Claire de Lune by Paul Verlaine

 Happy 2013, I wish you all moonlight dreamers a beautiful new year! Well, 2010 was health wise challenging. The end of 2011 was apocalyptic. I did spend 2012 holding my breath afraid of what might happen next. Well...life happened like  always... when you planned something else!! So Hello 2013, I am finally ready to inhale life and exhale my fears.
Take this poem of Paul Verlaine as a gift for this new year together!!!

                        Claire De Lune


Your soul is as a moonlit landscape fair,
   Peopled with maskers delicate and dim,
That play on lutes and dance and have an air
   Of being sad in their fantastic trim.

The while they celebrate in minor strain
   Triumphant love, effective enterprise,
They have an air of knowing all is vain,—
   And through the quiet moonlight their songs rise,

The melancholy moonlight, sweet and lone,
   That makes to dream the birds upon the tree,
And in their polished basins of white stone
   The fountains tall to sob with ecstasy.

translation by Gertrude Hall

                            Original French

 Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.

Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune
Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,

Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,
Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres

I should translate the poem myself just to adjust the flow. Verlaine has a musical flow that perfectly describes what you feel but cannot express when confused. In my opinion  this poem is about  simply surrendering to hope.

Same moonlight for our dreams...

Lucio Dalla - Caruso

I love Lucio Dalla's  version as well as Luciano Pavarotti's.
Lucio Dalla's song is about  Enrico Caruso.
I always loved this song, the sadness is as sweet as life.
It is pure poetry.
Enjoy....

Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.
- Anonymous

Lyrics:
Here where the sea sparkles,
and a strong wind blows,
on an old terrace overlooking the gulf of Sorrento,
a man holds a little girl in his arms
after he's been crying.
He clears his throat and sings the song again.

I love you so much;
so very much, you know.
It's a bond, now,
you know, that thaws the blood in the veins.

He looked at the lights, out at sea,
and thought about the nights in America.
But they were only the lamps of fishing boats
and the white of wake.
He felt the pain of the music.
He got up from the piano,
but when he saw the moon come out from behind the clouds
death seemed sweeter to him.
He looked into the little girl's eyes -
those eyes as green as the sea,
then suddenly a tear fell
and he thought he was drowning.

I love you so much;
so very much, you know.
It's a bond, now,
you know, and it thaws the blood in the veins.

The power of opera!
where every drama is a sham;
where, with a little bit of make-up and mimicry,
you can become someone else.
But two eyes that look at you,
so close and so real,
make you forget the script,
confounding your thoughts.
And so everything became insignificant,
including the nights in America.
You look back and see your life
like the wake [of the boats].
Ah yes! Life is ending,
but he wasn't worried about it any more.
Instead he felt happy
and began to sing the song again.

I love you so much;
so very much, you know.
It's a bond, now,
you know, that thaws the blood in the veins.

 Qui dove il mare luccica
e grida forte il vento
su una vecchia terrazza vicina al golfo di Surriento
un uomo abbraccia una ragazza
dopo che aveva pianto
poi si schiarisce la voce e ricomincia il canto:

Te voglio bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
è una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint'e vene sai...

Vide le luci in mezzo al mare
pensò alle notti là in America
ma erano solo le lampare
e la bianca scia d'un'elica
sentì il dolore nella musica
si alzò dal pianoforte
ma quando vide la luna uscire da una nuvola
gli sembrò più dolce anche la morte.
Guardò negli occhi la ragazza
quegli occhi verdi come il mare
poi all'improvviso uscì una lacrima
e lui credette d'affogare.

Te voglio bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
è una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint'e vene sai...

La potenza della lirica
dove ogni dramma è un falso
che con un po' di trucco e con la mimica
puoi diventare un altro
Ma due occhi che ti guardano
così vicini e veri
ti fanno scordare le parole
confondono i pensieri.

Così diventò tutto piccolo
anche le notti là in America
ti volti e vedi la tua vita
come la scia d'un'elica.

Ah si, è la vita che finisce
ma lui non ci pensò poi tanto
anzi si sentiva già felice
e ricominciò il suo canto:

Te voglio bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
è una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint'e vene sai...
Te voglio bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
è una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint'e vene sai...

On Death by Kahlil Gibran from The PROPHET

On Death
Than Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death."
And he said: You would know the secret of death.
 But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.

For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the sheered not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink form the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Source here
......

La miseria del hombre by Gonzalo Rojas

Gonzalo Rojas was a Chilean poet.May he rest in peace!
Here his poem...just beautiful!!
Just in Spanish if I find good translations I will post them!!!
Enjoy...


