Love requires waiting, but desire doesn’t want to wait.
The heart has no patience; it would rather bleed to death.
I know you’ll respond when you understand the state of my soul,
But I’ll probably be earth before all that is clear to you.
translated by Robert Bly
we are all foreign devils
to someone
as in France, say
they wouldn’t care
if you identify with Sartre
or if I love Paul Eluard
neither one of us would still be French
or in Russia, say
they would be oblivious to your love of Gogol
or my love of Turgenev
no matter how many books of theirs we’ve read
we still wouldn’t be Russian
or in China, say
you might know the Classics
and I can handle a pair of chopsticks
but there’s no way we’re passing for Chinese
you can travel
you can mingle
you can know your p’s and q’s
but it all goes
just so far
for you see
you are what you are
and you ain’t what you ain’t
and somewhere, some time, somehow
you can’t be what they are
just a foreigner
stranded on an alien landscape
making do as best you can
the rivers of afternoon
flowing about you as you
move . stop, standing
afterward in my bathroom
naked among the young plants
in the green light singing
softly to yourself
you say I was right
and you regret everything
you want to talk
but somehow never do
always a mystery
even when you’re transparent
to say I’m sorry
is an understatement
but the life you lead now
was your own doing
choices made
cannot be retracted
and the consequences one pays
are on the other side
of the balance sheet
I’ve no idea what you expect
from me anymore
whatever I felt
was used up long ago
and there’s only a hole
you left in my heart
that I’ve learned to live with
there’s no one here
on this end of the line
that you’d recognize
and wherever you knew me
is not where I am
any longer
Mankind owns four things
that are no good at sea:
rudder, anchor, oars,
and the fear of going down.
translated by Robert Bly
Traveler, your footprints
are the only road, nothing else.
Traveler, there is no road;
you make your own road as you walk.
As you walk, you make your own road,
and when you look back
you see the path
you will never travel again.
Traveler, there is no road;
only a ship’s wake on the sea.
translated by Mary G. Berg & Dennis Maloney
we met on a bench
during orientation for transfer students
you picked me to talk to
because I was the only other person
wearing bellbottom jeans
that was the beginning of our brotherhood
and our roads
though different
continue to overlap
through time
shared music
a fondness for whiskey
and once
in another time zone
we shared a house in LA
picked because it had enough bedrooms
for the various people we carried with us
and a wet bar
which was essential
in our eyes
my brother
how is it we
of two opposite personalities
have remained so close
without tension
even during all those pool games
with only one argument
over my driving
settled when you refused
to get out of the car
a thousand years ago
my brother
we sealed our fates
and traveled rocky roads
connected in ways
we don’t fully understand
there have been women
some whose names we no longer recall
boating on a lake
drinking in sleazy Hollywood bars
you backing me up
when my mouth moved faster
than my brain
there were those weekly dinners
in your trailer
my various apartments
rain on rooftops
corn rustling in the wind
my dog romping in a field
as you egged him on
listening to you play
in clubs, in bars, at colleges
charting your life in song
as I sorted out mine
on paper
brothers in word and deed
and finally last summer
as I accompanied you
on your spiritual journey
to your ancestral home
we both knew
it could be no other way
the two of us
in a car
driving into sunsets
Cisco and Pancho
forever
life is no movie
there’s no Hollywood ending
on your silver screen
just dead flowers, stale candy
a walk in deserted parks
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt–marvellous error!–
that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt–marvellous error!–
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.
Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt–marvellous error!–
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.
Last night, as I slept,
I dreamt–marvellous error!–
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.
translated by Robert Bly
Clouds are arriving now
With greetings from
Distant coasts;
It’s been a while since
They sent a message to me.
You shy pink
High on the evening sky–
It’s probably for
Someone else.
Well, there’s still
Some hope left
In the world.
translated by Robert Bly
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
She comes out of the rain in a silk dress
Leonard Durso 