Autumn pursues its morning
The dog
in the child’s garden.
translated by Sidney Wade & Efe Murad
Month: March 2018
Cats by Melih Cevdet Anday
Children wake in the night,
They search for something in the dark.
Women wake in the night,
They fiddle with their rings in the dark.
In the night cats wake,
They stare at us in the dark.
translated by Sidney Wade & Efe Murad
“Reaching consensus in a group is often confused with finding the right answer.”
Thank you, Norman: from Douglas Moore’s blog Art of Quotation
“Reaching consensus in a group is often confused with finding the right answer.”
Norman Mailer, playwright
Epitaph by William Carlos Williams
An old willow with hollow branches
slowly swayed his few high bright tendrils
and sang:
Love is a young green willow
shimmering at the bare wood’s edge.
from Douglas Moore’s other blog Moorezart
. “All of our great traditions, religious, contemplative and artistic, say that you must learn how to be alone – and have a relationship with silence. It is difficult, but it can start with just the tiniest quiet moment.” — David Whyte .
via “it can start with just the tiniest quiet moment.” — M o o r e z a r t
Hero by William Carlos Williams
Fool,
put your adventures
into those things
which break ships–
not female flesh.
Let there pass
over the mind
the waters of
four oceans, the airs
of four skies!
Return hollow-bellied
keen-eyed, hard!
A simple scar or two.
Little girls will come
bringing you
roses for your button-hole.
the remnants
not fire nor ice
just ash and mist
these the remnants
of passion of love
“The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too”
from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
“The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too”
― Vincent van Gogh, painter, from The Letters of Vincent van Gogh
The Poem by William Carlos Williams
It’s all in
the sound. A song.
Seldom a song. It should
be a song–made of
particulars, wasps,
a gentian–something
immediate, open
scissors, a lady’s
eyes–waking
centrifugal, centriperal
in the making
your eyes hint
at a wisdom
not yet attained
but there
in the making
just the same
