Monday, September 28, 2009

All The Hemispheres, by Hafiz


Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake based on Tchaikovsky

Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadows and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.
Make a new water-mark on your excitement
And love.

Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.

Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting

While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.


from The Subject Tonight is Love - versions of Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Truth Serum, by Naomi Shihab Nye


Frédéric Chopin – Prelude Op. 28, No. 15 (Raindrop Prelude)

We made it from the ground-up corn in the old back pasture.
Pinched a scent of night jasmine billowing off the fence,
popped it right in.
That frog song wanting nothing but echo?
We used that.
Stirred it widely. Noticed the clouds while stirring.
Called upon our ancient great aunts and their long slow eyes
of summer. Dropped in their names.
Added a mint leaf now and then
to hearten the broth. Added a note of cheer and worry.
Orange butterfly between the claps of thunder?
Perfect. And once we had it,
had smelled and tasted the fragrant syrup,
placing the pan on a back burner for keeping,
the sorrow lifted in small ways.
We boiled down the lies in another pan till they disappeared.
We washed that pan.


thank you vv

Monday, September 14, 2009

Having Come This Far, by James Broughton


Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Symphony No. 40, I

I've been through what my through was to be
I did what I could and couldn't
I was never sure how I would get there

I nourished an ardor for thresholds
for stepping stones and for ladders
I discovered detour and ditch

I swam in the high tides of greed
I built sandcastles to house my dreams
I survived the sunburns of love

No longer do I hunt for targets
I've climbed all the summits I need to
and I've eaten my share of lotus

Now I give praise and thanks
for what could not be avoided
and for every foolhardy choice

I cherish my wounds and their cures
and the sweet enervations of bliss
My book is an open life

I wave goodbye to the absolutes
and send my regards to infinity
I'd rather be blithe than correct

Until something transcendent turns up
I splash in my poetry puddle
and try to keep God amused.


from Panhala

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Talking to Grief, by Denise Levertov


Gabriel Fauré - Piano Trio in D minor Op. 120, II
with the BannerArts Trio

Ah, Grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.

I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.

You think I don't know you've been living
under my porch.
You long for your real place to be readied
before winter comes. You need
your name,
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider
my house your own
and me your person
and yourself
my own dog.


vv, thank you
from poemhunter.com

Saturday, September 5, 2009

If hands could free you, heart, by Philip Larkin


Francis Poulenc - Improvisations No. 7 in C major
with Pascal Rogé

If hands could free you, heart,
...Where would you fly?
Far, beyond every part
Of earth this running sky
Makes desolate? Would you cross
City and hill and sea,
...If hands could set you free?

I would not lift the latch;
...For I could run
Through fields, pit-valleys, catch
All beauty under the sun--
Still end in loss:
I should find no bent arm, no bed
...To rest my head.


thank you Roxana for the poem
thank you vv for the music

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

It is not a word, by Sara Teasdale


George Enescu - Balada pentru vioara op. 4A

It is not a word spoken,
Few words are said;
Nor even a look of the eyes
Nor a bend of the head,

But only a hush of the heart
That has too much to keep,
Only memories waking
That sleep so light a sleep.


from poemhunter.com