La miseria del hombre

El sol y la muerte

La eternidad

La poesía es mi lengua

El caos

La libertad

Retrato de la niebla

Himno a la noche

La cordillera está viva

La materia es mi madre

Salmo real

Coro de los ahorcados

El principio y el fin

Naturaleza del fastidio

El abismo llama al abismo

Rotación y traslación

El condenado

La fosa común

El sol es la única semilla           

Descenso a los infiernos

Revelación del pensamiento

El fuego eterno

La nube

Crecimiento de Rodrigo Tomás

El poeta maldice a su cadáver

Perdí mi juventud

A quien vela, todo se le revela

La salvación

Carta del suicida

La vuelta al mundo

Pompas fúnebres

A una perdida

El polvo del deseo

Elegía

El dinero

Los cobardes

La sangre

           

La lepra

Fábula moderna

Drama pasional

Las mujeres vacías

Fundación de Valparaíso
 by Gonzalo Rojas

Source: Universidad de Chile

Feu de brousse-Brush Fire by Tchicaya U Tam’si

I would like to share a poem of Tchicaya U Tam’Si from the Mc Graw Hill Book of poetry. I purchased this for one dollar when I was in college at a library sale. I needed something  relaxing. As a biology major, philosophy and poetry were my favorite escapes to scientific stuff. Tchicaya U Tam'si is a Congolese poet. I did like it, so I did google for some more. He is a famous poet but his work seems underground.  According to critics, his style was disturbing the negritude movement. So his work remained underground or unknown. His style is described as anecdotal and dry. It is a style, I like because it is a style I grew up around with my parents.  A certain distance is maintain to be able to have an open heart conversation. It is peculiar and very African to me. However, he is also called the Black Rimbaud. 

Enjoy...

"Brush-fire" by  Tchicaya U Tam'si

The fire the river that's to say

the sea to drink following the sand

the feet the hands

within the heart to love

this river that lives in me repeoples me

only to you I said around the fire

my race

it flows here and there a river

the flames are the looks

of those who brood upon it

I said to you

my race

remembers

the taste of bronze drunk hot

 Feu de Brouse de Tchicaya U Tam’si  

Le long du fleuve Seule une montagne

Après la dernière étoile éteinte   Veille

Peine perdue 

Il y a le saut à la mer

A sac la mer

J’ai fait ce rêve  Avec l’arc-en-ciel

Dans l’autre sens du fleuve Couché

C’était le cercle magique

Des veillées lentes 

Les morts avec nous

Mais non  Avant la mer

Monte l’écume A la gorge

Du fleuve   Ecoutez le tocsin

Congo

Son milieu était une herbe juste

Parmi les ronces

Son ciel était son regard

Pour ceux qui vivaient

Ils vivaient nombreux

Les lianes liant leurs cœurs

Puis une chanson s’est levée

Rehaussons la haine

A sa hauteur de sentiment humain

Brûlez vos réserves de sèves sanguines

La plante mûrit ainsi la fleur

Vivre parmi les ronces c’est mourir

Nulle part la joie

C’est le choc des crépuscules

Ils vivaient nombreux

Son milieu était une herbe juste

Mais où a-t-on égaré mes pagayeurs

From A la pointe noire du temps

L'Albatros-The albatross- El albatros by Charles Baudelaire

This is a poem, I did learn in elementary school. This sad poem about a bullied albatros, put in words how I felt as a foreigner in a new country.Well, I was a talented  mini-griot so I have never been bullied!Baudelaire symbolism captivated me. My teacher used the term of artistic exile. It was exactly how I felt. I was in exile and my qualities became disabilities in a new land. What was graceful  to me, was ridiculed by my classmates.  However, Baudelaire and his pitiful albatross gave me hope. If he felt awkward and disabled in his own country. It meant that I would be fine!!

 Thanks to all the awesome teachers that introduced me to poetry !!!
Enjoy ...

L'ALBATROS from Les Fleurs du Mal

Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,
Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.

A peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons traîer à côté d'eux.

Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!

Le Poëte est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

THE ALBATROSS from The Flowers of Evil

Often, for pastime, mariners will ensnare
The albatross, that vast sea-bird who sweeps
On high companionable pinion where
Their vessel glides upon the bitter deeps.

Torn from his native space, this captive king
Flounders upon the deck in stricken pride,
And pitiably lets his great white wing
Drag like a heavy paddle at his side.

This rider of winds, how awkward he is, and weak!
How droll he seems, who lately was all grace!
A sailor pokes a pipestem into his beak;
Another, hobbling, mocks his trammeled pace.

The Poet is like this monarch of the clouds,
Familiar of storms, of stars, and of all high things;
Exiled on earth amidst its hooting crowds,
He cannot walk, borne down by his giant wings.

                                       — translated by Richard Wilbur

  From here 

El albatros

Por distraerse, a veces, suelen los marineros
Dar caza a los albatros, grandes aves del mar,
Que siguen, indolentes compañeros de viaje,
Al navío surcando los amargos abismos.

