Sunday, June 21, 2015
Song, John Donne
Song.
Soul’s joy, now I am gone,
And you alone,
– Which cannot be,
Since I must leave myself with thee,
And carry thee with me –
Yet when unto our eyes
Absence denies
Each other’s sight,
And makes to us a constant night,
When others change to light;
O give no way to grief,
But let belief
Of mutual love
This wonder to the vulgar prove,
Our bodies, not we, move.
Let not thy wit beweep
Words but sense deep;
For when we miss
By distance our hope’s joining bliss,
Even then our souls shall kiss;
Fools have no means to meet,
But by their feet;
Why should our clay
Over our spirits so much sway,
To tie us to that way?
O give no way to grief, &c.
note: well......not really
Words but sense deep;
For when we miss
By distance our hope’s joining bliss,
Even then our souls shall kiss;
Fools have no means to meet,
But by their feet;
Why should our clay
Over our spirits so much sway,
To tie us to that way?
O give no way to grief, &c.
note: well......not really
John Donne, The Dream
The Dream.
Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for fantasy.
Therefore thou waked’st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brokest not, but continued’st it.
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought’st it best,
Not to dream all my dream, let’s act the rest.
As lightning, or a taper’s light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me;
Yet I thought thee
– For thou lovest truth – an angel, at first sight;
But when I saw thou saw’st my heart,
And knew’st my thoughts beyond an angel’s art,
When thou knew’st what I dreamt, when thou knew’st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam’st then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.
Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me;
Yet I thought thee
– For thou lovest truth – an angel, at first sight;
But when I saw thou saw’st my heart,
And knew’st my thoughts beyond an angel’s art,
When thou knew’st what I dreamt, when thou knew’st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam’st then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.
Coming and staying showed thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.
That love is weak where fear’s as strong as he;
‘Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal’st with me;
Thou camest to kindle, go’st to come; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.
That love is weak where fear’s as strong as he;
‘Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal’st with me;
Thou camest to kindle, go’st to come; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.
childhood and the birth of a journey
my childhood's experience on the "Schwäbische Alb" has influenced my joy with light blue skies, clouds like wings with feathers , the smell of cow dung, their mooing, the bleating of sheep , the evening call of the crows, the very green of meadows and fields, the feeling of stones in my hands, the often thin, brown harsh soil with its own varying aromas, the apple trees in blossom and the incredibly sweet scent of fresh hay, the summer rains and the frost in the forests, the odour of decaying apples on the ground, high plains and hills, rocks and caves.
but being upraised for part of my early youth in a kettle-like small town surrounded by hills and rocks, "Blaubeuren", enclosed in a small community, below the sky, has also produced an incredible desire to be away from all this, even away from the beautiful spring and river there , away from these people, away from humanity in general as far as possible.
a wish to be beyond control and not to be seen. an urge to develop on my own.
to stay there would have felt as if committing suicide.
and i followed this driving force for a long time, to the Northern plains, to other countries, in Europe, in Africa, in Italy, towards the sea and the light.
i conclude that the sensual experience of landscape and earth may form the mind and fire its engine so much more than i should have suspected .
these are just notes on stuff i am thinking about now...
but being upraised for part of my early youth in a kettle-like small town surrounded by hills and rocks, "Blaubeuren", enclosed in a small community, below the sky, has also produced an incredible desire to be away from all this, even away from the beautiful spring and river there , away from these people, away from humanity in general as far as possible.
a wish to be beyond control and not to be seen. an urge to develop on my own.
to stay there would have felt as if committing suicide.
and i followed this driving force for a long time, to the Northern plains, to other countries, in Europe, in Africa, in Italy, towards the sea and the light.
i conclude that the sensual experience of landscape and earth may form the mind and fire its engine so much more than i should have suspected .
these are just notes on stuff i am thinking about now...
Daiqing Tana & Haya Band - Snow Mountain
Gazing upon the timeless magnificence
The serene heavenly sounds
I yearn for the freedom of solitude
Long for the ultimate love
Yet afloat I am in the wind
Daiqing Tana - Dancer In The Darkness.mpg
Standing in the embrace of the darkness
I am exposed in the deep stilled silence
I could hear the remote unfamiliar laughter still echoing
I bury myself
To be sacrificed to the unmanned wilderness
I could hear the remote unfamiliar laughter still echoing
I bury myself
To be sacrificed to the unmanned wilderness
Solomon Burke - Flesh And Blood
Come sit beside me
That'll do for now
The night has come and left me
Just the light that you allow
Come speak my name
Fill my head with all such foolish dreams
My flesh and blood
Is no more real to me
Than what it seems
My love for you is burning
Like a spark along a fuse
I feel your mark upon me now
As surely as the hand that leaves the bruise
Life is for the living
And life comes hard for some
The rest of us with flesh and blood
Make it hard all along
All I ever wanted
Was the freedom to refuse
Or something of my own to love enough
To hate
To lose
The fever in my brain
Is leaving smoke behind my eyes
But the part of me that wants to change
Fights the part of me that tries
Come see the golden light
Cause I've turned the gold light on
Sometimes god knows
You gotta learn to shine, shine, shine shine, shine gold.
