Je fais souvent ce rêve étrange et pénétrant
D'une femme inconnue, et que j'aime, et qui m'aime,
Et qui n'est, chaque fois, ni tout à fait la même
Ni tout à fait une autre, et m'aime et me comprend.
Car elle me comprend, et mon coeur transparent
Pour elle seule, hélas ! cesse d'être un problème
Pour elle seule, et les moiteurs de mon front blême,
Elle seule les sait rafraîchir, en pleurant.
Est-elle brune, blonde ou rousse ? --Je l'ignore.
Son nom ? Je me souviens qu'il est doux et sonore
Comme ceux des aimés que la Vie exila.
Son regard est pareil au regard des statues,
Et pour sa voix, lointaine, et calme, et grave, elle a
L'inflexion des voix chères qui se sont tues.
Paul VERLAINE, Poèmes saturniens (1866)
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
When a Woman Loves a Man
by David Lehman
When she says margarita she means daiquiri.
When she says quixotic she means mercurial.
And when she says, "I'll never speak to you again,"
she means, "Put your arms around me from behind
as I stand disconsolate at the window."
He's supposed to know that.
When a man loves a woman he is in New York and she is in Virginia
or he is in Boston, writing, and she is in New York, reading,
or she is wearing a sweater and sunglasses in Balboa Park and he
is raking leaves in Ithaca
or he is driving to East Hampton and she is standing disconsolate
at the window overlooking the bay
where a regatta of many-colored sails is going on
while he is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway.
When a woman loves a man it is one ten in the morning
she is asleep he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels
drinking lemonade
and two hours later he wakes up and staggers into bed
where she remains asleep and very warm.
When she says tomorrow she means in three or four weeks.
When she says, "We're talking about me now,"
he stops talking. Her best friend comes over and says,
"Did somebody die?"
When a woman loves a man, they have gone
to swim naked in the stream
on a glorious July day
with the sound of the waterfall like a chuckle
of water rushing over smooth rocks,
and there is nothing alien in the universe.
Ripe apples fall about them.
What else can they do but eat?
When he says, "Ours is a transitional era,"
"that's very original of you," she replies,
dry as the martini he is sipping.
They fight all the time
It's fun
What do I owe you?
Let's start with an apology
Ok, I'm sorry, you dickhead.
A sign is held up saying "Laughter."
It's a silent picture.
"I've been fucked without a kiss," she says,
"and you can quote me on that,"
which sounds great in an English accent.
One year they broke up seven times and threatened to do it
another nine times.
When a woman loves a man, she wants him to meet her at the
airport in a foreign country with a jeep.
When a man loves a woman he's there. He doesn't complain that
she's two hours late
and there's nothing in the refrigerator.
When a woman loves a man, she wants to stay awake.
She's like a child crying
at nightfall because she didn't want the day to end.
When a man loves a woman, he watches her sleep, thinking:
as midnight to the moon is sleep to the beloved.
A thousand fireflies wink at him.
The frogs sound like the string section
of the orchestra warming up.
The stars dangle down like earrings the shape of grapes.
When she says margarita she means daiquiri.
When she says quixotic she means mercurial.
And when she says, "I'll never speak to you again,"
she means, "Put your arms around me from behind
as I stand disconsolate at the window."
He's supposed to know that.
When a man loves a woman he is in New York and she is in Virginia
or he is in Boston, writing, and she is in New York, reading,
or she is wearing a sweater and sunglasses in Balboa Park and he
is raking leaves in Ithaca
or he is driving to East Hampton and she is standing disconsolate
at the window overlooking the bay
where a regatta of many-colored sails is going on
while he is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway.
When a woman loves a man it is one ten in the morning
she is asleep he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels
drinking lemonade
and two hours later he wakes up and staggers into bed
where she remains asleep and very warm.
When she says tomorrow she means in three or four weeks.
When she says, "We're talking about me now,"
he stops talking. Her best friend comes over and says,
"Did somebody die?"
When a woman loves a man, they have gone
to swim naked in the stream
on a glorious July day
with the sound of the waterfall like a chuckle
of water rushing over smooth rocks,
and there is nothing alien in the universe.
Ripe apples fall about them.
What else can they do but eat?
When he says, "Ours is a transitional era,"
"that's very original of you," she replies,
dry as the martini he is sipping.
They fight all the time
It's fun
What do I owe you?
Let's start with an apology
Ok, I'm sorry, you dickhead.
A sign is held up saying "Laughter."
It's a silent picture.
"I've been fucked without a kiss," she says,
"and you can quote me on that,"
which sounds great in an English accent.
One year they broke up seven times and threatened to do it
another nine times.
