tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-337170122024-02-19T16:17:19.594+00:00Vertigo of NowSome almost-poetry that's been in my drawer for too long...Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-66550883379003690252008-03-12T12:38:00.001+00:002008-03-12T12:40:34.970+00:00Going Through Life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtal40uX2UbQd8fcPspsoml-Dqk-71Z9saoZAnf_46gcq8zYpBxJAdiFwUzS2m7RymTkfDGzUp9h3fb_-xi8gXVzIt2mMHtreXN1SBbm-H1T8cENlRdHeKy_0U_zIS2E38zgTRCw/s1600-h/twointothelight.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtal40uX2UbQd8fcPspsoml-Dqk-71Z9saoZAnf_46gcq8zYpBxJAdiFwUzS2m7RymTkfDGzUp9h3fb_-xi8gXVzIt2mMHtreXN1SBbm-H1T8cENlRdHeKy_0U_zIS2E38zgTRCw/s320/twointothelight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176834006066489730" border="0" /></a>Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-6957917158755481252007-04-14T15:19:00.000+01:002007-04-14T15:39:02.922+01:00Closing In<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTVdlkPDOjmD9hE_qpCltxP7pyWJs3_soExO4L9M2DQDfbBgLLO9OFI2oNucEjxzR1JHXRSnYhyC6YGy_EEm2lNnMKzMz5OvCATNKqnuuT3Uqk3T_SJbgNH3cCAGDeUjjro3OUg/s1600-h/closingin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTVdlkPDOjmD9hE_qpCltxP7pyWJs3_soExO4L9M2DQDfbBgLLO9OFI2oNucEjxzR1JHXRSnYhyC6YGy_EEm2lNnMKzMz5OvCATNKqnuuT3Uqk3T_SJbgNH3cCAGDeUjjro3OUg/s320/closingin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053293210491534402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The shadows of things<br />start closing in when day falls<br />growing like weed reaching out<br />longer and longer<br />about to touch the horizon,<br />and burst from their own length;<br /><br />but no: they dissolve themselves sideways; into the black of night; bursting of breadth instead.<br /><br />The shadows of people aging<br />also grow longer and longer;<br />losing contrast with the ground<br />until it seems to absorb them;<br /><br />but just then: they intersect the horizon; surround the globe; complete the circle; live in tomorrow.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-80057542643097051132007-01-27T19:43:00.000+00:002007-01-27T19:44:09.028+00:00Faith<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> (by Czesław Miłosz) </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(dedicated to 'my friend in the East')</span><br /></span><br />Faith is in you whenever you look<br />At a dewdrop or a floating leaf<br />And know that they are because they have to be.<br />Even if you close your eyes and dream up things<br />The world will remain as it has always been<br />And the leaf will be carried by the waters of the river.<br /><br />You have faith also when you hurt your foot<br />Against a sharp rock and you know<br />That rocks are here to hurt our feet.<br />See the long shadow that is cast by the tree?<br />We and the flowers throw shadows on the earth.<br />What has no shadow has no strength to live.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-75877709686698877472007-01-27T19:41:00.000+00:002007-01-27T19:42:50.896+00:00Hope<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(by Czesław Miłosz)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(dedicated to 'my friend in the West')</span><br /></span><br />Hope is with you when you believe<br />The earth is not a dream but living flesh,<br />That sight, touch, and hearing do not lie,<br />That all things you have ever seen here<br />Are like a garden looked at from a gate.<br /><br />You cannot enter. But you're sure it's there.<br />Could we but look more clearly and wisely<br />We might discover somewhere in the garden<br />A strange new flower and an unnamed star.<br /><br />Some people say we should not trust our eyes,<br />That there is nothing, just a seeming,<br />These are the ones who have no hope.<br />They think that the moment we turn away,<br />The world, behind our backs, ceases to exist,<br />As if snatched up by the hands of thieves.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1166806156727911012006-12-22T16:48:00.000+00:002006-12-22T16:49:16.726+00:00Reverent hesitating gesturesReverent hesitating gestures <br />of delicate fragility play on our mutual fingertips.<br />Reciprocal gravity drives unending inward spiral<br />Into unlikely intersection of whole persons.<br /><br />Attrition is the time and place of our union,<br />The present instance of our love.<br />Touching is symmetrical, shared<br />A single act of touching – two in one touch.<br /><br />Looking in each other’s eyes<br /> Is touching<br />As the surface of your thought becomes<br />The surface of my thought<br /><br />Kissing is a special form of touching<br />Where we renounce speaking –<br />Bodies become Words<br />And speak themselves<br /><br />As the surface of your silence becomes<br />The surface of my silence<br /><br />---<br /><br />Untouching is done carefully,<br />With solemn pause.