Birthday
"Like a mother to a child,
There's a time in everyone's lives when you have to let go.
Wish him all the best. Become invisible.
Give way to happiness.
That's my biggest gift for you."
(A.D.L.)
Poema de aniversário
Porque fizeste anos, Bem-Amada, e a asa do tempo roçou teus cabelos negros, e teus grandes olhos calmos miraram por um momento o inescrutável Norte...
Eu quisera dar-te, ademais dos beijos e das rosas, tudo o que nunca foi dado por um homem à sua Amada, eu que tão pouco te posso ofertar. Quisera dar-te, por exemplo, o instante em que nasci, marcado pela fatalidade de tua vinda. Verias, então, em mim, na transparência do meu peito, a sombra de tua forma anterior a ti mesma.
Quisera dar-te também o mar onde nadei menino, o tranqüilo mar de ilha em que perdia e em que mergulhava, e de onde trazia a forma elementar de tudo o que existe no espaço acima – estrelas mortas, meteoritos submersos, o plancto das galáxias, a placenta do Infinito.
E mais, quisera dar-te as minhas loucas carreiras à toa, por certo em premonitória busca de teus braços, e a vontade de grimpar tudo de alto, e transpor tudo de proibido, e os elásticos saltos dançarinos para alcançar folhas, aves, estrelas – e a ti mesma, luminosa Lucina, e derramar claridade em mim menino.
Ah, pudesse eu dar-te o meu primeiro medo e a minha primeira coragem; o meu primeiro medo à treva e a minha primeira coragem de enfrentá-la, e o primeiro arrepio sentido ao ser tocado de leve pela mão invisível da Morte.
E o que não daria eu para ofertar-te o instante em que, jazente e sozinho no mundo, enquanto soava em prece o cantochão da noite, vi tua forma emergir do meu flanco, e se esforçar, imensa ondina arquejante, para se desprender de mim; e eu te pari gritando, em meio a temporais desencadeados, roto e imundo do pó da terra.
Gostaria de dar-te, Namorada, aquela madrugada em que, pela primeira vez, as brancas moléculas do papel diante de mim dilataram-se ante o mistério da poesia subitamente incorporada; e dá-Ia com tudo o que nela havia de silencioso e inefável - o pasmo das estrelas, o mudo assombro das casas, o murmúrio místico das árvores a se tocarem sob a Lua.
E também o instante anterior à tua vinda, quando, esperando-te chegar, relembrei-te adolescente naquela mesma cidade em que te reencontrava anos depois; e a certeza que tive, ao te olhar, da fatalidade insigne do nosso encontro, e de que eu estava, de um só golpe, perdido e salvo.
Quisera dar-te, sobretudo, Amada minha, o instante da minha morte; e que ele fosse também o instante da tua morte, de modo que nós, por tanto tempo em vida separados, vivêssemos em nosso decesso uma só eternidade; e que nossos corpos fossem embalsamados e sepultados juntos e acima da terra; e que todos aqueles que ainda se vão amar pudessem ir mirar-nos em nosso último leito; e que sobre nossa lápide comum jazesse a estátua de um homem parindo uma mulher do seu flanco; e que nela houvesse apenas, como epitáfio, estes versos finais de uma cançâo que te dediquei:
... dorme, que assim
dormirás um dia
na minha poesia
de um sono sem fim...
Vinicius de Moraes
in Para viver um grande amor (crônicas e poemas)
in Poesia completa e prosa: "A lua de Montevidéu"
in Poesia completa e prosa: "Para viver um grande amor"
Oblivion
oblivion
–noun
1. the state of being completely forgotten or unknown
2. the state of forgetting or of being oblivious
3. official disregard or overlooking of offenses; pardon; amnesty.
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary,
© Random House, Inc. 2009.
How happy I was if I could forget
898
How happy I was if I could forget
To remember how sad I am
Would be an easy adversity
But the recollecting of Bloom
Keeps making November difficult
Till I who was almost bold
Lose my way like a little Child
And perish of the cold.
Emily Dickinson
Hollowness
hol·low
n.
A void; an emptiness: a hollow in one's life.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language,
Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company.