When a woman loves a man, she wants him to meet her at the
airport in a foreign country with a jeep.
When a man loves a woman he's there. He doesn't complain that
she's two hours late
and there's nothing in the refrigerator.
When a woman loves a man, she wants to stay awake.
She's like a child crying
at nightfall because she didn't want the day to end.
When a man loves a woman, he watches her sleep, thinking:
as midnight to the moon is sleep to the beloved.
A thousand fireflies wink at him.
The frogs sound like the string section
of the orchestra warming up.
The stars dangle down like earrings the shape of grapes.
IN SPITE OF WAR CRIMES
I believe in Love though Love is absent …
I believe in Beauty though Beauty is rent …
I believe in God though God is silent …
I believe in Life though Life is spent …
by Steven O'Brien
Based on an unsigned inscription in a cave where Jews had been hiding during the Second World War.
I believe in Beauty though Beauty is rent …
I believe in God though God is silent …
I believe in Life though Life is spent …
by Steven O'Brien
Based on an unsigned inscription in a cave where Jews had been hiding during the Second World War.
Lines for Winter
Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself--
inside the dome of dark
or under the crackling white of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the samll fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.
~ Mark Strand
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself--
inside the dome of dark
or under the crackling white of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the samll fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.
~ Mark Strand
Okay
I have nothing but faith to go on
Everything real is telling me to go on
You led to the rise and then the demise
Of the trust I put in your eyes.
But I turn the key into your relief.
Let myself into the world of belief,
Because something in the ones we once were
Is telling me it is something we can never alter.
I remember a sad town
And a cold night,
And the lit window of a train...
And that train departing
Taking away something of me;
I no longer remember when...
I no longer remember who;
But I do remember that it was a trip
For a lifetime,
And that the last gesture
Was a gesture of disdain
Because it left behind it's love
Without farewell...
Like a suitcase,
Left on the platform
--Luis Cernuda
And a cold night,
And the lit window of a train...
And that train departing
Taking away something of me;
I no longer remember when...
I no longer remember who;
But I do remember that it was a trip
For a lifetime,
And that the last gesture
Was a gesture of disdain
Because it left behind it's love
Without farewell...
Like a suitcase,
Left on the platform
--Luis Cernuda
Murió Al Amanecer
Noche de cuatro lunas
y un solo árbol,
con una sola sombra
y un solo pájaro.
Busco en mi carne las
huellas de tus labios.
El manantial besa al viento
sin tocarlo.
Llevo el No que me diste,
en la palma de la mano,
como un limón de cera
casi blanco.
Noche de cuatro lunas
y un solo árbol,
En la punta de una aguja,
está mi amor ¡girando!
~ Federico García Lorca
y un solo árbol,
con una sola sombra
y un solo pájaro.
Busco en mi carne las
huellas de tus labios.
El manantial besa al viento
sin tocarlo.
Llevo el No que me diste,
en la palma de la mano,
como un limón de cera
casi blanco.
Noche de cuatro lunas
y un solo árbol,
En la punta de una aguja,
está mi amor ¡girando!
~ Federico García Lorca
Unwhole
I have always deemed me better,
Above all basity.
But when you look at me without a smile,
Or not at all,
It strikes me that I am not, after all,
An entity.
Above all basity.
But when you look at me without a smile,
Or not at all,
It strikes me that I am not, after all,
An entity.
Sleepless Dreams
by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Girt in dark growths, yet glimmering with one star,
O night desirous as the nights of youth!
Why should my heart within thy spell, forsooth,
Now beat, as the bride’s finger-pulses are
Quickened within the girdling golden bar?
What wings are these that fan my pillow smooth?
And why does Sleep, waved back by Joy and Ruth,
Tread softly round and gaze at me from far?
Nay, night deep-leaved! And would Love feign in thee
Some shadowy palpitating grove that bears
Rest for man’s eyes and music for his ears?
O lonely night! art thou not known to me,
A thicket hung with masks of mockery
And watered with the wasteful warmth of tears?
Girt in dark growths, yet glimmering with one star,
O night desirous as the nights of youth!
Why should my heart within thy spell, forsooth,
Now beat, as the bride’s finger-pulses are
Quickened within the girdling golden bar?
What wings are these that fan my pillow smooth?
And why does Sleep, waved back by Joy and Ruth,
Tread softly round and gaze at me from far?
Nay, night deep-leaved! And would Love feign in thee
Some shadowy palpitating grove that bears
Rest for man’s eyes and music for his ears?
O lonely night! art thou not known to me,
A thicket hung with masks of mockery
And watered with the wasteful warmth of tears?