Apenas los arrojan sobre las tablas húmedas,
Estos reyes celestes, torpes y avergonzados,
Dejan penosamente arrastrando las alas,
Sus grandes alas blancas semejantes a remos.

Este alado viajero, ¡qué inútil y qué débil!
Él, otrora tan bello, ¡qué feo y qué grotesco!
¡Éste quema su pico, sádico, con la pipa,
Aquél, mima cojeando al planeador inválido!

El Poeta es igual a este señor del nublo,
Que habita la tormenta y ríe del ballestero.
Exiliado en la tierra, sufriendo el griterío,
Sus alas de gigante le impiden caminar.

From here 

Nuit de Siné-Night of Sine-Noche de Siné by Léopold Sédar Senghor

As a kid, the only African poet I knew about was my father. He was writing beautiful short poems in French. I was always impressed by the intensity of his voice when he was reading them to me. In the other hand, my mother was a poetess but her poetry was exclusively oral. She would use Kirundi or French to teach us, values and morals through proverbs.
In middle school, my mother purchased a large collection of encyclopedia, so I finally learn more about African poetry. I did learn about Léopold Sédar Senghor. It was my first introduction to published African poetry. I always associate his poem “Night of Sine” as an ode to the African Negress. I like the imageries and metaphors, however he was too conservative. Yes, I said it! For the revolutionary teenager, I was, his poetry was limiting the Negress in me. I always joked that the negritude movement forgot about the Negresses. Of course, the African poetry did sublimated black women and their roles.  Nevertheless, traditions and cultures create a certain stratification on which women roles were/are some what restricted. Well Senghor is Senghor.  Respect! Here is “Night of Sine”

 

Night of Sine

Woman, put on my forehead your balsam hands, 
your hands softer than fur.Up there, the tall palm trees swinging
in the night breeze rustle hardly.

Not even the nurse’s song. Let the rhythmic silence rock us.

Let’s listen to its song, 
let’s listen to the beating of our dark blood, let’s listen

To the beating-of the dark pulse of Africa in the mist of lost villages.

Look how the tired moon sinks towards its bed of slack water,

Look how the burst of laughter doze off, 
and even the bards themselves

Dandle their heads like children on the backs of their mother.

Look how the feet of the dancers grow heavy, 
as well as the tongue of the alternating chorus.

This is the hour of the stars and of the Night that dreams

Reclining on that range of clouds, draped in its long gown of milk.

The roofs of the huts gleam gently. 
What are they so confidently telling to the stars?

Inside, the hearth extinguishes in the intimacy of bitter and sweet scents.

Woman, light the lamp of butterclear oil, 
let the Ancesters,like their parents, talk the children in bed.

Let’s listen to the voice of the Ancients of Elissa. Exiled as we are

They did not want to die, their seminal flood is lost in the sand.

Let me hear, in the smoky which I visit, 
a reflection of propitious souls

Let my head on your breast,
warm as a dang taken from the fire and smoking

Let me inhale the smell of our Dead, 
let me collect and repeat their living voice, let me learn

To live before I sink, deeper than the diver, into the lofty depth of sleep.

Léopold Sédar Senghor

Tr. Germain Droogenbroodt

From: Chants d’ombre (1945) , © Editions du Seuil, Paris

Nuit de Siné  
Femme, pose sur mon front tes mains balsamiques, 
tes mains douces plus que fourrure.
Là-haut les palmes balancées 
qui bruissent dans la haute brise nocturne
À peine. Pas même la chanson de nourrice. 
Qu'il nous berce, le silence rythmé.
Écoutons son chant, écoutons battre notre sang sombre,
écoutons Battre le pouls profond de l'Afrique 
dans la brume des villages perdus.

Voici que décline la lune lasse vers son lit de mer étale
Voici que s'assoupissent les éclats de rire,
que les conteurs eux-mêmes  

Dodelinent de la tête comme l'enfant sur le dos de sa mère
Voici que les pieds des danseurs s'alourdissent, 
que s'alourdit la langue des choeurs alternés.

C'est l'heure des étoiles et de la Nuit qui songe
S'accoude à cette colline de nuages, 
drapée dans son long pagne de lait.
Les toits des cases luisent tendrement. 
Que disent-ils, si confidentiels, aux étoiles ?
Dedans, le foyer s'éteint 
dans l'intimité d'odeurs âcres et douces.