<br /><br />we incorrectly feel small and lostGorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1165704043803128372006-12-09T22:39:00.000+00:002007-01-08T18:05:57.146+00:00The bustle in a house<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(by Emily Dickinson)</span><br /><br />The bustle in a house<br />The morning after death<br />Is solemnest of industries<br />Enacted upon earth, –<br /><br />The sweeping up the heart,<br />And putting love away<br />We shall not want to use again<br />Until eternity.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1165315828130763232006-12-05T10:49:00.000+00:002006-12-05T10:50:28.140+00:00Today your body sparklesToday your body sparkles <br />With a thousand languages<br />Some archaic and mysterious<br />Some disturbing and new<br /><br />Here your body irradiates<br />With a thousand atoms<br />All pregnant with bearing<br />The wholeness of you<br /><br />Always your body listens<br />With a thousand gestures<br />Some giving, some taking<br />Bonding in two<br /><br />Together your body blossoms<br />With a thousand gifts<br />And an ocean of glory<br />Seems to shine throughGorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1164712115034127952006-11-28T11:06:00.000+00:002006-11-28T11:08:35.046+00:00Prima NocteI discover senses can be just as inebriating <br />when they come alive <br />As when they close down.<br /><br />How can you be so full of meaning while asleep?<br />How can I have such a strong conscience of you <br />when you have none of me?<br /><br />I discover your nights are so beautiful.<br />How many nights you must have spent like this, <br />beautifully, unwatched.<br /><br />How well you fit inside yourself just now,<br />While I am overwhelmed by the responsibility<br />Of tending the full weight of ‘us’ for the moment.<br /><br />But let me just wait for your next <br />delayed, shallow, beautiful breath.<br />Syncopated, innocent, all-filling absence.<br /><br />Patient synonym of life.<br /><br />( delicate balance of promise fulfilled<br /><br />And from now on perpetually in-the-makingGorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1163516956599437092006-11-14T15:06:00.000+00:002006-11-16T15:35:09.966+00:00‘I’ll love you forever’, I lied‘I’ll love you forever’, I lied,<br />(unintentionally of course)<br />‘You are my everything’, I lied again,<br />but it was true at the moment,<br />‘I love you too’, you lied back,<br />and damn it if I didn’t believe you,<br />‘We’ll never be apart’, we lied,<br />and today is never,<br />‘This is the best day of my life’, I lied,<br />in fact it was just the day we lied together.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1162567326225976172006-11-03T15:21:00.000+00:002006-12-08T00:29:09.740+00:00somewhere i have never travelled<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(by e. e. cummings)</span><br /><br />somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond<br />any experience,your eyes have their silence:<br />in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,<br />or which i cannot touch because they are too near<br /><br />your slightest look will easily unclose me<br />though i have closed myself as fingers,<br />you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens<br />(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose<br /><br />or if your wish be to close me, i and<br />my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,<br />as when the heart of this flower imagines<br />the snow carefully everywhere descending;<br />nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals<br />the power of your intense fragility:whose texture<br />compels me with the color of its countries,<br />rendering death and forever with each breathing<br /><br />(i do not know what it is about you that closes<br />and opens;only something in me understands<br />the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)<br />nobody,not even the rain,has such small handsGorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1162381292049773672006-11-01T11:39:00.000+00:002006-11-01T11:41:32.060+00:00It is as silly as loveIt is as silly as love<br />that I should be hurt<br />by seeing a picture of you but<br />with your back turned<br /><br />as if<br /><br />Fatal as time love<br />will not stay the same<br />and many times a love-that-has-grown<br />will appear diminished;<br /><br />as if<br /><br />as gentle as that breeze<br />I’d swear there’s a window-open-somewhere -<br />pregnant like a hope delayed <br />the answer is held until I ask fewer questions -<br /><br />if I turned around now I think<br />I would be surprised not to see the past.