Sunday, May 31, 2015
Dalai Lama, present, quote
Past and future exist in relation to the
present, but if the present cannot be positioned, how can past and future be positioned?
oednis der blauen himmel
oednis der blauen himmel
blassblau und ohne versprechen
der weite himmel hier.
in meinem herz ein nagel,
rostverloren, abgebrochen
aus den tiefen, aus blut
alles erscheint brüchig,
du blätterst ab, und ich
gehe langsam in mich
hinein, verdichte und wachse
in langsamen ringen
eine neue haut, aus den
poren wachsen ginster,
disteln und thymian.
in meinen grenzen
blühen narzissen, und
pflug und egge ruhen.
hier ist die wildnis, ungezähmt.
hier bin ich stumm und singe.
another letter not to be read
nobody even dares, nobody can: to talk to me as if i was an insect ready for vivisection.
a non-identity,
strange and quite curious to take to pieces.
it doesn't feel very good and it is demoralizing.
for me, it is a pointless torture to suffer.
for the explorer a never ending work to be done, an effort to understand the mechanics of my universe.
i let it happen to a point, a sharp point as fine and as painful as the tip of a needle because i accept when we meet we must be true and naked.
i cannot truly love you as long as i cannot reach , am not given access and cannot understand the needs and drive, as long as no door opens between words and being.
though i may feel your essence and long for it, i may have to stay
away forever.
howsoever, i move out of these unstable orbits, the restless mind, the peaceful mind, out of quiet moonlit lakes and out of solitude, i move out and meet. i dare.
i only touch, hardly, then i may again pull my skin across my head, my ears, my eyes.
i am naked now, i even shed the skin, your voice comes deep in the inside of me,
it echoes and reverberates like a hoarse flute in a cavern mingling with the delightful shrieks of small bats flying allover.
you are not there to wipe away my loneliness,
and i do not come here to look for more of it.
i come not only to share the last rays of sun.
when you want nothing, you want too much.
i want to listen to the voice of silence,
deep into the shells from oceans unnamed,
now,
together with you.
and it may be necessary to shout to be heard,
at first, maybe.
or to whisper, so you have to take care.
only please, please do never think anymore that you are not unique to me .
stop this circle of paranoia, this spiral of mutual frustration , together with me.
i cannot breathe.
i feel no flow now.
i am an old man in the shadows of this night here, and this night
appears endless as all nights do by now.
i was not invited, i am alone, i am one, i am now, and there is not much time.
i am here wheresoever it is, at home with myself. this must be enough.
i have no other place to go.
and there is the sound of the sea.
it swallows all, nothing makes a difference.
memmingen to porto
between shadow and light
a~flight
i
this is how this world looks to me tonight,
oblique
what am i doing here.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Sylvia Plath reads "Black Rook in Rainy Weather"
Black Rook in Rainy Weather
On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident
To set the sight on fire
In my eye, not seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.
Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Leap incandescent
Out of the kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then ---
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent
By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); sceptical,
Yet politic; ignorant
Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content
Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel.
For that rare, random descent.
lovesong read by ted hughes
this is...an excellent poem. it is horrible, a bestiarium of disgrace as i
want to call it. hopeless~: run!
Lovesong
Ted Hughes
He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
want to call it. hopeless~: run!
Lovesong
Ted Hughes
He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
Tulips, Sylvia Plath
Tulips
The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in.
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly
As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses
And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.
They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,
They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,
Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,
So it is impossible to tell how many there are.
My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage——
My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,
My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;
Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.
I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat
stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley
I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books
Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.
I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.
I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free——
The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,
And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them
Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.
The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle : they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.
Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.
Before they came the air was calm enough,
Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.
Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.
Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river
Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.
They concentrate my attention, that was happy
Playing and resting without committing itself.
The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.
The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;
They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,
And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes
Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,
And comes from a country far away as health.
A moment of happiness, Rumi
A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.
I am and I am not, Rumi
I'm drenched
in the flood
which has yet to come
I'm tied up
in the prison
which has yet to exist
Not having played
the game of chess
I'm already the checkmate
Not having tasted
a single cup of your wine
I'm already drunk
Not having entered
the battlefield
I'm already wounded and slain
I no longer
know the difference
between image and reality
Like the shadow
I am
And
I am not
in the flood
which has yet to come
I'm tied up
in the prison
which has yet to exist
Not having played
the game of chess
I'm already the checkmate
Not having tasted
a single cup of your wine
I'm already drunk
Not having entered
the battlefield
I'm already wounded and slain
I no longer
know the difference
between image and reality
Like the shadow
I am
And
I am not
Soap&Skin - Sleep
I lay on the floor
they asked me what I do tonight
it answers
search for the moon
No, don't follow him
swallow him, swallow em
swallow it
I swear I will be good to you
I swear I will be good to you
I swear I will be
I will be
time come hold me back
I'll dream of what I've dreamed of
and I dream of what I call love
John Surman - Not Love Perhaps
we are all too busy with ourselves and cannot acess each others needs-
and- maybe don't want to as i recently started to think ~
on the other hand, some of us behave at a mature age like being in puberty,
continuous routine rebellion, born in the bottomless fear of losing one's identity.
It leads more or less to a an immediate first reaction: no. no i am not here for you.
maybe "we" can grow out of it, maybe not.
and maybe i can just go for a walk in the wilderness..
John Surman - Edges Of Illusion von HistoryAndFuture
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