Femme, allume la lampe au beurre clair, 

que causent autour les Ancêtres comme les parents,
les enfants au lit.
Écoutons la voix des Anciens d'Elissa. 
Comme nous exilés Ils n'ont pas voulu mourir, 
que se perdît par les sables leur torrent séminal.
Que j'écoute, dans la case enfumée 
que visite un reflet d'âmes propices
Ma tête sur ton sein chaud comme un dang 
au sortir du feu et fumant
Que je respire l'odeur de nos Morts, 
que je recueille et redise leur voix vivante, 
que j'apprenne à Vivre avant de descendre, 
au-delà du plongeur,
dans les hautes profondeurs du sommeil.

Léopold Sédar Senghor

De: Chants d’ombre (1945) , © Editions du Seuil, Paris

Noche de Siné (1)

Mujer, pon sobre mi frente tus manos balsámicas,
tus manos más suaves que armiñoAllá arriba
las palmas balanceadas 
que susurran en la alta brisa nocturna
Apenas. Ni la canción de nodriza. 
Que nos mezca el silencio ritmado.
Escuchemos su canto, escuchemos latir nuestra sangre oscura, 
escuchemos  Latir el pulso profundo de África 
en la bruma de los pueblos perdidos.

Mira como declina la luna cansada 
sobre su lecho de marea muerta.
Mira como se adormecen las carcajadas,
que los propios cuentacuentos
Cabecean como el niño en la espalda de su madre
Mira como se aploman los pies de los danzantes, 

como se aploma la lengua de los coros que se alternan.

Es la hora de las estrellas y de la Noche que sueña
Acodándose en esta colina de nubes, 
envuelta en su largo taparrabo.
Los tejados de las chozas lucen tiernamente. 

¿Qué les dicen, confiden­cialmente, a las estrellas?
Adentro, fuego se extingue
en la intimidad de olores acres y suaves.

Mujer, enciende la lámpara de mantequilla clara,
para que las Ancestros
charlen a su alrededor como los padres, los niños a la cama.
Escuchemos la voz de los Patriarcas de Elissa (2).
Exiliados como nosotros No han querido morir, que se ha perdido \
por las arenas su torrente seminal.
Que escuche, en la choza ahumada
que visita un reflejo de almas propicias
Mi cabeza en tu cálido sena como un dang{3) 
saliendo humeante del fuego
Que respire el olor de nuestros Muertos,
que recoja y repita su voz viviente,
que aprenda a Vivir antas de descender,
más allá del buceador, en las altas profundidades del sueño.

Léopold Sédar Senghor

From  http://www.point-editions.com/poets/sedar.html

Nuit d’Août-August Night by Alfred de Musset

April is National poetry month!!! I will share few of my favorite poems.Today, it will be about Alfred de Musset. He has a particular elegance in his prose, a sensibility that glorifies his conflicted personality.  His capricious and passionate approach to love is tormenting.  It is like; he does everything we should not do just for us to know that: On ne badine pas avec l'amour /Don't Trifle with Love!!

In my opinion, his message is that libertine pleasures offer illusion of happiness but indulging in earthly pleasure of living might equate with a loveless life.  I like the dramatic romance between Musset and his mistress George Sand. It is intense, sad and real.   

I think that  you must love yourself, to love someone else because the bliss of love is full of struggle, tribulations and torments! To conclude here a quote from George Sand aka Amandine Lucile Aurore Dupin: “One is happy as a result of one's own efforts once one knows the necessary ingredients of happiness simple tastes, a certain degree of courage, self denial to a point, love of work, and above all, a clear conscience.”

 Enjoy...

August Night

O Muse! What does it matter, life or death?

I love, and want pallor, I love and want the pain;

I love, my genius for a kiss I won’t disdain;

I love, and want to feel on my cheek wan

That stream from endless spring forever drawn.

I love, and want to sing of joy and laziness

Of my crazed life and cares of just one day.

I want to tell and say forever and ceaseless

That once vowing to live without mistress,

Only of love I vow to live and die.

Renounce to all your pride that’s killing you

The bitter-filled heart that you thought was closed.

Love and revive; to blossom be a flower.

Having suffered, even more you must suffer,

And keep loving, after having so loved.

Translated by Thomas D. Le

19 November 2004

Nuit d’Août -Alfred de Musset (1810-1857)

O Muse! que m’importe ou la mort ou la vie ?

J’aime, et je veux pâlir; j’aime et je veux souffrir ;

J’aime, et pour un baiser je donne mon génie ;

J’aime, et je veux sentir sur ma joue amaigrie

Ruisseler une source impossible à tarir.

J’aime, et je veux chanter la joie et la paresse,

Ma folle experience et mes soucis d’un jour,

Et je veux raconter et répéter sans cesse

Qu’après avoir juré de vivre sans maîtresse,

J’ai fait serment de vivre et de mourir d’amour.

Dépouille devant tous l’orgueil qui te dévore,

Coeur gonflé d’amertume et qui t’es cru fermé.

