too hard.”

Thomas Hudson looked at him. He felt far away now and there were no problems at all. He felt the ship gathering her speed and the lovely throb of her engines against his shoulder blades which rested against the boards. He looked up and there was the sky that he had always loved and he looked across the great lagoon that he was quite sure, now, he would never paint and he eased his position a little to lessen the pain. The engines were around three thousand now, he thought, and they came through the deck and into him.

“I think I understand, Willie,” he said.

“Oh shit,” Willie said. “You never understand anybody that loves you.”

from Night and Sleep by Rumi

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The spirit sees astounding beings, turtles turned to men,
Men turned to angels, when sleep erases the banal.

I think one could say the spirit goes back to its old home;
It no longer remembers where it lives, and loses its fatigue.

It carries around in life so many griefs and loads
And trembles under their weight; they are gone, it is all well.

translated by Robert Bly

Sometimes a man by Rainer Maria Rilke

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Sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.

And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.

And another man, who remains inside his own house,
dies there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.

translated by Robert Bly

the bar singer/musician

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a lone singer
with guitar
serenades the diners
who do not listen
with Time After Time
Just The Way You Are
his voice clear
the guitar underscoring
his phrasing
in competition with
large screens
of a football match
and loud conversations
silverware tinkling
glasses clinking
he plays on
sliding effortlessly
from Singing In The Rain
to Josephine
a singer in love
with the lyrics
oblivious to indifference
he plays to entertain
himself