“Out of the depths I cry to Thee, Oh Lord;
Lord, hear my voice.”
when no one else is listening
when no one else is there
it’s comforting to think
to believe
one’s voice isn’t lost
no matter how far one has drifted
out to sea
Author: zdunno03
long way from home
I am like some weary traveler
in a hotel room
lost between the shower and the ice machine
with plans to come home
for the holidays
we would have coffee
a candle flickers on the table
your hands play with your spoon
I watch you brush the hair from your forehead
loosen the scarf at your neck
your eyes look beyond me
to some future that almost was
and I fade from the table
stranded on some stretch of highway
a long way from home
from Song of Songs
From the lairs where lions crouch hidden,
Where leopards watch nightly for prey,
Look down, look down and come away!
translated by Marcia Falk
the crack in my heart: for ZW
for the first time
in many years
I heard sorrow in your voice
the other night
as you said you wished
I was there
but more than miles separate us now
there are those years
and the hurt
we both inflicted
if only you spoke that way
before I left
maybe I would still be there
but now the only sound louder
than the pain in your voice
is the crack
my heart made
in my chest
from Hafiz 2
“No one knows in which shell the priceless pearl does hide.”
translated by Thomas Rain Crowe
The Curse: a parable for M and a few other people I know
So there was this frog who hopped out of a pond one day as a lovely young princess was walking by. Because he could talk, he convinced the lovely princess that a curse was upon him. It seems this wicked witch, the frog explained, had, out of jealousy and spite, condemned him to this ugly shape until the day a lovely princess, like herself, would lift the curse by kissing him. Then, and only then, would he be restored to his original shape: that of a handsome, rich, well endowed young prince.
The lovely princess, having been raised on fairy tales, buys into the story, takes the frog into her soft, lily white hands, and kisses him with a passion even she did not know she possessed.
Lo and behold, nothing happens. The frog remains a frog .
The princess blinks, confused, and asks the frog what happened. He shrugs, hops down, and goes back to the pond from which he came.
The wicked witch, though, who is not quite as wicked as rumor has it, does appear to offer what little comfort she can to a disillusioned lovely young princess. She pats her on the head and says the curse is on our own eyes that we do not see the value of what is before us and cannot recognize a frog for a frog, and a prince for a prince.
And that is not so much a once upon a time tale but a tale of this, and all, time.
from Haliz
Only great poems can capture the hearts of those who don’t read;
So poets, sing! Let the God-of-Oceans fill your mouths with pearls.
O Haliz, if you are seeking the pearl of union, do this:
From tears, make yourself an ocean. . .and then dive!
translated by Thomas Rain Crowe
Dorothy Parker on her writing method
Q: How do you actually write out a story? Do you write out a draft and then go over it or what?
Parker: It takes me six months to do a story. I think it out and then write it sentence by sentence–no first draft. I can’t write five words but that I change seven.
Q: How do you name your characters?
Parker: The telephone book and from the obituary columns.
Q: Do you keep a notebook?
Parker: I tried to keep one, but I never could remember where I put the damn thing. I always say I’m going to keep one tomorrow.
Q: How do you get the story down on paper?
Parker: I wrote in longhand at first, but I’ve lost it. I use two fingers on the typewrtiter. I think it’s unkind of you to ask. I know so little about the typewriter that once I bought a new one because I couldn’t change the ribbon on the one I had.
finding God: for JKW
I understand
you’ve found God
and now work for the cult
that gave Him to you
I wish you luck
but am not interested in membership
you see
I never had to find God
He was always there
with me
Tennessee Williams on Young Writers
“If they’re meant to be writers, they will write. There’s nothing that can stop them. It may kill them. They may not be able to stand the terrible indignities, humiliations, privations, shocks that attend the life of an American writer. They may not. Yet they may have some sense of humor about it, and manage to survive.”
Leonard Durso 