"Loving can cost a lot but not loving always costs more, and those who fear to love often find that want of love is an emptiness that robs the joy from life. "
(Merle Shain)
*Photo by Picasso
Empty my Heart, of Thee
587
Empty my Heart, of Thee—
Its single Artery—
Begin, and leave Thee out—
Simply Extinction's Date—
Much Billow hath the Sea—
One Baltic—They—
Subtract Thyself, in play,
And not enough of me
Is left—to put away—
"Myself" meanth Thee—
Erase the Root—no Tree—
Thee—then—no me—
The Heavens stripped—
Eternity's vast pocket, picked—
Emily Dickinson
Madness
mad·ness
n.
The quality or condition of being insane.
Great folly
Fury; rage.
Enthusiasm; excitement.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language,
Fury; rage.
Enthusiasm; excitement.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language,
Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company
"If this be not love, it is madness,
and then it is pardonable."
(William Congreve)
Gigolo
Pocket watch, I tick well.
The streets are lizardly crevices
Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide.
It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac,
A palace of velvet
With windows of mirrors.
There one is safe,
There are no family photographs,
No rings through the nose, no cries.
Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women
Gulp at my bulk
And I, in my snazzy blacks,
Mill a litter of breasts like jellyfish.
To nourish
The cellos of moans I eat eggs --
Eggs and fish, the essentials,
The aphrodisiac squid.
My mouth sags,
The mouth of Christ
When my engine reaches the end of it.
The tattle of my
Gold joints, my way of turning
Bitches to ripples of silver
Rolls out a carpet, a hush.
And there is no end, no end of it.
I shall never grow old. New oysters
Shriek in the sea and I
Glitter like Fontainebleu
Gratified,
All the fall of water an eye
Over whose pool I tenderly
Lean and see me.
Sylvia Plath
...
"Today, I woke up with her on my mind.
And I'm not sorry for it.
I want her to be mine."
(D.G.)
*Photo by unknown authorBut Not To Me
The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
But not to me.
My peace is hidden in his breast
Where I shall never be;
Love comes to-night to all the rest,
But not to me.
Sara Teasdale
Feelings "still to be explained"
That is solemn we have ended
934
That is solemn we have ended
Be it but a Play
Or a Glee among the Garret
Or a Holiday
Or a leaving Home, or later,
Parting with a World
We have understood for better
Still to be explained.
Emily Dickinson
934
That is solemn we have ended
Be it but a Play
Or a Glee among the Garret
Or a Holiday
Or a leaving Home, or later,
Parting with a World
We have understood for better
Still to be explained.
Emily Dickinson
Letting go...
let go
a. to release one's grasp or hold: Please let go of my arm.
b. to free; release.
c. to cease to employ; dismiss: Business was slack and many employees were let go.
d. to become unrestrained; abandon inhibitions: She'd be good fun if she would just let go and enjoy herself.
e. to dismiss; forget; discard: Once he has an idea, he never lets go of it.
(unknown source)
"Sometimes you just have to let go..."
(A. D. L.)
*Photo by unknown author
That Day
This is the desk I sit at
and this is the desk where I love you too much
and this is the typewriter that sits before me
where yesterday only your body sat before me
with its shoulders gathered in like a Greek chorus,
with its tongue like a king making up rules as he goes,
with its tongue quite openly like a cat lapping milk,
with its tongue -- both of us coiled in its slippery life.
That was yesterday, that day.
That was the day of your tongue,
your tongue that came from your lips,
two openers, half animals, half birds
caught in the doorway of your heart.
That was the day I followed the king's rules,
passing by your red veins and your blue veins,
my hands down the backbone, down quick like a firepole,
hands between legs where you display your inner knowledge,
where diamond mines are buried and come forth to bury,
come forth more sudden than some reconstructed city.
It is complete within seconds, that monument.
The blood runs underground yet brings forth a tower.
A multitude should gather for such an edifice.
For a miracle one stands in line and throws confetti.
Surely The Press is here looking for headlines.
Surely someone should carry a banner on the sidewalk.
If a bridge is constructed doesn't the mayor cut a ribbon?
If a phenomenon arrives shouldn't the Magi come bearing gifts?
Yesterday was the day I bore gifts for your gift
and came from the valley to meet you on the pavement.
That was yesterday, that day.
That was the day of your face,
your face after love, close to the pillow, a lullaby.
Half asleep beside me letting the old fashioned rocker stop,
our breath became one, became a child-breath together,
while my fingers drew little o's on your shut eyes,
while my fingers drew little smiles on your mouth,
while I drew I LOVE YOU on your chest and its drummer
and whispered, "Wake up!" and you mumbled in your sleep,
"Sh. We're driving to Cape Cod. We're heading for the Bourne
Bridge. We're circling the Bourne Circle." Bourne!
