the İman calls
five times a day
and a dog
somewhere on the streets
answers
in almost harmony
two worlds
meet
in Moda
and joy swells
in my heart
for both
Month: June 2018
Signing off for a week while I get ready to depart to Istanbul. Be well, everyone.
the night gives
bits and pieces
a word here
there a phrase
a puzzle incomplete
this the night gives
for the morning
to reshape
“The bosom of America is open to receive not only the Opulent and respected Stranger, but the oppressed and persecuted of all Nations and Religions…”
another apt quote from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
The bosom of America is open to receive not only the Opulent and respected Stranger, but the oppressed and persecuted of all Nations and Religions; whom we shall welcome to a participation of all our rights and privileges, if by decency and propriety of conduct they appear to merit the enjoyment.
“A body of men holding themselves accountable to nobody ought not to be trusted by anybody.”
from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
“A body of men holding themselves accountable to nobody ought not to be trusted by anybody.”
Another way to say “Carpe diem”: The Graveyard by an anonymous Chinese poet
The graveyard–who makes his home in that land?
Gathered ghosts, wise and foolish alike.
Lord of spirits, why must you hurry us so!
Man’s life allows not a moment of lingering.
translated by Burton Watson
“The more you fail, the more you succeed.”
from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
“The more you fail, the more you succeed.”
Alberto Giacometti, Swiss, painter, sculptor, draftsman
Not weak by nature, but still there are lines here, and a sentiment, I cannot help but relate to and admire: Poem without a Category, No. 7 by T’ao Yüan-ming
Sun and moon refuse to slow their pace;
the four seasons press and hurry each other onward.
Cold wind shakes the bare branches,
fallen leaves blanket the long lane.
Weak by nature, I feel myself decay with time’s passing,
the black hair at my temples already turned white.
Flecks of gray find their way into my head,
signs that the road ahead wll grow more and more narrow.
What is a house but an inn on a journey,
and I a traveler who must keep moving on?
Move on, move on–and where will I go?
My old home is there on the southern mountain.
translated by Burton Watson2
For my forthcoming move back to Istanbul a little something from the Book of Odes: No. 61: Who Says the River Is Wide
Who says the river is wide?
On a reed you can cross it!
Who says Sung is far?
On tiptoe you can see it!
Who says the river is wide?
It won’t hold a sliver of a boat!
Who says Sung is far?
You can get there before the morning’s out!
translated by Burton Watson
what cats, and dogs, too, for that matter, know
the cat knows
movement is afoot
and trails me
from room to room
hugging tight
to my arm
as if to say
not without me
oh no old pal
surely not without you
Leonard Durso 