To the new year and fashioning the ropes that will hold us / New Jersey / Jan 2010
To make us say: yes, oui, si.
“Even asleep we partake in the becoming of the world.”
Endurance comes only from enduring.
With a flick of the wrist I fashioned an invisible rope,
And climbed it and it held me.~ an excerpt from A Magic Mountain by Czeslaw Milosz
“Assuming I am a pleasant companion
with rhythm and a voice
and I depart
my hands having been
placed upon your
walls,
my fingerprints
upon your glass.
I simply leave this mark of blue
blue print.”~ Blue Print by New Jersey poet Yictove (former host of the New York City Knitting Factory Series; his given name was Eugene Melvin Turk; his adopted name "Yictove" means "He will write")
Dear Readers: I hope I have been a pleasant companion this past year as I struggle to find my rhythm and voice. Thank you for stopping to place your hands and eyes upon my wall. With love and wishes for delightful new rhythms in the new year, Jelisava
Paulo visits the river where the frigid wind has whipped the water onto the banks, creating icy sculptures / Delaware River and Tacony Bridge from the Jersey side / Dec. 2009
Once
they set the sails of their
imagination
the seas
looked surprised
as they stared into the tender breeze of storms~ Gods Small Beings (08) by Iranian poet Robab Moheb
“... Ungraspable and sewing
she listens to the wind passing by
fatigued on account of the birds.”~ an excerpt from The Time of Birds by Colombian poet Luz Mary Giraldo
I don't ever remember the summer Black-eyed Susans still blooming in December; they must like the often-warm and frequently-wet weather we've had this fall / New Jersey / Dec. 2009
“I sing praise to the play of the spirit, it replicates in endless haloes, tears loose from tangles, then in soft tissue waits for a new manifestation.”
~ an excerpt from Lesser Psalms by Edvard Kocbek
Delightfully colorful seeds in my November garden; I think the secret to a content life is to always be germinating new ideas and thoughts and projects and talents and interests / New Jersey / Nov. 2009
“I sing praise to seeds, their rhythm is always the same,
they open and close and jealously transmit their secret.”
(from Lesser Psalm by Edvard Kocbek; full text of the poem after the jump). . . and I sing praise to the rambunctious rhythm of the family: Turkey Stomp
Light reflected, light refracted, light my way: Light becomes so important at this time of year. In the summer the sun blinds me and washes out lesser light. In November I drink in every speck of light, every morsel. My eyes feast on the light. / New Jersey / Nov. 2009
“You have to say YES every time: Every other time and maybe aren’t enough, and I just have to take care of 47 things. If you want to pet the cat there’s no use chasing it under the bed, you can see that much, if you want to open your letters and read them there’s no use slicing them up, ripping and kicking and hitting: You can see that much too and the logic between 47 and 17 is clear, what’s clear is what you see through and cut yourself on, and it hurts, your skin hurts far too much, scratches, wounds, and there’s nothing else to do: You just have to keep going, without watching every step and until you can hear it, totally clear: YES.”
~ Yes, by Danish poet Katrine Marie Guldager
Dear so-called leaders, please dispense with secret talks and granting favors to people who give you money and preening in front of tv cameras and false righteousness and arrogantly proclaiming that you know exactly what every american wants and just do the right thing — give us a decent health care bill; please; we're counting on you; please; we're begging you; please; we're getting desperate; please, please, please / at the Delaware River whipped by winds of change; NJ / January 2009
“ . . . what are your intentions,
you, so called leaders
of mankind, what is hidden in your whispers behind dark glasses,
what is the meaning of your silence
of your loquacity, of your continuous meetings
and secret talks, pilgrims knock in vain
on other doors, artists connect in vain arches
of palaces rising from new foundations, in vain children write
slogans on the walls, in vain are the discoveries in megaphones
in vain the sacrificing of women kind, in vain
parades and volleys, volleys as greetings, volleys
as warnings, volleys for punishment, too many
bans, too many orders, as if there were
no sky, as if there were no man.”~ an excerpt from “History” (Zgodovina) by Slovenian poet Edvard Kocbek
Darkness comes suddenly now
Setting sun draws new patterns on the wall
Outside a world constantly changing
Things falling away
But all is not lost
You bring me a fistful
Of brightly colored flowers
And a bag of still-warm soft pretzels
Scent of mum
Scent of fall
Scent of life
Scent trail to find my way back
The beach at night / Beach Haven, NJ / Oct. 2009
Imagine that you had a dishcloth
Bigger than the one mothers put on the bread
To slow its cooling, that you could spread
Over the whole kitchen floor to bring up its face
As clearly as the features on the cake.
You’d have a print you could lift up
To the light and examine for individual traces
Of people who came to swap yarns, and sit on
Sugan chairs that bit into the bare floor, leaving
Unique signatures on concrete that creased
Over time into a map you could look at and
Imagine what those amateur cartographers
Were thinking when their eyes fell, in the silence
Between the stories, that was broken only by
The sound of the fire and whatever it was that
Was calling in the night outside.~ Mapping the Interior by Irish poet Eugene O'Connell