Then I knew you in your dream and prayed of our time
that I would be pierced and you would take root in me
and that I might bring forth your born, might bear
the you or the ghost of you in my little household.
Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed
but this is the typewriter that sits before me
and love is where yesterday is at.
Anne Sexton
Moan
moan
n.
A low, sustained, mournful cry, usually indicative of sorrow or pain.
A similar sound: the eerie moan of the night wind.
Lamentation.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language,
Fourth EditionCopyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company.
*Photo by unknown author
moan... (7)
moan
(is)
ing
the she of the
sea
un
der a who
a he a moon a
magic out
of the black this which of
one street leaps quick
squirmthicklying lu
minous night
mare som
e w
hereanynoevery
ing(danc)ing
wills&weres
e.e. cummings
Foreboding
fore·bod·ing
n.
A sense of impending evil or misfortune.
An evil omen; a portent.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language,
Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company.
"No more the blue skies.
No more sunny sundays, walking hand in hand,
smiling kisses, naked bodies.
The rain has come."
(A. D. L.)
*Photo by Picasso
October
Books litter the bed,
leaves the lawn. It
lightly rains. Fall has
come: unpatterned, in
the shedding leaves.
The maples ripen. Apples
come home crisp in bags.
This pear tastes good.
It rains lightly on the
random leaf patterns.
The nimbus is spread
above our island. Rain
lightly patters on un-
shed leaves. The books
of fall litter the bed.
James Schuyler
Tough Luck (tough cookies)
tough luck
(and tough cookies)
interj.
That is too bad.
Dictionary of American Slang and Colloquial Expressions
by Richard A. Spears.Fourth Edition.
Copyright 2007. Published by McGraw Hill.
Copyright 2007. Published by McGraw Hill.
"Bad Day.
Desperately need a hair cut,
a change of colour (going dark),
and a strong drink."
(A. D. L.)
*Photo by Ellen von Unwerth
Bad Day At The Beauty Salon
I was a 20 year old unemployed receptionist with dyed orange dreadlocks sprouting out of my skull. I needed a job, but first, I needed a haircut.
So I head for this beauty salon on Avenue B.
I'm gonna get a hairdo.
I'm gonna look just like those hot Spanish haircut models, become brown and bodacious, grow some 7 inch fingernails painted bitch red and rake them down the chalkboard of the job market's soul.
So I go in the beauty salon.
This beautiful Puerto Rican girl in tight white spandex and a push-up bra sits me down and starts chopping my hair:
"Girlfriend," she says, "what the hell you got growing outta your head there, what is that, hair implants? Yuck, you want me to touch that shit, whadya got in there, sandwiches?"
I just go: "I'm sorry."
She starts snipping my carefully cultivated Johnny Lydon post-Pistols hairdo. My foul little dreadlocks are flying around all over the place but I'm not looking in the mirror cause I just don't want to know.
"So what's your name anyway?" My stylist demands then.
"Uh, Maggie."
"Maggie? Well, that's an okay name, but my name is Suzy."
"Yeah, so?"
"Yeah so it ain't just Suzy S.U.Z.Y, I spell it S.U.Z.E.E, the extra "e" is for extra Suzee."
I nod emphatically.
Suzee tells me when she's not busy chopping hair, she works as an exotic dancer at night to support her boyfriend named Rocco. Suzee loves Rocco, she loves him so much she's got her eyes closed as she describes him:
"6 foot 2, 193 pounds and, girlfriend, his arms so big and long they wrap around me twice like I'm a little Suzee sandwich."
Little Suzee Sandwich is rapt, she blindly snips and clips at my poor punk head. She snips and clips and snips and clips, she pauses, I look in the mirror: "Holy shit, I'm bald."
"Holy shit, baby, you're bald." Suzee says, finally opening her eyes and then gasping.
All I've got left is little post-nuke clumps of orange fuzz. And I'll never get a receptionist job now.
But Suzy waves her manicured finger in my face: "Don't you worry, baby, I'm gonna get you a job at the dancing club."
"What?"
"Baby, let me tell you, the boys are gonna like a bald go go dancer."
That said, she whips out some clippers, shaves my head smooth and insists I'm gonna love getting naked for a living.
