the gulls
crying out
gliding soaring
around the buildings
always returning
to rest
by the sea
like my thoughts
seeking attention
circling spinning
inside my head
always settling
to linger
on you
Month: July 2015
“Who’$ Really Calling The Shots?”
Voltaire certainly got that right. Reblogged from A Curious Mind
learning a language
my brain
freezes
my tongue
fumbles
no easy task
sitting
on the opposite
side
of the desk
Muslih-uddin Sa’di Shirazi on value
If every drop of dew were to become a pearl
The bazar would be full of them as of ass-shells.
translated by Edward Rehatsek
I Pulled On The Reins by Juan Ramon Jimenez
I pulled on the reins,
I turned the horse
of the dawn,
and I came in to life, pale.
Oh how they looked at me,
the flowers of my dreams,
insane,
lifting their arms to the moon!
translated by Robert Bly
Music by Juan Ramon Jimenez
Music–
a naked woman
running mad through the pure night!
translated by Robert Bly
Sonnet by Elizabeth Bishop
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breadth, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
another morning leading to tomorrow
dawn creeps in
pulling me
from dreams
of people long gone
a life abandoned
but not forgotten
the book lies closed
on the bed
the pen the pad
awaits
one more morning
here today
leading to
tomorrow
from 90 North by Randall Jarrell
I reached my North and it had meaning.
Here at the actual pole of my existence,
Where all that I have done is meaningless,
Where I die or live by accident alone–
Where, living or dying, I am still alone;
Here where North, the night, the berg of death
Crowd me out of the ignorant darkness,
I see at last that all the knowledge
I wrung from the darkness–that the darkness flung me–
Is worthless as ignorance: nothing comes from nothing,
The darkness from the darkness. Pain comes from the darkness
And we call it wisdom. It is pain.
6am in Maltepe
coffee
a breeze
the sea
the day begins
here
in Maltepe
Leonard Durso 