Friday, February 27, 2015

weepingsongs








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Quailsong flower of streets
Magpiesong flower of forests

Wolfsong flower of waters

Lovesong flower of night

Deathsong flower of spots


Drunkentears fruit of dawn
Embracingtears fruit of eyes
Welcometears fruit of hands
Mytears fruit of my lips

Myweeping fruit of time.

–Robert Desnos
Todd Sanders translation



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Thursday, February 26, 2015

not to worry









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Thou grievest for those whom
thou shouldst not grieve for,
and yet thou speakest words about wisdom.
Wise men do not grieve for the dead or for the living.

Never was there a time when I was not,
nor thou, nor these lords of men,
nor will there ever be a time
hereafter when we shall cease to be.


–The Bhagavad Gita





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Wednesday, February 25, 2015

listen







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I know of a place not ruled by flatness
Or constant risings and depressions,
and those alive are not afraid to die. 

There wild flowers come up through the leafy floor,
and the fragrance of "I am he" floats on the wind.

There the love bee stays deep inside the flower
and cares for no other thing.


–Kabir




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Monday, February 23, 2015

all things







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Since, then, the soul is immortal and has been born many times,
and since it has seen all things both in this world and in the other,
there is nothing it has not learnt. 

No wonder, then, that it is able to recall to mind goodness and other
things, for it knew them beforehand. 

For, as all reality is akin and the soul has learnt all things, there is
nothing to prevent a man who has recalled – or, as people say, learnt’ – only one thing from discovering all the rest for himself, if he will pursue the search with unwearying resolution. 

For on this showing all inquiry or learning is nothing but recollection.


Plato




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Sunday, February 22, 2015

song to the siren








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On the floating, shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile
Till your singing eyes and fingers
Drew me loving to your isle

And you sang, "Sail to me
Sail to me, let me enfold you"
Here I am, here I am
Waiting to hold you

Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you here when I was full sail?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks

For you sang, "Touch me not
Touch me not, come back tomorrow"
Oh my heart, oh my heart
Shies from the sorrow

Well, I'm as puzzled as a newborn child
I'm as riddled as the tide
Should I stand amid the breakers?
Or shall I lie with death my bride?

Hear me sing, "Swim to me
Swim to me, let me enfold you"
Here I am, here I am
Waiting to hold you



–Tim Buckley, Larry Beckett

Lyrics © BMG Rights Management US, LLC
 




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from Voices, Gonzalo Melchor translation








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The passing of a soul is light, extremely light, almost silence.


–Antonio Porchia


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Saturday, February 21, 2015

two happy lovers









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Two happy lovers make one bread,
a single moon drop in the grass.

Walking, they cast two shadows that flow together;
waking, they leave one sun empty in their bed.

Of all the possible truths, they chose the day;
they held it, not with ropes but with an aroma.

They did not shred the peace; they did not shatter words;
their happiness is a transparent tower.

The air and wine accompany the lovers.
The night delights them with its joyous petals.
They have a right to all the carnations.

Two happy lovers, without an ending, with no death,
they are born, they die, many times while they live:
they have the eternal life of the Natural.



–Pablo Neruda






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