Aime, et tu renaîtras; fais-toi fleur pour éclore.

Après avoir souffert, il faut souffrir encore ;

Il faut aimer sans cesse, après avoir aimé.

From French Poetry by Thomas D.Le

The Drowned Book: Ecstatic and Earthy Reflections of Bahauddin, the Father of Rumi

I bought this book to learn more about  Sufi and Rumi. I never took the time to read it. My friend is reading it  and he recommended me to start reading it.  It seems easy to read. Besides, I do love poetry. However, it seems that I am not ready for more reflections at this time, so I am postponing my reading. I did flip through the commentary at the end of the book, to stop on a page 140 quoting a love poem from Etheridge Knight. Whom I did not know before!!! 

"Belly Song" by Etheridge Knight in The Essential Etheridge Knight

and I and I/must admit

that the sea in me

has fallen/ in love

with the sea in you

"Although a popular Islamic mystic who remains important to many Sufi sects, Bahauddin is known to the West primarily as the father of the thirteenth-century poet Rumi, interest in whose work has been revived by Coleman Barks' translations. Reminiscent of Sei Shonagon's Pillow Book, Bahauddin's writing in The Drowned Book is a miscellany that shows Bahauddin jumping from gardening tips to meditations on Qur'anic verses to quasi-erotic explorations of the Sufi's efforts to find unity with God. Readers unfamiliar with Islamic history and Sufi practice will wish the translators had included more explanatory commentary, but the translation itself is engaging and colloquial. The bits of Bahauddin's poetry included (e.g., "Why say autumn is the end of loving? / For us there will be another spring") are a far cry from Rumi's, but Bahauddin's prose reflects the mystical core of Sufi faith and constitutes an excellent example of nonpoetic Sufi writing. Readers interested in the Sufism behind Rumi's poems will find much to enjoy here. 

“La canción del bongó-Song of the Bongo Drum” by Nicolás Guillén

From a really interesting paper by Monika Kaup :"Our America" That Is Not One: Transnational Black Atlantic Disclosures in Nicolás Guillén and Langston Hughes.

La canción del bongó-Song of the Bongo Drum”, from Sóngoro consongo by  Nicolás Guillén

Esta es la canci´on del bong´o:
–Aqu´ı el que m´as fino sea,
responde, si llamo yo.
Unos dicen: Ahora mismo,
otros dicen: All´a voy.
Pero mi repique bronco,
pero mi profunda voz,
convoca al negro y al blanco,
que bailen el mismo son,
cueripardos y almiprietos
m´as de sangre que de sol,
pues quien por fuera no es noche,
por dentro ya oscureci´o.
Aqu´ı el que m´as fino sea,
responde, si llamo yo.
(Obra po´etica 104)

This is the song of the bong´o:
Here even blueblood
answers if I call.
Some answer, “Right now!”
Others say, “On my way!”
But my hoarse rejoinder,
deep bass voice,
calls both black and white
to dance the same son.
Brown of skin or brown of soul
more from blood than sun,
those who are not night outside
get darker deep within.
Here even blueblood
answers if I call.
(trans. Hughes and Carruthers, Cuba Libre 81)

Same Moonlight for our Dreams

Edouard Glissant- Excerpt from Pays rêvé, pays réel

In homage to the Caribbean poet Edouard Glissant. 
Rest in peace ...

Here a beautiful poem  from  Monde en poésie.

Excerpt from Pays rêvé, pays réel

Si la nuit te dépose au plus haut de la mer

N'offense en toi la mer par échouage des anciens dieux

Seules les fleurs savent comme on gravit l'éternité

Nous t'appelons terre blessée ô combien notre temps

Sera bref, ainsi l'eau dont on ne voit le lit

Chanson d'eau empilée sur l'eau du triste soir

Tu es douce à celui que tu éloignes de ta nuit

Tel un gravier trop lourd enfoui aux grèves de minuit

J'ai mené ma rame entre les îles je t'ai nommée

loin avant que tu m'aies désigné pour asile et souffle

je t'ai nommée Insaisissable et Toute-enfuie

Ton rire a séparé les eaux bleues des eaux inconnues

My humble translation in English

If  the night leaves you above the sea
Do not offend the sea of  grounding's of the ancient gods
Only the flowers know how to climb up the eternity
We  are calling you our wounded earth oh how our time
Will be brief, like the water that we cannot see the bed
Song of water stacked on the water of the sad evening
You are sweet to the one who wanders from your night
Like a  heavy gravel buried at the midnight's strikes
I took my paddle between the islands, I have named you
far before you have chosen me for asylum and breath
I've named you, Elusive and All fled

Your laughter has separated the blue waters from unknown waters

Crépuscule-Twilight by Kunline

This one is for my brothers and sisters.

