| | Mysterium tremendum, [revised]Page 16 of 22 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22) | | 60: "Uncle Nick" is a glorious poem, a****nsian portrait rich with the care you feel/felt for him. That image of the "forest, I think it is Europe" &c., and the lines that followed it are masterful! Thank you. | |
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| Jordan
Posted: 3/28/2010 7:52:18 AM | Jordan
Jordan was asleep, sitting up
in the corner of the cafe
thinking of I couldn’t imagine what.
The lids of his eyes were thin
and hardly protected him
from wakefulness.
I could offer him a cigarette as I left,
but that might be too overt a gesture
at his poverty, his need
for almost anything. | |
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| Jordan
Posted: 3/28/2010 8:33:53 AM |
The lids of his eyes were thin
and hardly protected him
from wakefulness.
these lines make you want to protect Ivan from his own wakefulness, since his eyelids are inadequate...great portrait, Jer... | |
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| Jordan
Posted: 3/28/2010 12:44:58 PM | | DearBrizo: I forget who it was who first introduced Ivan into my thread but the poem was about Jordan - unless you were making an elliptical reference to the Ivan of "The Brothers Karamazov," the eldest of the three brothers, the youngest of whom is where I got my nom de plume here. | |
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| Jordan
Posted: 3/29/2010 9:34:15 PM | oops, I saw it wrong... I'm such a ditz lately... | |
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| Jordan
Posted: 3/30/2010 3:32:08 PM | Brizo: A propos your last comment: It's the 2nd night of Passover and as on the 1st night, one of the youngest people present will kick of the reading by addressing him/herself to the person conducting the Seder, by asking the traditional 4 questions, each of which begins with the formula:
"Why is this night different from all other nights?" | |
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| Jordan
Posted: 4/2/2010 9:13:27 PM | Oh god... how beautiful ."..is this night different from other nights?"
and your words, and the way your feet stopped moving
how your eyes found a place to rest
how your your heart moves with gentleness
how I found you dancing as a child
(you did!)
How different, how magnificent was stillness
when spirit moved into frozen pause.
Then this night is different
I have opened my heart.
Frozen, dying, almost dead.
I saw this woman, this mother of mine
had shining eyes, believed in life.
This night is different. My fears evaporate
I understand this sky. I should have always danced
with any, all of the jestful, mad fiddlers.
This would have smoothed my personal turbulent waters.
I would then be another star..in a different night sky. | |
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| why is this night...
Posted: 4/2/2010 10:57:44 PM | ^ wow....so powerful
a different night sky
could create a different you?
perhaps your light might shine more bright
when the clouds have moved out of sight
perhaps your waves would just lap the shore
when turbulance could be no more
until the cycle turns again
and you emerge strong from within
outwardly showing your magesty
feeling finally your beauty
friday night...the fifth passover night....
and the start of this day of rest with sabbath...
this holiday asks us all to honour freedom
a deep freedom from within
from when we enslave our passion
and freedom from without
where many are forced to doubt
and can't dare to rise and shout
for torture is still so rife
and slavery takes so much life
why is this night different from all other nights?
because awareness is rising and not from fright
but from that point where might is not right
from that point where the all is in sight
for humanity could be our mothers' love deeply
and fathers who lovingly guide our destiny
if only we could really end slavery
if only
we could
really
end
slavery
if only
we could
really
end our
inhumanity
| |
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| why is this night...
Posted: 4/3/2010 12:31:21 AM | | not literally...only in the bigger sense. In the final analysis, we miss more than we believe we miss. Happy Easter, Passover, dawning of the longer days and the power and sweetness of sharing communication. I love it! | |
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| Jordan
Posted: 4/3/2010 5:15:44 AM |
Oh god... how beautiful ."..is this night different from other nights?"
and your words, and the way your feet stopped moving
how your eyes found a place to rest
how your your heart moves with gentleness
how I found you dancing as a child
(you did!)
How different, how magnificent was stillness
when spirit moved into frozen pause.
Then this night is different
I have opened my heart.
Frozen, dying, almost dead.
I saw this woman, this mother of mine
had shining eyes, believed in life.
This night is different. My fears evaporate
I understand this sky. I should have always danced
with any, all of the jestful, mad fiddlers.
This would have smoothed my personal turbulent waters.
I would then be another star..in a different night sky.
How beautiful! How serene! The best of Easters to you, dear friend. | |
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| why is this night...
Posted: 4/3/2010 5:20:06 AM | | WeAre1: What a heartfelt, uplifting message. Thank you. A belated Shabbat Shalom. | |
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| why is this night...