None of this sounds like my idea of a good time, but I'm broke and I'm bald so I go home and get my best panties. Suzee lends me some 6 inch pumps, paints my lips bright red, and gives me 7 shots of Jack Daniels to relax me.
8pm that night I take the stage.
I'm bald,
I'm drunk,
and by god,
I'm naked.
HOLY SHIT I'M NAKED IN A ROOM FULL OF STRANGERS THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE RECURRING NIGHTMARES WE ALL HAVE ABOUT BEING BUTT NAKED IN PUBLIC, I AM NAKED, I DON'T KNOW THESE PEOPLE, THIS REALLY SUCKS.
A few guys feel sorry for me and risk getting their hands bitten off by sticking dollars in my garter belt. My disheveled pubic hairs stand at full attention, ready to poke the guys' eyes out if they get too close.
Then I notice this bald guy in the audience, I've got a new empathy for bald people, I figure maybe it works both ways, maybe this guy will stick 10 bucks in my garter.
I saunter over.
I'm teetering around unrhythmically, I'm the surliest, unsexiest dancer that ever go-go across this hemisphere. The bald guy looks down into his beer, he'd much rather look at that than at my pubic mound which has now formed into one vicious spike so it looks like I've got a unicorn in my crotch.
I stand there weaving through the air.
The strobe light is illuminating my pubic unicorn. Madonna's song Borderline is pumping through the club's speaker system for the 5th time tonight: "BORDERLINE BORDERLINE BORDERLINE/LOVE ME TIL I JUST CAN'T SEE." And suddenly, I start to wonder: What does that mean anyway?
"LOVE ME TIL I JUST CAN'T SEE"
What?
Screw me so much my eyes pop out, I go blind, end up walking down 2nd Avenue crazy, horny, naked and blind? What?
There's a glitch in the tape and it starts to skip.
"Borderl...ooop.....Borderl....ooop...Borderlin.....ooop"
I stumble and twist my ankle. My g-string rides between my buttcheeks making me twitch with pain. My head starts spinning, my knees wobble, I go down on all fours and puke all over the bald guy's lap.
So there I am. Butt naked on all fours. But before I have time to regain my composure, the strip club manager comes over, points his smarmy strip club manager finger at me and goes:
"You're bald, you're drunk, you can't dance and you're fired."
I stand up.
"Oh yeah, well you stink like a sneaker, pal." I peel off one of my pumps and throw it in the direction of his fat head then I get the hell out of there.
A few days later I run into Suzee on Avenue A. Turns out she got fired for getting me a job there in the first place. But she was completely undaunted, she dragged me up to this wig store on 14th Street, bought me a mouse brown shag wig, then got us both telemarketing jobs on Wall Street.
And I never went to a beauty salon again.
Maggie Estep
OH!
oh
interj.
1. Used to express strong emotion, such as surprise, fear, anger, or pain.
2. Used in direct address: Oh, sir! You forgot your keys.
3. Used to indicate understanding or acknowledgment of a statement.
in The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language,
Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company.
'But I don't want to go among mad people,' said Alice.
'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat. 'We're all mad here.'
(Lewis Carroll)
*Photo by Picasso
It is snowing and death bugs me
as stubborn as insomnia.
The fierce bubbles of chalk,
the little white lesions
settle on the street outside.
It is snowing and the ninety
year old woman who was combing
out her long white wraith hair
is gone, embalmed even now,
even tonight her arms are smooth
muskets at her side and nothing
issues from her but her last word - "Oh." Surprised by death.
It is snowing. Paper spots
are falling from the punch.
Hello? Mrs. Death is here!
She suffers according to the digits
of my hate. I hear the filaments
of alabaster. I would lie down
with them and lift my madness
off like a wig. I would lie
outside in a room of wool
and let the snow cover me.
Paris white or flake white
or argentine, all in the washbasin
of my mouth, calling, "Oh."
I am empty. I am witless.
Death is here. There is no
other settlement. Snow!
See the mark, the pock, the pock!
Meanwhile you pour tea
with your handsome gentle hands.
Then you deliberately take your
forefinger and point it at my temple,
saying, "You suicide bitch!
I'd like to take a corkscrew
and screw out all your brains
and you'd never be back ever."
And I close my eyes over the steaming
tea and see God opening His teeth.
"Oh." He says.
I see the child in me writing, "Oh."
Oh, my dear, not why.