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1161857920047972972006-10-26T11:16:00.000+01:002006-10-26T11:18:40.046+01:00I never knew space could hurtI never knew space could hurt <br />until I found even touching<br />there was too much distance from me to you-<br /><br />And time walks across my heart,<br />coming and going with that<br />precise patience it keeps all for itself-<br /><br />Under the naïf look of a smile<br />Love-Gently-Bleeds<br />from the wounds of this soul pierced by your otherness-<br /><br />To dissolve in living red the mere<br />pleasing of the senses<br />that ever-urgently warned me of your beauty<br />(which they never knew)<br /><br />and drench away in thick flowing substance<br />that simple wishing you well<br />which safely keeps you for contemplation<br /><br />Love bleeds from pains easily forgotten<br />as I give myself to youGorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1161857781724379602006-10-26T11:15:00.000+01:002006-10-26T11:16:21.736+01:00There goes another piece of me butThere goes another piece of me but<br />go merrily, piece, you were spent<br /><br />on love<br /><br />so I guess it’s ok as long as - well<br />ok, go on,<br /><br />take some moreGorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1161341174280449682006-10-20T11:46:00.000+01:002006-10-20T11:46:14.280+01:00I sing the abyss in my soulI sing the abyss in my soul<br />and chant the depth of the division<br />and the black hole that sucks being<br />this darkness, nonsense, coldness, nothing<br /><br />Firmly set in the heart of me.<br /><br />I kiss the unreachable hollow <br />and gaze the obscurity of sin<br />Then return to me from far away<br />and bravely open wide the void that is <br /><br />The space for the redemption of me.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1161341149829997852006-10-20T11:45:00.000+01:002006-10-20T11:45:49.853+01:00A painting of a blind manA painting of a blind man looks at the numb art-lover <br />who faithfully hesitates to speak of that silence<br />that lies about belief<br /><br />and hopeful of yesterday he works out the laziness<br />that moves him to stillness doubts truth<br />and boldly fears love<br /><br />gathering his dispersion he embodies a thought of<br />smiling his pain inhabiting his wandering<br />Then blesses the denial of soul<br /><br />never now says the blind manGorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1161000792170161452006-10-16T13:11:00.000+01:002006-10-16T13:13:12.180+01:00No tengo nada contra ti Mujer<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(by José Miguel Ibañez Langlois)</span><br /><br />No tengo nada contra ti Mujer<br />Me pareces sagrada y misteriosa<br />Y más próxima al Cielo que a la Tierra<br />No tengo nada contra ti...<br />Si no es...<br />Que un dia te caerán los dientes<br />Que no eres Dios<br />Que engordas<br />Que te mueresGorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1160683343269582932006-10-12T21:02:00.000+01:002006-10-12T21:02:23.270+01:00You know you’re destined to make love with death, SoYou know you’re destined to make love with death, So<br /><br />will you be raped by a violent stranger<br />a camouflaged hunter of implacable cunning<br />an eye-averting soul-stealing chaser?<br /><br />or will you choose the tender mutual all-giving<br />of that ever-promised, ever-faithful<br />veil-faced truly virginal bride?Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1160683300033416412006-10-12T21:00:00.000+01:002006-10-12T21:01:40.046+01:00(so may pains in the heart(so may pains in the heart<br />never made it stop until now)<br />as life rudely flees from me <br />as my legs give way <br />to the abrupt weight of the body<br />which starts to fall helplessly<br />impolitely with noise to the ground<br />(and in a few days it will break through <br />the ground, silently, politely)<br /><br />and my falling brain spins slightly<br />on top of a carelessly relaxed neck<br />(in a few days resolutely stiff,<br />and then disintegrated)<br />and my eyes roll up to show me<br />that shelf I must fix some day<br />(but there’s so much on my mind,<br />and so little time)<br /><br />as my knees hit the floor<br />sideways, painlessly, <br />(there is only one pain now,<br />only one problem)<br />I realise there will be no return<br />from this inopportune descent<br />(I had never noticed it,<br />but my life is complete)Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1159793024513608922006-10-02T13:43:00.000+01:002006-10-02T13:43:44.513+01:00a moment inside stops the hasty daya moment inside stops the hasty day<br />eyes closed look around to find <br />everyday companions and common occupations;<br />in quick succession come recollection, regret, resolution<br />as heart rises and grows <br />and sucks a tremendous amount of life into this tiny moment,<br />(apparently nothing happened, <br />proving that appearances can often fool you)Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1159792990572130072006-10-02T13:41:00.000+01:002006-10-02T13:43:10.573+01:00To make the universe come trueTo make the universe come true<br />With commitment strong as creation<br /><br />To make the world boil from its bowels<br />With passion strong as redemption<br /><br />(oh I truly believe so much happens in people’s minds)Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1159392245694089002006-09-27T22:23:00.000+01:002006-09-27T22:24:05.696+01:00Soft but devastating blowsSoft but devastating blows <br />on my lack of generosity<br />struck constantly with precision<br />from the stubborn excess of your love,<br />the inclement unsatisfaction of your giving,<br />the ever-expanding tightness of your embrace;<br /><br />And though from one so delicate,<br />so pure in the ways of the heart,<br />I would expect some more polite <br />and respecting loving,<br />you teach me this new form of jealousy<br />rendered unselfish by mere conviction,<br /><br />and with the calculated determination<br />of a noble breaking of a rule,<br />you pay me the highest compliment<br />of proving my love incomplete,<br />my response stammered, my declaration timid,<br />my giving-more a simple prelude of a new request.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1159392174752513242006-09-27T22:22:00.000+01:002006-09-27T22:22:54.753+01:00AgainAgain<br />Beauty will set before me for<br />contemplation<br />every small, futile, fugitive<br />spark and reflection of itself;<br /><br />Repeatedly<br />after every fly has buzzed around my heart<br />and caught my attention and was waved away<br />without conviction,<br />(leaving a pain only just felt)<br /><br />Stubbornly<br />as a pretendent Beauty will have me choose her<br />from all those sparks and<br />above every sleepish humming;<br />(shaping my heart to her image)Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1159113637054876122006-09-24T17:00:00.000+01:002006-09-24T17:00:37.056+01:00In passive astonishment I contemplateIn passive astonishment I contemplate<br />some part of you that lies in the past<br />like a strange colour seen once and never again;<br /><br />And every once in a while it will seem to show,<br />but only to find the present you so overwhelming,<br />so totally absorbed my mind in your life;<br /><br />From a glimpse of truth I set myself to <br />not mind this forced giving away of your past<br />which unmistakably states you are alive in me.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1159113553758216872006-09-24T16:52:00.000+01:002006-09-24T17:01:03.926+01:00“Coming!” I would have said promptly,“Coming!” I would have said<br />promptly, had I not<br />been called so long ago, years away in a precise day<br /><br />Had I not<br />wandered off or<br />rather strayed without leaving the house;<br /><br />Many times, many times or<br />rather<br />once I denied.<br /><br />But always<br />years ahead and every day<br />with smiles from blows and thanks for tears:<br />I have with stable voice<br />and clear pronouncing lips<br />in simple words of unknown strength<br /><br />“Yes!” I said promptly<br />ever asserting more than I gathered was being asked –<br /><br />“Let it be” I said and<br />it was not my voice.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33717012.post-1158768223457067102006-09-20T17:00:00.000+01:002006-09-20T17:03:43.470+01:00Which of us two?<span style="font-size:85%;">(by Peter Viereck)</span><br /><br />when both are strong with tenderness, too wild<br />with oneness to be severance-reconciled;<br />when even the touch of fingertips can shock<br />both to such seesaw mutuality<br />of hot-pressed opposites as smelts a tree<br />tighter to its dryad than to its own tight bark;<br />when neither jokes or mopes or hates alone<br />or wakes untangled from the other; when<br />more-warm-than-soul, more-deep-than-flesh are one<br />in marriage of very skeleton:<br />when, then, soil peels mere flesh off half this love<br />and locks it from the unstripped half above,<br />who’s ever sure which side of soil he’s on?<br />have I lain seconds here, or years like this?<br />I’m sure of nothing else but loneliness<br />and darkness, here’s such black as stuffs a tomb,<br />or merely midnight in an unshared room.<br />holding my breath for fear my breath is gone,<br />unmoving and afraid to try to move,<br />knowing only you have somehow left my side,<br /><br />I lie here, wondering, which of us has died.Gorodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14160008276219455300noreply@blogger.com3