One Art The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing […]
Poetry
What Spring Does with the Cherry Trees
After seeing yesterday’s posting of the Eastern Redbud in full rapture, my friend Sally Reed reminded me of this exquisite and sensual poem by Neruda: Every Day You Play Every day you play with the light of the universe. Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water. You are more than this white […]
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Lots of Language, and Not
I’m off to New York for the “Coast of Utopia” 3 play marathon on Saturday. Given Stoppard’s legendary love of words (“He uses too many!” says my friend Joseph Gifford), here’s a poem to commemorate the other end of that spectrum, where language is underspoken and unfinished… Ars Poetica would it wake the drowned out […]
- Art/Language
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Rilke: Pushing Through
It’s possible I am pushing through solid rock in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone; I am such a long way in I see no way through, and no space: everything is close to my face, and everything close to my face is stone. I don’t have much knowledge yet in grief so this […]
Ahmad Shamlu: This Crow
I Am Still Thinking About This Crow I am still thinking about this crow that with its pair of black scissors— by two brisk swishing sounds— cut an aslant arc on the matte paper of the sky over the toasted wheat farms of the Yush valley; I am still thinking about this crow that facing […]
Strange Writings and Star-Charts
Stone Go inside a stone. That would be my way. Let somebody else become a dove Or gnash with a tiger’s tooth. I am happy to be a stone. From the outside the stone is a riddle: No one knows how to answer it. Yet within, it must be cool and quiet Even though a […]
Ramanujan as Poet: Watching for the Last Step That’s Never There
The multifaceted Ramanujan (see my earlier posts about him) is also a poet. This poem continues to explore many of the same themes as his essay, “Is there an Indian way of thinking?” Chicago Zen i Now tidy your house, dust especially your living room and do not forget to name all your children. ii […]
Kabir: Swaying Between
Between the conscious and the unconscious, the mind has put up a swing: all earth creatures, even the supernovas, sway between these two trees, and it never winds down. Angels, animals, humans insects by the million, also the wheeling sun and moon; ages go by, and it goes on. Everything is swinging: heaven, earth, water, […]
Inside Talking to Inside
Donald Hall’s definition of poetry: human inside talking to human inside. It may also be reasonable person talking to reasonable person, but if it is not inside talking to inside, it is not a poem. This inside speaks through the second language. It is the ancient prong of carbon in the arc light. We all […]
The Love of Forms
Celestial Music I have a friend who still believes in heaven. Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God. She thinks someone listens in heaven. On earth she’s unusually competent. Brave too, able to face unpleasantness. We found a caterpillar dying in the dirt, greedy ants crawling over it. […]