...~* Poetry from my heart of hearts *~...

[Kätzchen]

“The passionate heart touches the sky. The meditative mind enters it.”
― Yasmine Sherif (The Case for Humanity: An Extraordinary Session)

[Kätzchen]

Burned Forest
~ Nichita Stãnescu

Black snow was falling. The tree line
shone when I turned to see -
I had wondered long and silent,
alone, trailing memory behind me.

And it seemed the stars, fixed as they were,
ground their teeth, a stiffened nexus,
an infernal machine, tolling
the halted hours of conciousness.

Then, a thick silence descends,
and my every gesture
leaves a comet tail in the heavens.

And I hear every glance I cast
as it echoes against
some tree.

Child, what were you seeking there,
with your gangly arms and pointed shoulders
on which the wings were barely dry -
black snow drifting in the evening sky.

A horizon howling, far from view,
darting its tongues and anthracite,
dragged me forever down the mute row,
my body, half naked, sliding from sight.

In distances of smoke the town afire,
blazing beneath the planes, a frigid pyre.
We two, forest, what did we do?
Why did they burn you, forest, in a toga of ash -
and the moon no longer passes over you?

From the book Bas-Relief with Heroes
English translation by Thomas Carlson and Vasile Poenaru.

[Kätzchen]

How It Was

~ Czeslaw Milosz

Stalking a deer I wandered deep into the mountains and from there I saw.

Or perhaps it was for some other reason that I rose above the setting sun.

Above the hills of blackwood and a slab of ocean and the steps of a glacier, carmine-colored in the dusk.

I saw absence; the mighty power of counter-fulfillment; the penalty of a promise lost forever.

If, in tepees of plywood, tire shreds, and grimy sheet iron, ancient inhabitants of this land shook their rattles, it was all in vain.

No eagle-creator circled in the air from which the thunderbolt of its glory had been cast out.

Protective spirits hid themselves in subterranean beds of bubbling ore, jolting the surface from time to time so that the fabric of freeways was bursting asunder.

God the Father didn’t walk about any longer tending the new shoots of a cedar, no longer did man hear his rushing spirit.

His son did not know his sonship and turned his eyes away when passing by a neon cross flat as a movie screen showing a striptease.

This time it was really the end of the Old and the New Testament.

No one implored, everyone picked up a nodule of agate or diorite to whisper in loneliness: I cannot live any longer.

Bearded messengers in bead necklaces founded clandestine communes in imperial cities and in ports overseas.

But none of them announced the birth of a child-savior.

Soldiers from expeditions sent to punish nations would go disguised and masked to take part in forbidden rites, not looking for any hope.

They inhaled smoke soothing all memory and, rocking from side to side, shared with each other a word of nameless union.

Carved in black wood the Wheel of Eternal Return stood before the tents of wandering monastic orders.

And those who longed for the Kingdom took refuge like me in the mountains to become the last heirs of a dishonored myth.


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Czeslaw Milosz is an widely respected author of poetry, prose and historical accounts of two totalitarian regimes he survived, during his life time. Milosz is an Polish literature author (Nobel Laureate), who has since passed on, once taught at UC-Berkeley. He's my favorite author of all time (hands down).

To learn more about Milosz, click this ~~>>>>>> LINK and this ~~>>>>>> LINK.

The first book I ever read of his was The Captive Mind (1953), for which he earned the Nobel Prize in Literature.

[Kätzchen]

Once in a blue moon, I feel inspired to share a poem that has meant a lot to me, even if the poem is authored by someone else other than me. I've shared a few of the poems I've written over the years, but I've also shared poems authored by others whose poetry has helped me to process what I think and feel about things in the world.

Today, I want to share the poem penned by Leonard Cohen: Anthem. It's off his 1992 album, titled The Future.

My favorite strand of thought from his poetic verse, is as follows:

"There's a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." ~ Leonard Cohen (Anthem).

Anthem

by Leonard Cohen


The birds they sang
At the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
Has passed away
Or what is yet to be

Yeah the wars they will
Be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
Bought and sold
And bought again
The dove is never free

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in

We asked for signs
The signs were sent:
The birth betrayed
The marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
Of every government
Signs for all to see

I can't run no more
With that lawless crowd
While the killers in high places
Say their prayers out loud
But they've summoned, they've summoned up
A thundercloud
And they're going to hear from me

Ring the bells that still ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in

You can add up the parts
You won't have the sum
You can strike up the march
There is no drum
Every heart, every heart
To love will come
But like a refugee

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in


Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in








Link to story about this particular song by Cohen is found @ Quartz magazine ( HERE).

[Kätzchen]

Here is a poem I penned and contributed to Arwen's 9 words: a poetry challenge thread:

9 words:
perfection, beauty, truth, damaged, trick, proud, demons, pretty, control

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hiding behind the veneer of
damaged beauty, is
nothing but sheer love
of self interest, in
the name of proud demons
not worthy of a sinner's reproach.
Truth is, control is no
Perfection:
It's a trick, if you trade
Self worth ---
In exchange for
What's yours, by birth.

-Kätzchen-
(May 14th, 2013)

[Kätzchen]

I was browsing through a personal collection of favorite poems, this morning, and came across a poem by Sara Teasdale. When I read it, it felt like Teasdale was describing how I feel, right now, about the person I spend my time with and dearly love with all my heart. I dedicate this poem to my love (James) for all the many ways he lights a fire in my soul. Indeed, I am 'swept by the tempest of (James's) love'.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


I Am Not Yours

by Sara Teasdale


I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love—put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

[Kätzchen]