Looking
I am looking for the sun
In the eyes of one
Whose gaze
Will warm into my heart
To awaken spring
And bloom the blossoms of my love.
I saw the sun
I drove East
and back West as the sun rose.
With nothing to tint my thoughts
but the hum of the road,
I let my mind reach out
to the colors in the sky.
When I set out
the sky was still black,
save for a growing sliver
of bursting color on the horizon
and with each new beam,
the darkness
and my mood
lifted.
I felt the ceiling of the sky rise
and it filled with violets and roses,
and in my heart
a new feeling was born,
one as large and bright
as the growing morn.
I was driving towards the day,
rushing to meet it on my journey East,
and I drove in awe
that it should seem
to hurry to my meeting also.
All the strangeness of the night lightened,
and all at once,
was gone.
For finally, it was morning.
I turned back home,
feeling,
as I went,
the warming sun behind my back.
There looking forward and away from the dawning,
I realized the sun was all around –
and the awe I felt while driving to it
gave way to its permanent dwelling in my soul.
For the sun
is always East or West from where I am,
no matter how long or strange the night
it will always rise
and it is always dawn.
I, the pentadactyl
Look at these outlets of flesh,
Each a port to ships,
bearing Midas’s touch, and duplicates of Ozymandias,
king of kings.
Each laden with pearls,
with skins so white, and hair so bright,
drugged proofs, of empires’ deaths.
Each vessel
steered to the command
of half blind, limping commanders.
Look at these phallic jokes.
Holding objects,
even more abject and lewd.
Each finger probing inside, nearing the gut,
raping the shame,
tearing the guilt, of virgin life.
Each finger, digging deeper in an ubiquitous race.
The sacrifice of white clad, unsullied brides,
because the hand
could not contain its onus.
Look at these, ten of these
instruments of kill.
Look at these vultures to a world of Prometheus,
these Titans to a world of Zeus.
Look at these, and then bring your ears
closer to their lips of finger nails
hear their words,
and know that these fingers,
are not willing harbors to pestilent mites,
nor form consious part of my body.
Each a port to ships,
bearing Midas’s touch, and duplicates of Ozymandias,
king of kings.
Each laden with pearls,
with skins so white, and hair so bright,
drugged proofs, of empires’ deaths.
Each vessel
steered to the command
of half blind, limping commanders.
Look at these phallic jokes.
Holding objects,
even more abject and lewd.
Each finger probing inside, nearing the gut,
raping the shame,
tearing the guilt, of virgin life.
Each finger, digging deeper in an ubiquitous race.
The sacrifice of white clad, unsullied brides,
because the hand
could not contain its onus.
Look at these, ten of these
instruments of kill.
Look at these vultures to a world of Prometheus,
these Titans to a world of Zeus.
Look at these, and then bring your ears
closer to their lips of finger nails
hear their words,
and know that these fingers,
are not willing harbors to pestilent mites,
nor form consious part of my body.
Portrait: Black on White
I often envision my father
In images of moments
As he acts out his epics.
This one is absurdly vague and insanely accurate.
Set against the big screen of enigma,
The pose howls defiance:
My father resisting definition
Turns himself from the lens.
The beholder is flustered and enchanted,
Discovering him by default.
It is a perfect picture vision.
His eyes pierce through the print,
And shoot marvels.
He has carved himself a palace
In the madhouse of the backdrop,
Where he stands regal,
And laughing.
A snapshot ode, for the one I love most.
From this portrait
Stems an unorthodox fascination.
My father stands alone
To armies of ignorant paparazzi,
Ready with smile and wit,
In his left hand.
In images of moments
As he acts out his epics.
This one is absurdly vague and insanely accurate.
Set against the big screen of enigma,
The pose howls defiance:
My father resisting definition
Turns himself from the lens.
The beholder is flustered and enchanted,
Discovering him by default.
It is a perfect picture vision.
His eyes pierce through the print,
And shoot marvels.
He has carved himself a palace
In the madhouse of the backdrop,
Where he stands regal,
And laughing.
A snapshot ode, for the one I love most.
From this portrait
Stems an unorthodox fascination.
My father stands alone
To armies of ignorant paparazzi,
Ready with smile and wit,
In his left hand.
...corruption...
Softly seeping
Openly beaten
swaying
The melody is ended.
My love,
again
is unsure.
I walk away.
I think I know then doubt sets in.
Iwalk back.
I am swiftly soaring
Then heavenly crashing.
Circling steps
and
light cadence.
I lose hope, then those lips again.
Openly beaten
swaying
The melody is ended.
My love,
again
is unsure.
I walk away.
I think I know then doubt sets in.
Iwalk back.
I am swiftly soaring
Then heavenly crashing.