I did find this poem of mine behind an old magazine. It is three years old!!! I try to translate in English!!

Crépuscule

Une  fluide  monotonie apaise les hurlements de l'incertain,

face à l'incertitude de la nuit naissante.

Doucement la nature murmure avec tendresse dans sa voluptueuse harmonie.

Au coeur de cette puissance invisible,

mon âme s'evade vers  d'autres horizons.

Au-delà du visible, nous sommes tous libres.

Nos yeux  tournés vers le ciel dans la lumière ou l'obscurité,

comme des arbres majestueux affrontant chaque instant avec ténacité du crépiscule à l'aube. Je suis!

Twilight

A smooth monotony soothes the howling of the uncertain,

facing the uncertainty of the nascent night.

Nature whispers tenderly in her voluptuous harmony.

At the heart of this invisible power,

my soul escaped to other horizons.

Beyond the visible, we are all free.

Our eyes turned skyward in the light or the darkness,

as  majestic trees affronting each moment with the tenacity from twilight to dawn.I am!

Kunline

Mamadou Gomis

 

A Raven and Wolf - www.beyondtheodds.org

Beyond the odds!!! 


"Beyond the Odds is a multimedia arts project designed to illuminate the perspectives and personal stories of young people living with HIV/AIDS. The poem reflects the true and intimate reflections of a youth participant from Beyond the Odds, a project of the Public Radio Makers Quest 2.0.Jari Bradley of Youth Speaks performed and co-created the poem with B-Lady of Beyond the Odds. To hear more poems and read B-Lady's personal story of living with HIV. Log onto www.beyondtheodds.org."

Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

 Artist: Luís Noronha da Costa

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Invictus by William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.


According to the story, he wrote that poem following the amputation of his foot due to tubercular infection. I was hoping for different story... ....This poem  is all about resilience. As passionate and defiant he sounded, the acceptance of his fate must have freed his soul. I am  also the master of my fate and the captain of my soul. And I accept that only change is constant . However I still cannot believe that tuberculosis did initiate this powerful poem!

Quotes from "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by Milan Kundera

Milan Kundera is Czech. I like his humor, his soft and dry philosophy. This  book is about "the fragile nature of the fate of the individual and theorized that a single lifetime is insignificant in the scope of Nietzsche's concept of eternal return because in an infinite universe, everything is guaranteed to recur infinitely." I like it because it does fit my ideas of everlasting renaissance, life as a double-infinite sequence of bridges.
Enjoy!

• "Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out is mute. Only chance can speak to us. We read its message much as gypsies read the images made by coffee grounds at the bottom of the cup."  

• "Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves."

• "for there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."

• "The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body.The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?"

• "But when the strong were too weak to hurt the weak, the weak had to be strong enough to leave." 

• "Dreaming is not merely an act of communication (or coded communication, if you like); it is also an aesthetic activity, a game of the imagination, a game that is a value in itself. Our dreams prove that to imagine--to dream about things that have not happened--is among mankind's deepest needs. Herein lies the danger. If dreams were not beautiful, they would be quickly forgotten."

• "There is no perfection only life"

Zen: images,texts and teachings by Miriam Levering.

Among our many pursuits, we are all wondering how to find contentment and peace. This book is an illustrated selection of “the Gateless gate” and “the Ox-herding pictures” with verses. Dr Miriam Levering wrote “This book is intended as an introduction to the enigma and subtle harmony of Zen and as a contemplative aid for the lay reader.”  However my favorite quote is on page 12“ Verse has long been vitally important in Zen, As Truths that cannot be expressed in doctrine or prose can be hinted at in poetry.” After this sentence I was hooked on Zen.   I also found out that the sky is an image of the uncluttered nature of the “awakened mind”-aware of spirituality and oneness with the universe. Also the Moon represents one’s enlightened true nature!!! This definitively explains my fascination with the Moon!! And the attainment of enlightenment is the realization of one’s true nature! According to Wikipedia, “The aim of Zen practice is to discover this Buddha-nature within each person, through meditation and practice of the Buddha's teachings. The ultimate goal of this is to become a Completely Enlightened Buddha” Just cruise through the book and take any fruitful inspiration. It is a perfect combination that appeases the mind and cajoles the imagination.It is Zen.

Thank you dear friend for this book...

Same Moonlight for Our Dreams

On Zazen Pratice page 34

The Moon abiding in the midst of serene mind;

billows break into light.

Dogen (1200-1253)

Tus Manos by Pablo Neruda (Español -English-Français )

In school, poetry was the only reason I liked Spanish. The grammar rules were complicated but the poetry was so clear and melodious. Here one of my favorite of Pablo Neruda. It is about life, love, and caring hands. It is a powerful mix of nostalgia,passion, and gratefulness. It is real and universal. 

