One of the joys of my life was reading poetry to those who appreciated it. It is a rarity in this day and age to find a woman who actually absorbs the words of master craftsmen like Pablo Neruda, and such listeners have always been treasured. Here is a wonderful piece by the Chilean literary giant:
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Pablo Neruda
Axiom: you are a sea.
Your eye-
lids curve over chaos
My hands
where they touch you, create
small inhabited islands
soon you will be
all earth: a known
land, a country.
HT: clavicola.
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
HT: mycolorbook.
so goes
another
husk
barreled thru
and emptied
shucked
and gone
much the
worse for
wear
but better
than before…
no use
for frames,
calendars
or long
goodbyes;
time is
what is
not
what
was
time never changes
but we must
in order for it
to continue…
for the moment
we start to question
where it goes
or how quickly
it slips away
we’ve
lost
it.
Happy New Year from your mates at Steinblóm:
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne* ?
CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my jo (or my dear),
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp !
and surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin auld lang syne.
CHORUS
We twa hae paidl’d i’ the burn,
frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin auld lang syne.
CHORUS
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
and gie’s a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
From October, 2011:
In Georgian:
ფარვანის ფრთების
მონაბერ ნიავს
როცა აყვები;
როცა ალუბლის
თეთრი ყვავილის
ჩურჩულს გაიგებ;
როცა მიფრინავ,
თუ წეროების
გრძელ მწკრივს
გაჰყვები;
როცა წასული
დედის ლოცვა
სინდისის ცრემლად
სულში ჩაგყვება;
როცა სიმშვიდე
ორი ფერია
ლურჯი და თეთრი -
როცა მწვერვალი
ღრუბლებში ცურავს,
როცა იპოვე
ღვთის ნატერფალი;
როცა სამყარო
გულში ეტევა,
თუ სული მღერის -
გამოქცევიხარ
მაშინ ტყვეობას,
მაშინ სიკვდილმა
სხვაგან იარა!
წარსული, აწმყო
და მომავალი -
დრო – მაშინ დაყრის
შენთან იარაღს…
მარადისობა
მაშინ ხარ თვითონ
და შენი სული
ღმერთს ეზიარა!
And in English:
When you follow
Wind blown by the
Wings of moth;
When you hear the
Whisper of a white
Cherry flower;
When you fly,
If you follow
Long queues
of cranes;
When has gone away
a Mother’s prayer
Comes into the soul
As conscience’s tear;
When peace
Comes in two colors:
Blue and white –
When the peak
Swims in the clouds,
When you have found
The Lord’s footstep;
When the universe
Fits into the heart,
If the soul sings –
Then you escaped
Being a hostage,
Then death
Has turned the other way!
The past, the present
And the future –
Then time will surrender
At your feet…
Then you are yourself
Eternity,
And your soul,
Has Communion with God!
Translated by Archil Lursmanashvili, with some grammatical touch-up by Rudy Carrera.
It’s the pushing aside that I do.
To make way for my sins, my thoughts, my actions.
The folding up and the putting away of God – into a corner closet
To take out another day.
To unfold and shake out and wrap myself into
When it suits me
When I can no longer stand the cold.
Will the day come
When I’ve forgotten where I put God?
Which closet? Which shelf? Which corner?
And I’ll be alone, wrapping my arms
Around myself.
Shivering in the chill,
God, waiting for me to unfold Him,
Like a summer blanket
Faded and needing creases ironed out.
“Seek for Me and you will find Me
If you search for Me
With all your heart.”
I will not find God if I have pushed Him
Away in a corner closet
And I never even open that door
To look.