Sunday, January 21, 2018
It's good to feel you are close to me, Pablo Neruda
It's good to feel you are close to me in the night, love,
invisible in your sleep, intently nocturnal,
while I untangle my worries
as if they were twisted nets.
Withdrawn, your heart sails through dream,
but your body, relinquished so, breathes
seeking me without seeing me perfecting my dream
like a plant that seeds itself in the dark.
Rising, you will be that other, alive in the dawn,
but from the frontiers lost in the night,
from the presence and the absence where we meet ourselves,
something remains, drawing us into the light of life
as if the sign of the shadows had sealed
its secret creatures with flame.
invisible in your sleep, intently nocturnal,
while I untangle my worries
as if they were twisted nets.
Withdrawn, your heart sails through dream,
but your body, relinquished so, breathes
seeking me without seeing me perfecting my dream
like a plant that seeds itself in the dark.
Rising, you will be that other, alive in the dawn,
but from the frontiers lost in the night,
from the presence and the absence where we meet ourselves,
something remains, drawing us into the light of life
as if the sign of the shadows had sealed
its secret creatures with flame.
Water, Pablo Neruda
Everything on the earth bristled, the bramble
pricked and the green thread
nibbled away, the petal fell, falling
until the only flower was the falling itself.
Water is another matter,
has no direction but its own bright grace,
runs through all imaginable colors,
takes limpid lessons
from stone,
and in those functionings plays out
the unrealized ambitions of the foam.
note:
don't like translation much
pricked and the green thread
nibbled away, the petal fell, falling
until the only flower was the falling itself.
Water is another matter,
has no direction but its own bright grace,
runs through all imaginable colors,
takes limpid lessons
from stone,
and in those functionings plays out
the unrealized ambitions of the foam.
note:
don't like translation much
Again, Tailor Bell
Every night I must give up to
the next day
Grow tired, retreat and fade away
My heart calling out for more time
My thoughts drifting off among
the sublime
So I pray in the spare
of lucidness
My hopes, my dreams,
my willingness
Yet into sleep I dive
full forward hurl
This other world might weigh
my mortal soil
To steal along the rich
and heady clay then
Slain by rising violins
So I must fall
And thus...I just fall...
Again
the next day
Grow tired, retreat and fade away
My heart calling out for more time
My thoughts drifting off among
the sublime
So I pray in the spare
of lucidness
My hopes, my dreams,
my willingness
Yet into sleep I dive
full forward hurl
This other world might weigh
my mortal soil
To steal along the rich
and heady clay then
Slain by rising violins
So I must fall
And thus...I just fall...
Again
skiing across
skiing across
sinking and gliding
in deep pure snow,
breathing hard,
sweat in the cold,
slowly find rhythm,
discover strength,
leave the mind
which fills with mirrors
of the evening sky.
a cock crows
and the black birds
fall into the sound
circling above trees
and snow turning
from blue to this
delicate pink
in which i swim
and find peace
not without pain
at the point of return.
sinking and gliding
in deep pure snow,
breathing hard,
sweat in the cold,
slowly find rhythm,
discover strength,
leave the mind
which fills with mirrors
of the evening sky.
a cock crows
and the black birds
fall into the sound
circling above trees
and snow turning
from blue to this
delicate pink
in which i swim
and find peace
not without pain
at the point of return.
I'm Nobody. And Who are You?, Emily Dickinson
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!
notes:
true, Mrs.Dickinson, nobody in many ways.
but you wrote.
you talked.
admiration is boring indeed.
and a lot of people admire the wrong stuff,the wrong nobody.
humans came out of the fog-but not all of them did.
as the basic starting point of meditation we are nobody,
in a way. in another way: not. neither one nor the other.
for the constant flow of consciousness, for the work of
the mind: narration is indispensable. we are somebody.
even when we talk only to ourselves and do not try out our
story on others.
to learn humility it is good to see oneself
as a frog in a bog.
the bog does in fact not admire the frog,
frog and bog are in synchronization,
they live.
and both are not thinking about this nor about
themselves.
and this is wonderful.
Liillian R. LIeber, Human Values and Science, Art and Mathematics, quote
"Now what about
the postulates themselves?
