The nakedness of my recent display is clothed pants I could borrow? Anybody got an extra pair of friend, and the wounds of a friend go deep indeed. No foe is more terrible than he who has been your only by the shy flush of shame. A bit poetry now, as an elegy for the serene disciple...
When in the soul of ~Thomas Merton my lost clothing and my lost friend: When in the soul of say the roof is gone: It is a small thing to need of comment.
There is no longer any the serene disciple That blew away his halo drowned his reputation. A lucky sea that emptiness like an affliction. His God lives in his with his cares,
Well, to be ordinary is I spoke with you, My love, this evening when actions I could read and in your fact and not a choice: that arguments or words you open to your view.
my heart I longed to my wishes knew In this intention, Love would not heed, pouring in tears that heart dissolved anew. with every beat my your calm corrupt.
let no suspicious thought sorrow had conceived, with foolish gloom by saw and touched for now, this afternoon, you in you hands. my heart, dissolved and liquid futile doubt enhanced,
Written for the Nativity of Alexandria, Oaxaca, 1691 Saint's Day of Catherine of the greatest mystical writers in Spanish literature. Sor Juana de la Cruz is one of our Lord, Pueblo, 1689 To escape marriage, she entered a convent, and, from her cell, poured out a river of brilliant work of by Andrew Harvey.
From The Essential Gay Mystics the greatest mystical writers in Spanish literature. Sor Juana de la Cruz is one of every kind and kept up a series of passionate relationships with aristocratic women, including several succeeding vicereines. To escape marriage, she entered a convent, and, from her cell, poured out a river of brilliant work of by Andrew Harvey.[/font] From The Essential Gay Mystics movie! (I was busy relating to the heroine the entire time.
: Have you seen "Yo la pejor de todas?" I loved that every kind and kept up a series of passionate relationships with aristocratic women, including several succeeding vicereines. Here are two poems by Edna St Vincent Millay (another writer I two grey eyes was taught me out of ends this next poem: *** My favorite stanza of Millay's identify with, she reminds me of myself in some ways:
Love has gone and left me and -and would that night were here! Eat I must and sleep I will hear the slow hours strike! But ah! - to lie awake and the days are all alike; Would that it were day again! I don't know what to do;
Love has gone and left me and is all the same to me; This or that or what you will - with twilight near! But all the things that I begin far as I can see. There's little use in anything as and the neighbors knock and borrow,
Love has gone and left me, - I leave before I'm through - And life goes on forever like the tomorrow and tomorrow And tomorrow and tomorrow and this little house. There's this little street, and gnawing of a mouse, -
Both poems are found in "Renascence ISBN 0486-26873-x already posted! They're great! I love love the ones and other poems." Dover. I love poems, but these are 2 that I the wind blowing.
Have you ever listened to you've lost sight? helping you to see, when happen to still have in my inbox... when you didn't have what they say, so listen closely to all life's riches.
and they'll bring you it to spare, as they guide you an obvious emotion, A hug can express have fallen apart. when you feel you along your way.
To help each other you care for them, or to let someone know so easy to share. That's why a hug is through the days There the more usual, them.
but I like here so far. I love what is simple poems... I always felt like I and started reading Anne Sexton. Then, I recently found out about hand way too soon, too young.
Like many great writers, gone by her own just couldn't "get" poetry. But, again, a long version of one that been sealed off For months my hand had box. in a tin just struck me as all powerful:
Nothing was there but have locked it up. and that is why they it lay there quietly. But when I looked in subway railings. You could tell time by its five knuckles.
like a clock, by an unconscious woman It lay there like this, I thought, fed by tubes she the palm was old, I turned it over and and blind in places.
It was fat and soft knew not of. Her tails wags in the case of dog food. I'm no better than a except for buttons They live in school swamp for a frog.
He comes with the house made by my mother he lives in a machine job, his job. and well oiled by his and even at night but only in my like a blood clot.
Life rushed to my fingers and in Vienna. They dance in the attic head, my head. My hand is alive this is the kingdom Nothing will stop it, for poetry is captivating.
...the mysticism in Sor Juana's all over America. I'm even more intrigued, after reading the first of your offerings, to see that it was written for the Nativity...wow! introduction to the particular beauties of Spanish poetry and thought as well. One of my last classes at Northwestern was "Spanish Song." It was my composer Guastavino...settings of poems by Fransisco de Quevedo. I sang a set of songs by the Argentinian So I must go back again and walk with this ancient sister to experience (if I can) her ecstasy.
I'd say it was my favorite set from my recital, but book of Edna St. ...I really need to get a poetry. Vincent Millay's that wouldn't be true because I loved everything I sang. I have only come across a few of nudge inside to pick up one of her books.
Yet to this point I have never taken seriously the Noble in Evanston.... There's a new Barnes & hers, but each has been so beautiful. Jennifer...I'm delighted that you are reading poetry! Very precocious of you! school, but consistently took home "C's" for any assignment that dealt with poetry. I was an excellent reader, and always got very good grades in literature in high simple that every heart can relate.
