I want to sleep for half a second
but I want everyone to know that I am still alive
that I have a golden stable inside my lips
-Federico Garcia Lorca, Gacela de la Muerte Oscura
remembering Lorca (a glosa)
what is done cannot be undone
seconds become eternity
the end of the conflict lies somewhere this side of infinity
death gave our poet-prophet peace and endless sleep
while we are left with chaos and threat
I, night’s watchman, know that sleep beckons
but it would be dangerous to acquiesce
abandon my post when so much is at stake
to close my eyes on what must be reckoned
I want to sleep for half a second
to receive relief from this evil
that robs us of freedom
oh, how we need to have you with us
to hear your words, your thoughts expressed
if we could see you once again
even briefly cheat death of its victory
we would be encouraged by your strength
our cause would be upheld, our hope revived
if only we could bring you back to our reality
a second, a minute, a century
we would ask you to give to us-
embed within us-your wisdom
allow us to speak with your voice
or let me be there and you here
you could say to them: you thought I was gone
that my message did not survive
that the people would give up without me
that they would fall to the ground in submission
that help for them would never arrive
but I want everyone to know that I am still
alive
you could say to us: listen, good people
keep working for your liberation
use my voice, my poetry, my plays
to speak against all injustice
I leave them as my legacy
launch them like an armada of ships
resist the forces that are holding you down
my words will resound like thundering hooves
they will know when their empire is held in your grip
that I have a golden stable inside my lips
Tritina for Monet
And as he walks upon the path, the flowers crowd on either side,
like cheering throngs devoid of wrath; their verdant growth with colour
pied.
-Lisa
LaGrange, “Monet’s Garden”
Linger on the blue-green bridge when you walk the garden path.
Note the serenity of the water lilies, the lovingly arranged beds of
flowers.
Monet will stand beside you, pleased that you are enjoying his colours.
In Giverny, he said, I will always reside, immersed in life and
beautiful colour.
If you look to the garden from the kitchen window, he will be standing
on the path
and will lift his hat to you, as the other hand gently grazes the
petals of delicate flowers.
The blue kitchen with its copper pots, the studio with canvases of
boats and flowers,
the dining table and rooms prepared for guests, flower vases filled
with every colour;
I imagine his evenings of friendship and laughter, followed by a
stroll on the garden path.
Son esprit y réside toujours, in the house, on the garden path, among the flowers and all their
colour.
harmony of the spheres
Jupiter and Saturn close together
appearing as one with light
from their tether so bright
for one night the sky is emblazoned
they sing a duet for those who are listening
for harmony, for the music of hope
delivered to enlighten, to assuage
a symphony in song for a world in chaos
their conjunction a canopy
of light over darkness
believe in cycles, trust in the grace
of celestial orbits to put order in place
musica universalis, its
message is clear
when we join together brightness appears
eros out of balance
it is small, barely a flicker
but capable of becoming fire
its smoke drifts upward
to cloud vision and distort focus
refusing to disappear
some unknown need
waiting to be acknowledged
floating on the periphery of all thought
until growing awareness requires a decision:
to ignite the flame or to find water?
to burn or to drown?
No comments:
Post a Comment