Anne Sexton
Heavyheartedness
heav⋅y-heart⋅ed
–adjective sorrowful; melancholy; dejected.
Related forms:
heav⋅y-heart⋅ed⋅ly, adverb
heav⋅y-heart⋅ed⋅ness, noun
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2009.
"Go, forget me - why should sorrow, O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me - and to-morrow, brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile - though I shall not be near thee; Sing - though I shall never hear thee. "
(Charles Wolfe)
*Photo by unknown author
*Photo by unknown author
Why Did I Laugh Tonight? No Voice Will Tell
Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell:
No God, no Demon of severe response,
Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell.
Then to my human heart I turn at once.
Heart! Thou and I are here, sad and alone;
I say, why did I laugh? O mortal pain!
O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan,
To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain.
Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease,
My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads;
Yet would I on this very midnight cease,
And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds;
Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed,
But Death intenser—Death is Life's high meed.
John Keats
Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell:
No God, no Demon of severe response,
Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell.
Then to my human heart I turn at once.
Heart! Thou and I are here, sad and alone;
I say, why did I laugh? O mortal pain!
O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan,
To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain.
Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease,
My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads;
Yet would I on this very midnight cease,
And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds;
Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed,
But Death intenser—Death is Life's high meed.
John Keats
On Sadness, Loneliness, Darkness and (living) Death...
*Photo by Nils Vils
Nothing But Death
There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.
And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.
Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.
Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.
I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.
But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.
Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.
Pablo Neruda
High Spirits
high spirits
–noun
a mood of joy, elation, etc.; vivacity.
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary,
© Random House, Inc. 2009.
“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in, forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day, begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)
Cheer
It's a mighty good world, so it is, dear lass,
When even the worst is said.
There's a smile and a tear, a sigh and a cheer,
But better be living than dead;
A joy and a pain, a loss and a gain;
There's honey and may be some gall:
Yet still I declare, foul weather or fair,
It's a mighty good world after all.
For look, lass! at night when I break from the fight,
My Kingdom's awaiting for me;
There's comfort and rest, and the warmth of your breast,
And little ones climbing my knee.
There's fire-light and song -- Oh, the world may be wrong!
Its empires may topple and fall:
My home is my care -- if gladness be there,
It's a mighty good world after all.
O heart of pure gold! I have made you a fold,
It's sheltered, sun-fondled and warm.
O little ones, rest! I have fashioned a nest;
Sleep on! you are safe from the storm.
For there's no foe like fear, and there's no friend like cheer,
And sunshine will flash at our call;
So crown Love as King, and let us all sing --
"It's a mighty good world after all."
Robert Service
Bereavement
be·reave
To leave desolate or alone, especially by death
Archaic To take (something valuable or necessary), typically by force.
be·reave'ment n., be·reav'er n.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
"The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares."
(Henri Nouwen)
*Photo by unknown author, entitled "Bury my Heart"
Buried Love
I have come to bury Love
Beneath a tree,
In the forest tall and black
Where none can see.
I shall put no flowers at his head,
Nor stone at his feet,
For the mouth I loved so much
Was bittersweet.
I shall go no more to his grave,
For the woods are cold.
I shall gather as much of joy
As my hands can hold.
I shall stay all day in the sun
Where the wide winds blow, --
But oh, I shall cry at night
When none will know.
Sara Teasdale
Broken Heart
broken heart
–noun
despair; disillusionment; devastating sorrow, esp. from disappointment in love.
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary,
© Random House, Inc. 2009.
"The heart is the only broken instrument that works."
(T. E. Kalem)
La Canción Desesperada
Emerge tu recuerdo de la noche en que estoy.
El río anuda al mar su lamento obstinado.
Abandonado como los muelles en el alba.
Es la hora de partir, oh abandonado!
Sobre mi corazón llueven frías corolas.
Oh sentina de escombros, feroz cueva de náufragos!
En ti se acumularon las guerras y los vuelos.
De ti alzaron las alas los pájaros del canto.
Todo te lo tragaste, como la lejanía.
Como el mar, como el tiempo. Todo en ti fue naufragio!
Era la alegre hora del asalto y el beso.
La hora del estupor que ardía como un faro.
Ansiedad de piloto, furia de buzo ciego,
turbia embriaguez de amor, todo en ti fue naufragio!
En la infancia de niebla mi alma alada y herida.
Descubridor perdido, todo en ti fue naufragio!