And, your "simple" poems express truths so Like Vanessa, I never understood poetry..certainly not at your age. Vanessa...I was just thinking about hands before I "get" poetry, and coincidentally, there was a hand in the first poem that I really ever understood...that transformed me: What a wonderful metaphor in Sexton's little "biography of a hand." As I said, it took me awhile to the fragrant Mignonettes*, Place on the table hauled myself out of bed this morning.
And let us again may secretly hold it, Give me your hand, that I the same to me, And if anyone sees, it's all speak of love, Just give me one of breathes perfume today,
Every grave blooms and the dead are free, One day in the year, yes, your sweet glances, Come to my heart, that I yellowish white flowers having an intense spicy fragrance.The above is translated from German. *Reseda odorata--A Mediterranean woody annual widely cultivated for its dense terminal spikelike clusters greenish or from the famous song setting by Richard Strauss.
A poem by Hermann von Gilm--"Allerseelen." I know it may have you again, I was accompanying a mezzo-soprano in 1994, and singer at all) and translated the German. So, I sat down one day (not then a music! How does that work?? It was a mystery to me! I fell in love with the words, and immediately was able to play the I couldn't play the piano part.
A couple years ago The Art Institute of It was so beautiful to see such love recorded from the 1800's! One of the tiny little portraits was of "Two men smiling...secretly holding hands." Oh! of May...with a man whose Italian last name translates to "beautiful May." Sigh.... Last year, I had only the second real love relationship of my life...for one happy month Chicago had an exhibit of old . God ! This whole
Yes, Allerseelen. having a whole aura about it, in a few short moments. It went, for me, from being just another sentimental German poem to thing is so beautiful! I used to go to Austria every summer for a summer program, and then the first. I never met had known her sang songs, one of them was Allerseelen.
There was a memorial concert in her honor, and those who the founders died within about a year or two of each other. Then the other founder passed away very suddenly only a year or so later, and I need to add this - if it the Festsaal, standing-room only concert, holding my husband's hand and remembering our friend. Now, whenever I even *think* of Allerseelen, I am standing in the back of la peor de todas', it's about Sor Juana. For Spanish mysticism, let me totally recommend the movie 'Yo had not been for her, I would have never met my husband - and again we were singing to her memory.
English" "I the worst of Wish I could see it. That old picture sounds beautiful!!!! up by now! I'm sure Life has some tremendous happiness in store for you and some incredibly lucky guy. Also, I find it difficult to believe that with all your passion, affection, and openness, some lucky person hasn't utterly snapped you all." Gripping film. My heart was full this for hours,
I used to swing like war or death, I did not care for of softening showers, I was glad to than you thought I was much further out him his heart gave way,
It must have been too cold for draw my breath. Oh, no no no, it out all my life I was much too far my only contact with her and where you can find a bit more of her. - I just know of this mystic poet from Andrew Harvey's book, which, unfortunately- - is was too cold always.
This morning, as I was making breakfast and John was getting read to go off and play the organ, we listened to the radio broadcast of the Unitarian church wasn't invented until the 1880's. We forget that the word homosexual a different world. Before then, well, it was across town where the sermon was about Walt Whitman, who, I was surprised to learn, was not criticised for his homoerotic/brotherly love poetry until after his death. He is credited with having some sort of religious/illuminating experience means he fell in Love.
Of course, to my mind, this hero, speaker, or general, I was reserving it for some which resulted in a remarkable series of works. One who should serve the good old some daring rebel; Some brave confronter of despots, to you just as much as any.
But I see what I was reserving belongs cause, the great idea, the progress I raise the present roots, the present on the past,) (As some perenial tree out of its and fuse the immortal laws, With time and space I him dilate on the past,
To make himself by them me to Whitman. Seems already beat favorite Poets as well. He is one of my the law unto himself. Excerpt from: Out of the Cradle the boys soul)
Demon or bird! (said or is it really to me? Is it indeed toward you mate you sing? Endlessly Rocking by Walt Whitman For I, that was a child, my tongues I am for, I awake, Now in a moment I know what clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours,
And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, use sleeping, now I have heard you, A thousand warbling echoes have started to by yourself, projecting me, O you singers solitary, singing shall I cease perpetuating you, O solitary me listening, never more life within me, never to die.
Never more shall I escape, love be absent from me, Never more the cries of unsatisfied I was before what there in the night, Never again leave me to be the peaceful child never more the reverberations, By the sea under the the sweet hell within,
The messenger there aroused, the fire, destiny of me. The unknown want, the yellow and sagging moon, Okay go rent 'Yo la pejor de film showings, came home to my dorm room where I cried and cried. I saw it a few years ago in grad school at one of their me of myself.
I love Millay who reminds todas', cool film about Sor Juana. But my favorite poet is the him yet on this thread. I'm surprised no one has mentioned original Spanish because I can hear them then as he heard them. Even though I don't speak Spanish, I prefer to read his poems in the genius Federico Garcia Lorca.
He was a music lover (played piano, loved Debussy and the the Llanto por Ignacio Sanchez Mejias, you want to be. Especially you singer gentlemen, and , if you aren't acquainted with them mourning the death of his friend who was a bullfighter, who died from being gored in the ring. It's 4 poems long, must be read in Spanish even if like me you don't know the language! He wrote wandering gypsies) and his poems are innately musical and rhythmic. It's too long to include here, but the first la tarde.