I stepped out of darkness
And for a moment
I'm only living by your kiss your kiss your kiss your kiss your
Lips your kiss
And now, just for now, our flesh and blood
Is more real than this
More real than this
I touched a tree
i touched a tree.
It said, feel me,
the cracked bark.
I am you.
i tipped my fingers
in the lake.
It said, flow with me,
me too, I am you.
i touched a bird.
It said, feel my feathers,
see my wings.
You are me.
I took a breath
of the wind.
It said, listen to me,
my rhythm. You are me.
I held your hand.
Now you are part of me,
how will i know
when I am part of you?
On my way home
I met a rose, nodding
at me. It said:
I am a rose.
There was nothing
more to say.
Bob Dylan, Visions of Johanna
Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind
In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the "D" train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it's him or them that's insane
Louise, she's all right, she's just near
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the "D" train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it's him or them that's insane
Louise, she's all right, she's just near
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place
Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall
How can I explain?
It's so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall
How can I explain?
It's so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn
Inside the museums, infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeez, I can't find my knees"
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeez, I can't find my knees"
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel
The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him
Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him"
But like Louise always says
"Ya can't look at much, can ya man?"
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain
Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him"
But like Louise always says
"Ya can't look at much, can ya man?"
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain
to walk out of patterns, thoughts on poetry
the beginning of life starts as a jump.
first there is breathing. then hunger,digestion, sleep.
to hear which has started in the womb continues with a memory of the rythm inside. slowly to see with eyes which cannot be held open for long yet, a sensual experience of touch and space: and all perception is in the soul and in the body without words and thought inbetween, unperturbed by
the workings of the mind which is yet to grow. the newborn is unprotected and has no thorns.
in the beginning of poetry there are speechlessness and wind.
but now our mind is awake. we have travelled further, our seeing and hearing
occurs in the mind, we have given names to everything, we carry memories and fears and our egos.
we have developed patterns of discerning 'things' and 'people' . we learned to perceive the world, the earth, the trees and the animals to occur outside, separated from us by our physical and mental skins.
in the beginning of poetry there are wonder and desire.
still we find these moments of a pure sensual experience of the earth, moments of wonder ,
we know again that we are a part of the animals, the flowers, the mountains,
the sea, the earth.
the desire to be one comes to us like a memory, to be one with all.
in the inncocence of wonder we meet the living ability to express ourselves and our experience
just as the earth expresses itself in us and in the rivers and birds and forests.
in the beginning of poetry is silence. in the beginning of all art is an empty mind.
in poetry we cannot transfer the pauses as music does, we only can give the rhythm of our inner breath . this is a very physical breathing at the same time.
we transform experience and memory in our mind to walk out in words.
words again are not mathematical and abstract as music but social agents with their meaning lost in translation.
the poem is lost experience in nascendi and it is the creation of another experience.
as such a poem is not communication, and nothing can be achieved by writing poetry.
the step from experience to communication begins with shared experience and not with words.
poetry shows us the limits of words and the corruption of experience by education and
our social present and past. it shows us the thorns and horns and thickets we have grown.
poetry has another language and enables a perspective for re-naming what we experience,
it lets us participate in the knowledge that we can re-explore our earth and ourselves.
first there is breathing. then hunger,digestion, sleep.
to hear which has started in the womb continues with a memory of the rythm inside. slowly to see with eyes which cannot be held open for long yet, a sensual experience of touch and space: and all perception is in the soul and in the body without words and thought inbetween, unperturbed by
the workings of the mind which is yet to grow. the newborn is unprotected and has no thorns.
in the beginning of poetry there are speechlessness and wind.
but now our mind is awake. we have travelled further, our seeing and hearing
occurs in the mind, we have given names to everything, we carry memories and fears and our egos.
we have developed patterns of discerning 'things' and 'people' . we learned to perceive the world, the earth, the trees and the animals to occur outside, separated from us by our physical and mental skins.
in the beginning of poetry there are wonder and desire.
still we find these moments of a pure sensual experience of the earth, moments of wonder ,
we know again that we are a part of the animals, the flowers, the mountains,
the sea, the earth.
the desire to be one comes to us like a memory, to be one with all.
in the inncocence of wonder we meet the living ability to express ourselves and our experience
just as the earth expresses itself in us and in the rivers and birds and forests.
in the beginning of poetry is silence. in the beginning of all art is an empty mind.
in poetry we cannot transfer the pauses as music does, we only can give the rhythm of our inner breath . this is a very physical breathing at the same time.
we transform experience and memory in our mind to walk out in words.
words again are not mathematical and abstract as music but social agents with their meaning lost in translation.
the poem is lost experience in nascendi and it is the creation of another experience.
as such a poem is not communication, and nothing can be achieved by writing poetry.
the step from experience to communication begins with shared experience and not with words.
poetry shows us the limits of words and the corruption of experience by education and
our social present and past. it shows us the thorns and horns and thickets we have grown.
poetry has another language and enables a perspective for re-naming what we experience,
it lets us participate in the knowledge that we can re-explore our earth and ourselves.
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