Te ceñiste al dolor, te agarraste al deseo.
Te tumbó la tristeza, todo en ti fue naufragio!
Hice retroceder la muralla de sombra,
anduve más allá del deseo y del acto.
Oh carne, carne mía, mujer que amé y perdí,
a ti en esta hora húmeda, evoco y hago canto.
Como un vaso albergaste la infinita ternura,
y el infinito olvido te trizó como a un vaso.
Era la negra, negra soledad de las islas,
y allí, mujer de amor, me acogieron tus brazos.
Era la sed y el hambre, y tú fuiste la fruta.
Era el duelo y las ruinas, y tú fuiste el milagro.
Ah mujer, no sé cómo pudiste contenerme
en la tierra de tu alma, y en la cruz de tus brazos!
Mi deseo de ti fue el más terrible y corto,
el más revuelto y ebrio, el más tirante y ávido.
Cementerio de besos, aún hay fuego en tus tumbas,
aún los racimos arden picoteados de pájaros.
Oh la boca mordida, oh los besados miembros,
oh los hambrientos dientes, oh los cuerpos trenzados.
Oh la cópula loca de esperanza y esfuerzo
en que nos anudamos y nos desesperamos.
Y la ternura, leve como el agua y la harina.
Y la palabra apenas comenzada en los labios.
Ese fue mi destino y en él viajó mi anhelo,
y en él cayó mi anhelo, todo en ti fue naufragio!
Oh, sentina de escombros, en ti todo caía,
qué dolor no exprimiste, qué olas no te ahogaron!
De tumbo en tumbo aún llameaste y cantaste.
De pie como un marino en la proa de un barco.
Aún floreciste en cantos, aún rompiste en corrientes.
Oh sentina de escombros, pozo abierto y amargo.
Pálido buzo ciego, desventurado hondero,
descubridor perdido, todo en ti fue naufragio!
Es la hora de partir, la dura y fría hora
que la noche sujeta a todo horario.
El cinturón ruidoso del mar ciñe la costa.
Surgen frías estrellas, emigran negros pájaros.
Abandonado como los muelles en el alba.
Sólo la sombra trémula se retuerce en mis manos.
Ah más allá de todo. Ah más allá de todo.
Es la hora de partir. Oh abandonado!
Pablo Neruda
Distance
dis·tance
n.
- The extent of space between two objects or places; an intervening space
- The fact or condition of being apart in space; remoteness
- (...)
- The extent of space between points on a measured course
- (...)
- A point or area that is far away
- A depiction of a such a point or area
- A stretch of space without designation of limit; an expanse
- The extent of time between two events; an intervening period
- A point removed in time
- (...)
- An amount of progress
- Difference or disagreement
- Emotional separateness or reserve; aloofness.
tr.v. dis·tanced, dis·tanc·ing, dis·tanc·es - To place or keep at or as if at a distance
- To cause to appear at a distance
- To leave far behind; outrun
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
"Do we need distance to get close?"
(Sarah Jessica Parker)
Distance
Were you to cross the world, my dear,
To work or love or fight,
I could be calm and wistful here,
And close my eyes at night.
It were a sweet and gallant pain
To be a sea apart;
But, oh, to have you down the lane
Is bitter to my heart.
Dorothy Parker
Lingering
lin⋅ger
1. to remain or stay on in a place longer than is usual or expected, as if from reluctance to leave
2. to remain alive; continue or persist, although gradually dying, ceasing, disappearing, etc
3. to dwell in contemplation, thought, or enjoyment
4. to be tardy in action; delay; dawdle
5. to walk slowly; saunter along
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary,
1. to remain or stay on in a place longer than is usual or expected, as if from reluctance to leave
2. to remain alive; continue or persist, although gradually dying, ceasing, disappearing, etc
3. to dwell in contemplation, thought, or enjoyment
4. to be tardy in action; delay; dawdle
5. to walk slowly; saunter along
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary,
© Random House, Inc. 2009.
"Press forward. Do not stop, do not linger in your
journey, but strive for the mark set before you. "
(George Whitefield)
*Photo by Andrea-H
Chant For Dark Hours
Some men, some men
Cannot pass a
Book shop.
(Lady, make your mind up, and wait your life away.)
Some men, some men
Cannot pass a
Crap game.
(He said he'd come at moonrise, and here's another day!)
Some men, some men
Cannot pass a
Bar-room.