A las cinco de de la tarde. Eran las cinco en punto poem in the Llanto musically repeats the cadence: (because bull fights always began at even reading it in English you will see why it stops my breath: I'll type here a translation of the 4th poem, my favorite of these, hopefully fig tree knows you,
Neither the bull nor the 5 in the afternoon.) neither horses nor the ants for all time. because you have died where you crumble. nor the black satin of your home.
Not even your silent with its conches, The autumn will come to see your eyes but no one will want memory knows you Because you have died of this Earth,
like all the dead know you. No one will for all time, But I will profile and your grace. I will sing for posterity your taste of its mouth.
Your appetite for death and the sing you. Much time will pass before rich in adventure. an Andalusian so luminous, so words that moan, I sing his elegance with there is born,
and recall a sad breeze work along lake Michigan every morning. Mmmmmm....such wonderful stuff here! Mia...I bike to poor drowning swimmer is on my mind. It's been a cranky lake this week, and your through the olive trees. I also found an old story I wrote a long time ago about floating around here, though.
Too long to share check out Whitman. I really need to alone in the water while an imbecile never let me on board his ship. I think I tried to read him too Whitman...my taste then did not yet embrace his freedom of form. I was really into Longfellow, Keats and Tennyson when I tried to read poems of Garcia Lorca.
, I have the collected early, and developed a silly aversion. I believe you are right, it's good but oh...how lovely. It's exhausting for me, years for his friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, who died suddenly. Here's some Tennyson...stanzas from In Memoriam, written over a period of three to read him in the Spanish.
And falling with my up to God, That slope thro' darkness faith, and grope, I stretch lame hands of weight of cares And gather dust and Lord of all,
To what I feel is of nobler tone; He past a soul chaff, and call My spirit loved and heart is set Like some poor girl whose exceeds her own.
On one whose rank loves him yet, She finds the baseness knows not what, Half jealous of she meet him there. And envying all that of her lot,
In that dark house where day draws by; And tease her till the vain am I! At night she weeps, 'How she was born. How should he love a dead man's face,
As sometimes in a more and more, To those that watch it thing so low?' Comes out--to some one brows are cold, So, dearest, now thy art, and know.
I see thee what thou of his race; Thy kindred with the I can see, But there is more than I leave unsaid, And what I see, great of old.
Nor speak it, knowing like read at the ceremony of my death: Not too well known, but this is one I would grave and weep. Do not stand at my Death has made I am not sleep.
I do not winds that blow. I am a thousand there. I am the diamond on ripened grain. I am the sunlight the morning hush.
When you wake in glint on snow. I am the soft a blissful heart May all creatures be of big...short or small Frail or firm...long or starlight at night.
Seen or unseen, swelling up some Rumi, Anne Sexton, Edna St. I went to the bookstore this afternoon, and picked book of Michelangelo's poetry. Vincent Millay, and a new bilingual far or near Hooray! Also , I watched "I the Worst my favorite...Thomas Merton..
Another of my favorites from obscure, silent and brief I know my time, which is of All." It was wonderful!!! Wow! For I am present without valleys I become serpent. When sun rises on the brass the dark and to no man.
Though I show my true self only in warning one night only. (For I appear by night nor day. I belong neither to my deep white bell Sun and city never see day as serpent)
Or know my timeless to my munificence. There is no reply my sudden Eucharist When I come I lift moment of void: Clean and total I obey art but wrought passion.
I am intricate and whole, not of viriginal thirst. I am the extreme purity the world's body I neither show my truth all my impeccable bell When I open once for out of my mouth.
The all-knowing bird of night flies nor conceal it Have you seen it? Then though the same again. You will never be American poems: Earth Always Endures. This is from a book of Native my mirth has quickly ended.
Stentliha, you are good, I pray carry me through a long life, I pray for feet like yours to life like yours. I pray for a for a long life. I walk with people, ahead of as long as I live.
I pray for people to smile live with you where the good people are. I pray, I say, for a long life to me all is well; I wish the people there to speak of things with me, as a brother. I wish you to divide your good is goodness.
Ahead of me goodness and to talk to me. Stentliha (Woman without Parents) is the Banks, p.201 Rumi- The Essential Rumi- Coleman my secret lies. Pretty women wonder where chief goddess of the Apache.
I'm not cute or built to to tell them, But when I start of my arms It's in the reach suit a fashion model's size It's in the arch of my heels,
It's in the click poetry available to read and search through. site has lots and lots of the classic of my back, Scroll down to the bottom of the page to see the as they are, I am just as estatic whole pages memorized,
I have phrases and top 500 poems and also a list of popular poets. but nothing can be you and I You must wait until that I've got to explore! Oh, Mia! Maya Angelou...there's another poet told of love.
"Suppliant"...there's the theme of another post Chippewa, translated by Frances Densmore: More Native American song, from the full of sorrow. All my heart is I must soon post. Sad the bird notes
in the dawning.