Circling steps
and
light cadence.
I lose hope, then those lips again.
Meditating after heart break
thick intrinsic gold and daisy
paths wave incense smoke like
until the tussle end.
and i follow them
from my plump Olympian down and spring.
my eyes steer off the fringed limits
and blur.
the carpetupians are right:
past their world life melts into salty rivers.
paths wave incense smoke like
until the tussle end.
and i follow them
from my plump Olympian down and spring.
my eyes steer off the fringed limits
and blur.
the carpetupians are right:
past their world life melts into salty rivers.
The Sun
The sun IS dancing on my face.
I know because he waltzed on my lip.
The sun HAS many lovers,
I know because I spent the day in his arms.
The sun DOES sing ballads.
I know because one just kissed my ear.
The sun IS beautiful like you
I know because he makes me as blind.
I know because he waltzed on my lip.
The sun HAS many lovers,
I know because I spent the day in his arms.
The sun DOES sing ballads.
I know because one just kissed my ear.
The sun IS beautiful like you
I know because he makes me as blind.
death
chalk dust stars flash
as the winged symphony starts a new Requiem
and I start to sway, giddy with craze,to the lace like wailings
until I fall,desperate for motion
and walk out as I land.
there’s a pin hole beam
close to where God is.
Opus in Grief
‘I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.’
-Rumi
You stood against the night
Smiling and nervous.
I let you in and watched you
Like one admires a God: in awe.
A million words passing through our eyes,
I knelt there, waiting, shivering.
We were too close in our urgency to see one another,
Enveloped in our shared warmth and scent,
Unraveling into pools of cotton and buckles.
Strange beautiful insomnia that night.
And as morning crept in,
And I forgot to look at you in the dawn clarity
You promised me eternity
Without parting your lips.
There was also the night when
Drunk on a thousand thoughts and tipsy on love,
You lay with me in the grass,
Hearing words of songs I completely forget.
You looked up and where I looked down,
Our eyes met with such intensity...
And while the world around us
Was busy being worldly and human
You whispered your love a million times over
And let it grow inside me.
Even in your weakness
In the impotence of the night
You towered over me
With your splendor.
That is how I remember you
By singular solitary images
There is also the one of you walking
Down the gray asphalt
Clouds drifting around us.
Your step light and strong, shoulders back
Your hands already holding me, ten meters away...
Even now the love I feel for you
The tip of my finger can only graze,
And my mind only phanthom.
‘... the sun never sets here...’
It is true we never saw it take rest
High as we were
On top of the world.
From friendship we grew into our world of love
Bending in through a secret.
From enmity, worse: indifference
Into this precocious rhapsody.
Just when I began to know love,
Just as I began to enter its million mile threshold,
All the world ceased and began simultaneously to exist.
In one second my life had melted.
Your presence having found its resting place
In the deepest crevice of my soul, yanked out.
The last image
Is the one of the small alcove above two lovers
Desperately hanging on to life
And the back of your body clearing a path away
The price of kissing is your life.’
-Rumi
You stood against the night
Smiling and nervous.
I let you in and watched you
Like one admires a God: in awe.
A million words passing through our eyes,
I knelt there, waiting, shivering.
We were too close in our urgency to see one another,
Enveloped in our shared warmth and scent,
Unraveling into pools of cotton and buckles.
Strange beautiful insomnia that night.
And as morning crept in,
And I forgot to look at you in the dawn clarity
You promised me eternity
Without parting your lips.
There was also the night when
Drunk on a thousand thoughts and tipsy on love,
You lay with me in the grass,
Hearing words of songs I completely forget.
You looked up and where I looked down,
Our eyes met with such intensity...
And while the world around us
Was busy being worldly and human
You whispered your love a million times over
And let it grow inside me.
Even in your weakness
In the impotence of the night
You towered over me
With your splendor.
That is how I remember you
By singular solitary images
There is also the one of you walking
Down the gray asphalt
Clouds drifting around us.
Your step light and strong, shoulders back
Your hands already holding me, ten meters away...
Even now the love I feel for you
The tip of my finger can only graze,
And my mind only phanthom.
‘... the sun never sets here...’
It is true we never saw it take rest
High as we were
On top of the world.
From friendship we grew into our world of love
Bending in through a secret.
From enmity, worse: indifference
Into this precocious rhapsody.
Just when I began to know love,
Just as I began to enter its million mile threshold,
All the world ceased and began simultaneously to exist.
In one second my life had melted.
Your presence having found its resting place
In the deepest crevice of my soul, yanked out.
The last image
Is the one of the small alcove above two lovers
Desperately hanging on to life
And the back of your body clearing a path away
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