Archive for September, 2010
I just saw this a while ago on Rewa’s page. I loved it. Some lines are too simplistic, but occasionally, that’s what one needs. The last couple of lines are so illuminating, they made me sigh. Internally. Enjoy.
A community of the spirit
There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delightof walking in the noisy street
and being the noise.
Drink all your passion,and be a disgrace.
Close both eyes
to see with the other eye.
Open your hands,if you want to be held.
Sit down in the circle.
Quit acting like a wolf, and feel the shepherd’s love
At night, your beloved wanders.
Don’t accept consolations.
Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover’s mouth in yours.
You moan, “She left me.” “He left me.”
Twenty more will come.
Be empty of worrying. Think of who created thought!
Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?
Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.
Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being.
From Rumi – Selected Poems
How do you communicate with a person who is unware of the shape of your lips?
I thought that speaking is enough.
You cannot change a person who does not see you, eyes are blind till they themselves decide.
You can try to tell a friend you love them.
Love does not exist if they cannot speak the language, face turned away, humming another tune.
you live in your private jungle world
personal geometry and colors of
paint strokes too vivid
to recollect my eyes
a rumble of laughter imprints
from your smile to far distances of an earth i do not know
maybe it is the sky
tripping on inner melodies i do not hear
instant gratification trumps all that would hurt me
my hurt is buried and invisible
to the roving
you glance away
like a tumbleweed swept up in private refrains
a symphony of vibrations
too loud for my
you breathe out of breath
feet away from me
your heart hitched to strings puppeteered by a magician
baking spells for person one
stand apart, inner walls keep me
i willfully watch this story ebbing,
an almost love far flung in the distance
through a transparent fence
a final sideways look to where i stand
How many of you tell the person you lust for that they make your body ache?
How many try and listen to what faces are telling us, over kitchen counters and across rooms, behind screens illuminating silence?
How many of you are not afraid to care and then say you care and then take that care forward into infinite sadness?
Me, I am never afraid of love. I am only always afraid of the transformations within love, when little rituals in and out of bed could signal a shift in faith. But love itself, as Um Kulthoum would say, is never at fault.
Me, I love Stephen Dunn.
Safe to say that most men who want
who would use that word, are shameless
and their souls long ago have drifted
out of their bodies
to faraway, unpolluted air.
Such men no doubt have learned women
for communication, that it’s the new way
to get new women, and admission of weakness
works best of all.
Even some smart women are fooled,
though the smartest know that to communicate
is a form of withholding,
a commercial for intimacy while the heart
hides in its little pocket of words.
And women use the word too,
everyone who doesn’t have the gift
of communication uses it.
It’s like the abused
asking for love, never having known
what it feels like, not trusting it
if it lacks pain.
But let’s say that a good man and a good woman,
with no motives other than desire
for greater closeness,
who’ve heard communication is the answer,
sign up for a course at the Y,
set aside two hours in the week
for significant talk. What hope for them?
Should we tell them
very little, or none at all?
As little or none as there is for us,
right to the heart, and still conceal,
who’ve loved many times well into the night
in good silence
and have awakened, strangely distant,
thinking thoughts no one should ever know?
I was wondering all day today what to post up here. I thought of writing a new poem, but the semi maudlin (yet sober) nostalgic and stressed out situation I’m in this week will only lend itself to lines such as “Oh, Love, if you only knew” and “This deep pit of despair, oh world how I detest you” type sentences so I best shut it.
Then I thought, dig deep into the poetry vaults in the recess of the laptop and find something you havent published yet. I am lazy and not super excited at prospect. I may just decide to do so at the end of this so not poetic blog. Wait, it will get better I promise.
Then, out of the purple horizon of this ether, an email arrives that has a wonderful little quote, from Kierkegaard’s diary. I decided thatthey would be the words I share today. I apologize for mine being so dry, exuberance of emotion is very much under control and I am as tight lipped as an old prune.