Posted: 4/4/2010 8:03:20 PM | why is this night at all?
if it was otherwise, then it would not be
what is it not
nor pretended to be
no it would be nothing more than a husk of sensibilities
a darkness and shroud of sensuality
a momentous thing in itself and otherwise
forgotten en extrema
nor the less, a night is a night shrouded in nothing more than shame
and disclosure forced open as a shell, a claviculor* clam in a bed of gregarious slime and
astute fecundity
*aka collarbone | |
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| why is this night...
Posted: 4/5/2010 7:24:52 AM | “Why is this night at all?”
you ask, in doing which
you open us to an infinite regression,
‘Why is this question a question?’
one might respond.
Mightn’t we all have been better off
in the beginning to have said:
This night is!
| |
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| why is this night...
Posted: 4/5/2010 11:02:11 PM | Do not forsake this very night
It is one of a thousand or more
or this then is the night
a head lifted, one more breath
surrendered to something infinite
something more than parts, then what is the sum?
a quiet chanting reflecting a magic
nothing I or you can hold...
So be it. | |
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| why is this night...
Posted: 4/7/2010 11:44:36 PM | I will come creeping, of course..
while you are sleeping
I will gaze silently.
Please, do not awake...
I will pull up any blanket
that has left your shoulder
noticing that you sleep paused.
you accept life into your sleep.
Let me come creeping
I will sprinkle dreams
that speak..releasing you
to something else.. | |
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| why is this night...
Posted: 4/8/2010 4:39:22 AM |
I will come creeping, of course..
while you are sleeping
I will gaze silently.
Please, do not awake...
I will pull up any blanket
that has left your shoulder
noticing that you sleep paused.
you accept life into your sleep.
Let me come creeping
I will sprinkle dreams
that speak..releasing you
to something else..
The most tender of poems! Thank you. | |
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| Jordan: (continued)
Posted: 4/12/2010 7:01:36 AM | Jordan sits alone
asleep
slumped in a chair
at the café.
“A solitary pawn spreads gloom across the chessboard.”
Mikhail Tal | |
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| The great, when they have fed us
Posted: 4/24/2010 6:36:22 AM | The great, when they have fed us,
what have they kept for themselves?
A sigh, a moment of rest
before the fever seizes them again,
a quiet fever, a cold fever to make
another story, another poem,
a universe better tied together
than our own, for they have seen
our universe in all its unruly disconnectedness
at the heart of which, they suspect,
there is a knot, firm and unyielding.
Others have written, have sung
to the Imperium, the multi-faced
Master Magician, He or She
with Her wand that reaches to infinity,
She of the million churches,
Abbots, Imams, Rabbis, the mumbling hordes
with their incantations, but the greats,
the Flannery O’Connors, the W.B. Yeats, they feed us
and feed us, and their stewpots
give out more. | |
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| The great, when they have fed us
Posted: 4/25/2010 6:34:02 PM | W.B. Yeats and Flannery O'Connor had tea
upon which, as they sipped....
(they could not disagree)
some eyes see, some ears hear, some souls are just this.
If they should disagree, they should not.
words have enough power to move hearts.
Yet...each one heard, magnified
is exactly this.. such.. old human
mumbling about grasses, scythes..
ending meaningless lives.
Within Yeats and O'Connor
is each human endeavour ...they willingly spoke...
Our sorry lives...finally...begin every story. I am O'Connor
to a lesser degree....good enough. | |
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| The great, when they have fed us
Posted: 4/26/2010 1:05:42 PM |
W.B. Yeats and Flannery O'Connor had tea
upon which, as they sipped....
(they could not disagree)
some eyes see, some ears hear, some souls are just this.
If they should disagree, they should not.
words have enough power to move hearts.
Yet...each one heard, magnified
is exactly this.. such.. old human
mumbling about grasses, scythes..
ending meaningless lives.
Within Yeats and O'Connor
is each human endeavour ...they willingly spoke...
Our sorry lives...finally...begin every story. I am O'Connor
to a lesser degree....good enough.
My God, but your imagination takes you to some wild (and interesting) places, but...
if you are O'Connor, does that mean I am Yeats!!!! | |
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| Ribbit
Posted: 4/26/2010 7:00:55 PM | Ribbit Ribbit
Froggie go here
Froggie go there
Froggie go everywhere
Ribbit Ribbit
Froggie chase bunny
Bunny chase back
Froggie smack bunny
Ribbit Ribbit
Bunny hop on Froggie
Bunny bite Froggie
Froggie dunk Bunny
Ribbit Ribbit
Bunny run and hide...
~Rock | |
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| Ribbit
Posted: 4/27/2010 4:44:35 AM | | Ribbit, ribbit, Qgorgo - and thanks. | |
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| Ribbit
Posted: 4/29/2010 12:30:35 AM | So softly has my affection crept
you surprised the day.
I will never again wonder
where all comes from.
We are the legion
who march laughing/crying to a sky...
surrendering. | |
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