Is my soul asleep?
Have those beehives that work
in the night stopped? And the water-
wheel of thought, is it
going around now, cups
empty, carrying only shadows?
No, my soul is not asleep.
It is awake, wide awake.
It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches,
its eyes wide open
far-off things, and listens
at the shores of the great silence.
translated by Robert Bly
Light of the soul, divine light,
beacon, torch, star, sun. . .
A man gropes his way along
carrying a lamp on his back.
translated by Mary G. Berg & Dennis Maloney
It’s possible that while we were dreaming
the hand that casts out the stars like seeds
started up the ancient music once more
–like a note from a great harp–
and the frail wave came to our lips
in the form of one or two honest words.
translated by Robert Bly
You say nothing is created new?
Don’t worry about it, with the mud
of the earth, make a cup
from which your brother can drink.
translated by Robert Bly
Beyond living and dreaming
there is something more important:
waking up.
translated by Robert Bly
What the poet is searching for
is not the fundamental I
but the deep you.
translated by Robert Bly
Pay attention now:
a heart that’s all by itself
is not a heart.
translated by Robert Bly
A remembrance is moving
down the long memory, disturbing
the dry leaves with its delicate feet.
—Behind, the house is empty.
On ahead, highways
going on to other places, solitary highways,
stretched out.
And the rain is like weeping eyes,
as if the eternal moment were going blind—.
Even though the house is quiet and shut,
even though I am not in it, I am in it.
And. . .good-bye, you who are walking
without turning your head!
translated by Robert Bly
Only my face and the sky.
The only universe.
My face, alone, and the sky.
(Between them, the pure breeze,
a fond caress, the only hand
that brings so much plentifulness;
the breeze, always rising and falling.)
Above me, all that is life,
the entire dream within me,
brushing against my senses with its wings,
that he has brought into harmony.
Nothing more.
. . . . . . .Are you perhaps
the breeze that comes and goes
from the sky, love, to my face?
translated by Dennis Maloney & Clark Zlotchew
The light above–golden,orange, green
among the vague clouds.
Ah, trees without leaves,
roots in water,
branches in light!
Underneath, the water–green, orange, golden
among the vague mist.
Among the vague mist, among the vague clouds,
light and water; what magic they vanish!
translated by Dennis Maloney
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
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet 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
Leonard Durso 