Here it is:
“Oh, can I really believe the poet’s tales, that when one first sees the object of one’s love, one imagines one has seen her long ago, that all love, like all knowledge, is remembrance, that love too has its prophecies in the individual. … it seems to me that I should have to possess the beauty of all girls in order to draw out a beauty equal to yours; that I should have to circumnavigate the world in order to find the place I lack and which the deepest mystery of my whole being points towards, and at the next moment you are so near to me, filling my spirit so powerfully that I am transfigured for myself, and feel that it’s good to be here….Will I find what I am seeking here in this world, will I experience the conclusion of all my life’s eccentric premises, will I fold you in my arms…Have you gone on ahead, you, my longing, transfigured, do you beckon to me from another world? O, I will throw everything away in order to become light enough to follow you.”
Ok, now I will look for an old poem for you, anonymous folks.
Fine, here is one to combat the listlessness of this post. And to further comment on the beauty and longing in the above excerpt. Thank you for sending it to me, you know who you are.
You sleep in lands molten
and I shiver
and I shiver
all through numb tips and heat receding
little strokes of your body invade these spaces mountains deserts airplanes and skyscrapers
dinners cocktails bedrooms and pillows and hot showers
and smoke and drink and dance and laughter
and my luminous sister
such colored buildings my eyes painted a prism
and good good friends
and gold and silver and full moons over the hidden lake
trees that wail stories
ocean beachfronts and their freaks,
two headed turtles and my butterfly garden in a city of angels,
these flat expanses of my torso
whistled melodies in spicy fumes
vapor braided into my curls that sing
of this southern border I slam my heart into
these red orange heights speaking of some sort of god
we don’t believe in
copper valleys all around me,
and we don’t love each other
and you sleep,
so far so far away from this altar
layers of fire in my footsteps
there are brown moments as pregnant as soil
there is your form entwined with my shattered expanses, a frenzy
of motion in an embrace,
and there have been arms
encircled a wanton tree in my waist,
tresses a vine of incense to haunt you,
noisy private chatter till we bubbled into each other, more
more than that
there were pauses
a whiff of silence in the dark,
I may still shine in little corners of your bedtime, your nights
mystery, a maze, a tangle
of absence in mornings
when I don’t want to think of you
rising in time zones of languages different
and we don’t speak the same words
but your lips are still perfectly shaped
and smile sometimes
just where you are in lands molten,
a fragment of your dreams perhaps in my palm,
breath surrounds you
this violation of your reclined body, distant,
courses sin through my
Sobering thoughts. Best of luck finding me when I am gone. Maybe you won’t notice.
First draft poems for people who don’t listen.
I will now lock my heart away, or whichever muscular part of me
constricts at the sight of your face,
pumping nerves throughout a body aching to root itself in your length,
entangling all your width in my folds,
letting you sleep as I wordlessly chant prayers to safeguard us.
I will now be silent, I will
write poems to you only in my stomach, and speak of desire behind
my eyes, opaque to you.
I will smile with only the front of my expression,
and leave all depths stowed out of the reach of your hands, undemanding.
I will wrap my lungs in bubble plastic, keep them
breathing out personal ash from flames you will only now vaguely remember.
I will wrestle you out of my center,
throb want only in places transient and too quick to dry,
slowly ebbing heat away to lukewarm union,
a door creaks shut softly,
you too loud to hear it between us.
I will take the best of myself and bury it underwater, let you float on the salt
water surface of my love,
until I am of earth and plant matter, sunlit through skies too blue to
haunt you, blind.
Until I am so far away, the kisses you stamp on me crack nothing
but a shell of what could have been,
until the words you may have said are lost in winds of a
body sinking into itself, a cage constructed of your disinterest,
till I am a ghost. Till you are alone,
wondering what cold air gusted around you, a space devoid
of my breath, a coffin in the corner to plague,
the mourned demise of my laughter as I
the entrances to our ever after.
I will lock down my heart,
till one day, sought eternally, from the center of earth
from my inner fracture,
I am released from the deep, from the down under,
by a traveler,
eyes wide open to my rapture.
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