(Wait about, and hang about, and that's the way it goes.)
Some men, some men
Cannot pass a
Woman.
(Heaven never send me another one of those!)
Some men, some men
Cannot pass a
Golf course.
(Read a book, and sew a seam, and slumber if you can.)
Some men, some men
Cannot pass a
Haberdasher's.
(All your life you wait around for some damn man!)
Dorothy Parker
Weariness
weariness
- fatigue: temporary loss of strength and energy resulting from hard physical or mental work;
- Fatigue (also called exhaustion, lethargy, languidness, languor, lassitude, and listlessness) is a weariness. It can describe a range of afflictions, varying from a general state of to a specific work-induced burning sensation within one's muscles. It can be both physical and mental.
- exhaustion, fatigue or tiredness; a lack of interest or excitement
- physically or mentally exhausted by hard work, exertion, strain, etc.
in wordnetweb.princeton.edu
"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."
(Anais Nin)
Ballade Of A Great Weariness
There's little to have but the things I had,
There's little to bear but the things I bore.
There's nothing to carry and naught to add,
And glory to Heaven, I paid the score.
There's little to do but I did before,
There's little to learn but the things I know;
And this is the sum of a lasting lore:
Scratch a lover, and find a foe.
And couldn't it be I was young and mad
If ever my heart on my sleeve I wore?
There's many to claw at a heart unclad,
And little the wonder it ripped and tore.
There's one that'll join in their push and roar,
With stories to jabber, and stones to throw;
He'll fetch you a lesson that costs you sore:
Scratch a lover, and find a foe.
So little I'll offer to you, my lad;
It's little in loving I set my store.
There's many a maid would be flushed and glad,
And better you'll knock at a kindlier door.
I'll dig at my lettuce, and sweep my floor,
Forever, forever I'm done with woe.
And happen I'll whistle about my chore,
"Scratch a lover, and find a foe."
L'ENVOI
Oh, beggar or prince, no more, no more!
Be off and away with your strut and show.
The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core:
Scratch a lover, and find a foe!
Dorothy Parker
Acedia
Acedia is a word from ancient Greece describing a state of listlessness or torpor, of not caring or not being concerned with one's position or condition in the world. It can lead to a state of being unable to perform one's duties in life. Its spiritual overtones make it related to but distinct from depression. Acedia was originally noted as a problem among monks and other ascetics who maintained a solitary life.
in Wikipedia
in Wikipedia
"Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
That depends a good deal on where you want to get to, said the Cat.
I don't much care where- said Alice.
Then it doesn't matter which way you go, said the Cat."
— Lewis Carroll (Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There)
*Photography by Diana G.
Observation
If I don't drive around the park,
I'm pretty sure to make my mark.
If I'm in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again,
If I abstain from fun and such,
I'll probably amount to much,
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.
Dorothy Parker
Gloom
Gloom, a melancholy, depressing, darkness, shade or despondent atmosphere.
in Wikipedia
"And so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall through the snow gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror. But when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again."
(Bram Stoker)
*Photo by Nuno Milheiro
If Death Is Kind
Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning,
We will come back to earth some fragrant night,
And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending
Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.
We will come down at night to these resounding beaches
And the long gentle thunder of the sea,
Here for a single hour in the wide starlight
We shall be happy, for the dead are free.
Sara Teasdale
Mortality
Mortality is the condition of being mortal, or susceptible to death
in Wikipedia
"I have been unexpectedly confronted with my own mortality as I was told that I had cancer."
(Jodi Rell)
Less Time
Less time than it takes to say it, less tears than it takes to die; I've taken account of everything, there you have it. I've made a census of the stones, they are as numerous as my fingers and some others; I've distributed some pamphelts to the plants, but not all were willing to accept them. I've kept company with music for a second only and now I no longer know what to think of suicide, for if I ever want to part from myself, the exit is on this side and, I add mischievously, the entrance, the re-entrance is on the other. You see what you still have to do. Hours, grief, I don't keep a reasonable account of them; I'm alone, I look out of the window; there is no passerby, or rather no one passes (underline passes). You don't know this man? It's Mr. Same.
May I introduce Madam Madam? And their children. Then I turn back on my steps, my steps turn back too, but I don't know exactly what they turn back on. I consult a schedule; the names of the towns have been replaced by the names of people who have been quite close to me. Shall I go to A, return to B, change at X? Yes, of course I'll change at X. Provided I don't miss the connection with boredom! There we are: boredom, beautiful parallels, ah! how beautiful the parallels are under God's perpendicular.