Here for the video in Spanish, it is intense and smooth.

Same Moonlight for our dreams.

Happy Monday!  

Tus manos

Cuando tus manos salen,
amor, hacia las mías,
¿qué me traen volando?
¿Por qué se detuvieron
en mi boca, de pronto,
por qué las reconozco
como si entonces, antes,
las hubiera tocado,
como si antes de ser
hubieran recorrido
mi frente, mi cintura?

Su suavidad venía
volando sobre el tiempo,
sobre el mar, sobre el humo,
sobre la primavera,
y cuando tú pusiste
tus manos en mi pecho,
reconocí esas alas
de paloma dorada,
reconocí esa greda
y ese color de trigo.

Los años de mi vida
yo caminé buscándolas.
Subí las escaleras,
crucé los arrecifes,
me llevaron los trenes
las aguas me trajeron,
y en la piel de las uvas
me pareció tocarte.

La madera de pronto
me trajo tu contacto,
la almendra me anunciaba
tu suavidad secreta,
hasta que se cerraron
tus manos en mi pecho
y allí como dos alas
terminaron su viaje

Your Hands
towards mine, love,
what do they bring me in flight?
Why did they stop
at my lips, so suddenly,
why do I know them,
as if once before,
I have touched them,
as if, before being,
they travelled
my forehead, my waist?
Their smoothness came
winging through time,
over the sea and the smoke,
over the Spring,
and when you laid
your hands on my chest
I knew those wings
of the gold doves,
I knew that clay,
and that colour of grain.
The years of my life
have been roadways of searching,
a climbing of stairs,
a crossing of reefs.
Trains hurled me onwards
waters recalled me,
on the surface of grapes
it seemed that I touched you.
Wood, of a sudden,
made contact with you,
the almond-tree summoned
your hidden smoothness,
until both your hands
closed on my chest,
like a pair of wings
ending their flight. 

Tes Mains
Lorsque tes mains s’envolent,
mon amour, vers les miennes,
que m’apporte leur vol ?
Pourquoi s’être arrêtées
brusquement sur ma bouche,
se faisant familières
comme si lors, avant,
je les avais touchées,
comme si avant couru
sur mon front, sur ma taille ?
Leur douceur s’avançait
en volant sur le temps,
sur la mer, la fumée,
sur le printemps aussi,
et quand tu as posé
tes mains sur ma poitrine,
j’ai reconnu ces ailes
de colombe dorée,
reconnu cette argile,
cette couleur de blé.
J’ai passé mes années
à marcher, les quêtant.
J'ai franchi les récifs,
gravi les escaliers,
les trains m’ont ramené,
dans la peau du raisin
je croyais te palper. 
Le bois m’apporté
un beau jour ton contact,
l’amande m’annonçait
ta secrète douceur,
lorsque ma poitrine
tes mains se sont fermées
et là comme deux ailes
ont fini leur voyage. 

I am free by Kunline

To my Brother David...
Thank you!!

I am invincible beyond the visible

Emotions are intense

Love without nuances

Where everything commences

Where reigns the ultimate happiness

No more bitterness

No more guess

I throw myself into the blue

An intense silence reigns

No more fear in my veins

Far from the insane parade

Within the waves I am not afraid

Finally my heart beats

I am free.
From Journal 3: May03, 2002

Phillis Wheatley-Thoughts On The Works Of Providence

I just discovered this poem of Phillis Wheatley-Thoughts On The Works Of Providence. Philis Wheatley is the first  African Poet in America. She was the first African American female writer to be published. She was born in Gambia-Senegal and was enslaved at 7 years old. With the Wheatleys in Boston, she became fluent in English and was reading Greek and Latin classics at 12 years old. She is legend!!! Even Voltaire had to recognize her as a magnificent poet and black indeed. 
Enjoy!!!

Phillis Wheatley - Thoughts On The Works Of Providence

A R I S E, my soul, on wings enraptur'd, rise
To praise the monarch of the earth and skies,
Whose goodness and benificence appear
As round its centre moves the rolling year,
Or when the morning glows with rosy charms,
Or the sun slumbers in the ocean's arms:
Of light divine be a rich portion lent
To guide my soul, and favour my intend.
Celestial muse, my arduous flight sustain
And raise my mind to a seraphic strain!
Ador'd for ever be the God unseen,
Which round the sun revolves this vast machine,
Though to his eye its mass a point appears:
Ador'd the God that whirls surrounding spheres,

Which first ordain'd that mighty Sol should reign
The peerless monarch of th' ethereal train:
Of miles twice forty millions is his height,
And yet his radiance dazzles mortal sight
So far beneath--from him th' extended earth
Vigour derives, and ev'ry flow'ry birth:
Vast through her orb she moves with easy grace
Around her Phoebus in unbounded space;
True to her course th' impetuous storm derides,
Triumphant o'er the winds, and surging tides.
Almighty, in these wond'rous works of thine,
What Pow'r, what Wisdom, and what Goodness shine!
And are thy wonders, Lord, by men explor'd,
And yet creating glory unador'd!

