gayathri: (Default)
Because my brain hurts from yet another dark and horrid poem from - you tell me why modern american poets are depressing and apparently know my dreams? Because beyond its false advertisement in the title, "this is a wonderful poem"
is almost exactly a recurring nightmare I have where nothing I do ends up with a happy ending for me, whether its walking past it, running away, attacking it...

In an attempt to exorcise this brainbleachworthy vision out of my head, I looked up Hafiz: 

At This Party

I don't want to be the only one here

Telling all the secrets -

Filling up all the bowls at this party,
Taking all the laughs.

I would like you

To start putting things on the table
That can also feed the soul
The way I do.

That way

We can invite

A hell of a lot more



lil_brown_bat: "Buttering the Sky" made me think of you. :) 
gayathri: (Default)
Since he's been posting poetry that he's been thinking about... this is one of the first I ever memorized, not to tell anyone, but just because I wanted to figure out how to rhyme 'again' and 'main', and also the idea of going to sea when the moon was bright. When I was a child, the moonlight would come in thru my bedroom window, and even back then, my eyesight was bad, so I had to imagine what I was 'seeing', and my imagination had my bed a boat, the moon our guide, and my teddy bears and I sailing off to an adventure. (It wasnt until far far later, I realized that this poem was about men going off and conquering others just for some glittery treasure - for me, it was the adventure of the travel that called.)

The Moon is up: Alfred Noyes

The moon is up, the stars are bright.
the wind is fresh and free!
We're out to seek the gold tonight
across the silver sea!
The world is growing grey and old:
break out the sails again!
We're out to see a Realm of Gold
beyond the Spanish Main.

We're sick of all the cringing knees,
the courtly smiles and lies
God, let Thy singing channel breeze
lighten our hearts and eyes!
Let love no more be bought and sold
for earthly loss or gain;
We're out to seek an Age of Gold
beyond the Spanish Main.

Beyond the light of far Cathay,
beyond all mortal dreams,
Beyond the reach of night and day
Our El Dorado gleams,
Revealing - as the skies unfold -
A star without a stain,
The Glory of the Gates of Gold
beyond the Spanish Main.

gayathri: (Default)
thanks to my friend, princessalwayslearning for pointing out an awesome poem for National Poetry Month: I'm not sure which hits me harder, th eide that it will never be enough, pulling me into a swamp and demanding apples, coffee and cake, or how one day, it will be gone, leaving no forwarding address?

Living in the Body

by Joyce Sutphen

Body is something you need in order to stay
on this planet and you only get one.
And no matter which one you get, it will not
be satisfactory. It will not be beautiful
enough, it will not be fast enough, it will
not keep on for days at a time, but will
pull you down into a sleepy swamp and
demand apples and coffee and chocolate cake.

Body is a thing you have to carry
from one day into the next. Always the
same eyebrows over the same eyes in the same
skin when you look in the mirror, and the
same creaky knee when you get up from the
floor and the same wrist under the watchband.
The changes you can make are small and
costly—better to leave it as it is.

Body is a thing that you have to leave
eventually. You know that because you have
seen others do it, others who were once like you,
living inside their pile of bones and
flesh, smiling at you, loving you,
leaning in the doorway, talking to you
for hours and then one day they
are gone. No forwarding address.
gayathri: (Default)

by Rae Armantrout

The ghosts swarm.
They speak as one
person. Each
loves you. Each
has left something

Did the palo verde
blush yellow
all at once?

Today's edges
are so sharp

they might cut
anything that moved.

The way a lost

will come back

You're not interested
in it now,

in knowing
where it's been.

I love that image that today's edges are so sharp. Today has been like that, knife edges in me. (actual and metaphorical)

(and this was pretty ossm: )


gayathri: (Default)

May 2012

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