André Breton
Sexual Abstinence
Sexual abstinence is the practice of voluntarily refraining from some or all aspects of sexual activity.
in Wikipedia
Doctor: You mustn't have sex during the following 8 days. Remember! You can't have sex until next week!
Patient: You have no idea how right you are...
Photo by Jessica Weiser, "Sex on the Beach"
Hot
she was hot, she was so hot
I didn't want anybody else to have her,
and if I didn't get home on time
she'd be gone, and I couldn't bear that-
I'd go mad. . .
it was foolish I know, childish,
but I was caught in it, I was caught.
I delivered all the mail
and then Henderson put me on the night pickup run
in an old army truck,
the damn thing began to heat halfway through the run
and the night went on
me thinking about my hot Miriam
and jumping in and out of the truck
filling mailsacks
the engine continuing to heat up
the temperature needle was at the top
HOT HOT
like Miriam.
leaped in and out
3 more pickups and into the station
I'd be, my car
waiting to get me to Miriam who sat on my blue couch
with scotch on the rocks
crossing her legs and swinging her ankles
like she did,
2 more stops. . .
the truck stalled at a traffic light, it was hell
kicking it over
again. . .
I had to be home by 8,8 was the deadline for Miriam.
I made the last pickup and the truck stalled at a signal
1/2 block from the station. . .
it wouldn't start, it couldn't start. . .
I locked the doors, pulled the key and ran down to the
station. . .
I threw the keys down. . .signed out. . .
your goddamned truck is stalled at the signal,
I shouted,
Pico and Western. . .
. . .I ran down the hall,put the key into the door,
opened it. . .her drinking glass was there, and a note:
sun of a bitch:
I waited until 5 after ate
you don't love me
you sun of a bitch
somebody will love me
I been wateing all day
Miriam
I poured a drink and let the water run into the tub
there were 5,000 bars in town
and I'd make 25 of them
looking for Miriam
her purple teddy bear held the note
as he leaned against a pillow
I gave the bear a drink, myself a drink
and got into the hot
water.
Charles Bukowski
The Wait
wait
n.
The act of waiting or the time spent waiting.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
n.
The act of waiting or the time spent waiting.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
"There's nothing more stressful than waiting for an answer..."
(A. D. L.)
*Painting by Vermeer
The Wait
It is life in slow motion,
it's the heart in reverse,
it's a hope-and-a-half:
too much and too little at once.
It's a train that suddenly
stops with no station around,
and we can hear the cricket,
and, leaning out the carriage
door, we vainly contemplate
a wind we feel that stirs
the blooming meadows, the meadows
made imaginary by this stop.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Too many feelings to entitle this...
Alone With Everybody
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
Charles Bukowski
Wounds
wound
n.
An injury, especially one in which the skin or another external surface is torn, pierced, cut, or otherwise broken.
An injury to the feelings.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
"When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you."
(Kahlil Gibran)
Photo by Takala, "Protect Me"
Sonnet 120: That you were once unkind befriends me now
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, y'have passed a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O, that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me then, tendered
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
William Shakespeare
Longing for you...
*Photo from Sony World Photography AwardsClenched Soul
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.
I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.
I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.
Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?
The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.
Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.
Pablo Neruda
Detachment
de·tach·ment
n.
The act or process of disconnecting or detaching; separation.
The state of being separate or detached.
Indifference to or remoteness from the concerns of others; aloofness
Absence of prejudice or bias; disinterest
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Houghton Mifflin Company.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
"He who would be serene and pure needs but one thing, detachment."
(Meister Eckhart)
*Photo by Janaka Rodrigue
Rain
a symphony orchestra.
there is a thunderstorm,
they are playing a Wagner overture
and the people leave their seats under the trees
and run inside to the pavilion
the women giggling, the men pretending calm,
wet cigarettes being thrown away,
Wagner plays on, and then they are all under the
pavilion. the birds even come in from the trees
and enter the pavilion and then it is the Hungarian
Rhapsody #2 by Lizst, and it still rains, but look,
one man sits alone in the rain
listening. the audience notices him. they turn
and look. the orchestra goes about its
business. the man sits in the night in the rain,
listening. there is something wrong with him,
isn't there?
he came to hear the
music.
Charles Bukowski
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