Creation smiles in various beauty gay,
While day to night, and night succeeds to day:
That Wisdom, which attends Jehovah's ways,
Shines most conspicuous in the solar rays:
Without them, destitute of heat and light,
This world would be the reign of endless night:
In their excess how would our race complain,
Abhorring life! how hate its length'ned chain!
From air adust what num'rous ills would rise?
What dire contagion taint the burning skies?
What pestilential vapours, fraught with death,
Would rise, and overspread the lands beneath?
Hail, smiling morn, that from the orient main
Ascending dost adorn the heav'nly plain!

So rich, so various are thy beauteous dies,
That spread through all the circuit of the skies,
That, full of thee, my soul in rapture soars,
And thy great God, the cause of all adores.
O'er beings infinite his love extends,
His Wisdom rules them, and his Pow'r defends.
When tasks diurnal tire the human frame,
The spirits faint, and dim the vital flame,
Then too that ever active bounty shines,
Which not infinity of space confines.
The sable veil, that Night in silence draws,
Conceals effects, but shows th' Almighty Cause,
Night seals in sleep the wide creation fair,
And all is peaceful but the brow of care.

Again, gay Phoebus, as the day before,
Wakes ev'ry eye, but what shall wake no more;
Again the face of nature is renew'd,
Which still appears harmonious, fair, and good.
May grateful strains salute the smiling morn,
Before its beams the eastern hills adorn!
Shall day to day, and night to night conspire
To show the goodness of the Almighty Sire?
This mental voice shall man regardless hear,
And never, never raise the filial pray'r?
To-day, O hearken, nor your folly mourn
For time mispent, that never will return.
But see the sons of vegetation rise,
And spread their leafy banners to the skies.

All-wise Almighty Providence we trace
In trees, and plants, and all the flow'ry race;
As clear as in the nobler frame of man,
All lovely copies of the Maker's plan.
The pow'r the same that forms a ray of light,
That call d creation from eternal night.
"Let there be light," he said: from his profound
Old Chaos heard, and trembled at the sound:
Swift as the word, inspir'd by pow'r divine,
Behold the light around its Maker shine,
The first fair product of th' omnific God,
And now through all his works diffus'd abroad.
As reason's pow'rs by day our God disclose,
So we may trace him in the night's repose:

Say what is sleep? and dreams how passing strange!
When action ceases, and ideas range
Licentious and unbounded o'er the plains,
Where Fancy's queen in giddy triumph reigns.
Hear in soft strains the dreaming lover sigh
To a kind fair, or rave in jealousy;
On pleasure now, and now on vengeance bent,
The lab'ring passions struggle for a vent.
What pow'r, O man! thy reason then restores,
So long suspended in nocturnal hours?
What secret hand returns the mental train,
And gives improv'd thine active pow'rs again?
From thee, O man, what gratitude should rise!
And, when from balmy sleep thou op'st thine eyes,

Let thy first thoughts be praises to the skies.
How merciful our God who thus imparts
O'erflowing tides of joy to human hearts,
When wants and woes might be our righteous lot,
Our God forgetting, by our God forgot!
Among the mental pow'rs a question rose,
"What most the image of th' Eternal shows?"
When thus to Reason (so let Fancy rove)
Her great companion spoke immortal Love.
"Say, mighty pow'r, how long shall strife prevail,
"And with its murmurs load the whisp'ring gale?
"Refer the cause to Recollection's shrine,
"Who loud proclaims my origin divine,

"The cause whence heav'n and earth began to be,
"And is not man immortaliz'd by me?
"Reason let this most causeless strife subside."
Thus Love pronounc'd, and Reason thus reply'd.
"Thy birth, coelestial queen! 'tis mine to own,
"In thee resplendent is the Godhead shown;
"Thy words persuade, my soul enraptur'd feels
"Resistless beauty which thy smile reveals."
Ardent she spoke, and, kindling at her charms,
She clasp'd the blooming goddess in her arms.
Infinite Love where'er we turn our eyes
Appears: this ev'ry creature's wants supplies;
This most is heard in Nature's constant voice,
This makes the morn, and this the eve rejoice;

This bids the fost'ring rains and dews descend
To nourish all, to serve one gen'ral end,
The good of man: yet man ungrateful pays
But little homage, and but little praise.
To him, whose works arry'd with mercy shine,
What songs should rise, how constant, how divine!