How can THEY be “proved”?
Obviously they
CANNOT be PROVED at all —
since there is nothing preceding them
from which to derive them!
This may seem disappointing to those who
thought that in
Mathematics
EVERYTHING is proved!
But you can see that
this is IMPOSSIBLE,
even in mathematics,
since EVERY SYSTEM must necessarily
START with POSTULATES,
and these are NOT provable,
since there is nothing preceding them
from which to derive them."
Lieber,Mathematics
the postulates themselves?
How can THEY be “proved”?
Obviously they
CANNOT be PROVED at all —
since there is nothing preceding them
from which to derive them!
This may seem disappointing to those who
thought that in
Mathematics
EVERYTHING is proved!
But you can see that
this is IMPOSSIBLE,
even in mathematics,
since EVERY SYSTEM must necessarily
START with POSTULATES,
and these are NOT provable,
since there is nothing preceding them
from which to derive them."
Lieber,Mathematics
Beirut , La LLorona
Se pierde en un beso, una verdad,
se acaba con mentiras,
se ahogan las penas,
se rompe la piel y salen las alas,
se cae desde el cielo al suelo,
se hace raíz o se
hacen figuras de papel.
No llores mas, no grites
no te esfuerces en pensar
que lo que paso, en el pasado quedara
Que lo que sera,
un futuro que en tus manos ya no esta
¿Que podrás hacer ahora?
Lo que no hiciste algún día,
lo que no harás jamas.
(Poeta Mexicano, Rikardo Guerrero Fb
El Vals de las palabras: Fb)
Mercedes Sosa ,Canción De Las Simples Cosas
Uno se despide, insensiblemente
de pequellas cosas
lo mismo que un arbol
que en tiempo de otoño
se queda sin hojas
al fin la tristeza es la muerte lenta
de las simples cosas
y esas cosas simples
que quedan doliendo
en el corazón
Uno vuelve siempre
a los viejos sitios
donde amo la vida
y entonces comprende
como estan de ausentes
las cosas queridas
por eso muchacho no partas ahora
soñando el regreso
que el amor es simple
y a las cosas simples las devora el tiempo
Enamorate aqui
en la luz mayor
de este medio dia
donde encontraras
con el panal sol
la mesa tendida
por eso muchacho no partas ahora
soñando el regreso
que el amor es simple
y a las cosas simples las devora en tiempo
diary note
i want to get out, disappear, don't know how to decently and at least gradually leave some
stuff which has built up as obligation coming from another place in me.
i feel so much revulsion and i wish to be free from an influence which makes me ill.
don't know at all how it could happen for so long.
i went through hell hoping for something good.
instinct told me no. always. instinct is experience refined.
i didn't want to know.
no.now i just meet emptiness. again and again. i say no.
as i am not empty i won't use the above kind of thing. although it would be my preference for suicide.
there is a life after death, green sprouts and shoots after fires, coming through the ashes and though i am exhausted, sad and burnt out, i am alive, isn't it.
i got old now, i lost years...
i will for myself look for joy , for other occupations, for long walks and steep paths above the sea,
for beauty.
i cannot listen anymore to the one i called you.
i go. and i don't want a girlfriend at all.
the images of human relationships and with them the division in parts with real knives
cause me disgust and make me feel sick to my bones.
i send the monsters away, but they can sleep next to me.
i leave longing, desire, hope and faith. i found nothing to reach there, with them i have been a boat out at sea, walked on water and got wet.
saying no is rising out of the role of victim, breaking prison walls.
i want to be my own breath and voice and will never separate from me anymore,
never get lost in translation and cynical intellectual games for all future from now.
no rash idiot judgements. no comparisons. no esoteric love. no gratefulness. no detached kindness. no nice words. i hate them. no emojis. i dislike them deeply. no conversations, the word says all.
please no 'models', no requests to change my perspective. it will change each day, each moment-for me.
and if i like to share something of that i will- or not.
no more truths, they are unbearably ugly.
love, it seems, is impossible - i didn't know until coming through the last years.
a survivor, not more. and this is a polite wording.
in between i cook, eat, enjoy life and complete laziness. even laugh. now rarely.
when i cannot do that anymore-see top of the page.
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