talkers

There's something dangerous

In being with good talkers.

The fly's stories of his ancestors

Don't mean much to the frog.

I can't be the noisy person I am

If you don't stop talking.

Some people talk so brilliantly

That we get small and vanish.

The shadows near that Dutch woman

Tell you that Rembrandt is a good listener.

Robert Bly

Visiting Sand Island

.

.

Somebody showed off and tried to tell the truth

And drank wine and went to bed.  Someone 

Woke in the night and wanted his children

To walk in the grass on this island under the stars.

.

Someone was lucky.  Someone had eyes and found

Stars.  Someone had feet and found grass.

Someone loved thought, and knew things to learn.

Someone could turn in the river and go up or down.

.

Someone thought he was unlucky, thought he didn't try

To tell the truth.  Someone thought his head was dark.

Someone tried to feel as bad as others did; someone

Flapped along the ground to draw the fox to him.

.

Tell him, friends, that the nest is now gone;

Tell him the little twigs are all dispersed.

Tell him all he has to do is walk under stars.

Tell him the fox has long since eaten his dinner.

.

Robert Bly

.

For Ruth

There's a graceful way of doing things. Birch branches

Curve slightly upward; or the wind brings a few

snowflakes down, and then joins the night;

Or you leave me a sprig of chervil and no more.

Each morning we have this new chance.  We can walk

A few steps behind the others down the mountain;

We can enter a conversation as if we were blessed,

Not insisting on our old way of gaining pity.

There's a way you have of knowing what another

May need ahead of time, before the party

Begins, as smoke sometimes disappears

Downward among branches.  And I've learned

From you this new way of letting a poem be.

Robert Bly

from Morning Poems

detachment from the world

.

Confusion arises because certain spiritual teachings say that detachment from the world is necessary for enlightenment.  The concept of detachment can be confused with release from pain, a way of numbing so that you don't have to experience the pains of life.  If you are not willing to fully experience the pains of love, the pains of the heart breaking open, then you close your heart in the name of comfort and control, even in the name of enlightenment.

.

Give up every idea of detachment, and experience your detachment fully.  Experience the pain and the beauty of attachment, and the grief as what you are attached to is ripped away.  Then you will recognize what can never be detached, what is not some stoic, unfeeling, unemotional, inhuman existence, but what is freely and consciously all of it.

.

~ Gangaji

from: the Diamond in your Pocket

.

to spareness

.

You lean toward nonexistence,

but have not yet become it entirely.

For this reason, you can still be praised.

The tree unleafing enters your dominion.

An early snowfall shows you abide in all things.

Your two dimensions are line and inclination.

Therefore desire,

though is incinders each mote of its object, itself is spare.

The late paintings of Turner

prove your slender depths without limit.

The beauty too of shakuhachi and cello.

"Winter darkness. Rain. No crickets singing."

-You are there, pulling hard on the rope-end.

Remembering you, I remember also compassion.

I cannot explain this.

Nor how you live in a teabowl

or in a stone that has spent a long time in a river.

Nor the way you at times can signal your own contradiction,

meaning extra, but not by much-

"Brother, can you spare a dime," one thin man asks another.

Any room, however cluttered, gestures toward you,

declaring:

"Here lives this, not that."

In mathematics, the modest "<" sign gestures toward you.

Your season is surely November,

your fruit, persimmons ripening by coldness.

Your sound a crow cry, a bus idling at night by roadside.

Without apparent effect,

and so you remind of starlight on the colors of a cow's hide.

Your proposition, like you, is simple, of interest only to the human soul:

vast reach of all that is not, and still something is.

~ Jane Hirshfield

One of the Butterflies

.

.

The trouble with pleasure is the timing

it can overtake me without warning

and be gone before I know it is here

it can stand facing me unrecognized

while I am remembering somewhere else

in another age or someone not seen

for years and never to be seen again

in this world and it seems that I cherish

only now a joy I was not aware of

when it was here although it remains

out of reach and will not be caught or named

or called back and if I could make it stay

as I want to it would turn into pain

.

W.S. Merwin

from: The Shadow of Sirius

.

Falling

.

.

Long before daybreak

none of the birds awake

rain comes down with the sound

of a huge wind rushing

through the valley trees

it comes down around us

all at the same time

and beyond it there is nothing

it falls without hearing itself

without knowing

there is anyone here

without seeing where it is

or where it is going

like a moment of great 

happiness of our own

that we cannot remember

coasting with the lights off

.

W.S. Merwin

.

a momentary creed

I believe in the ordinary day

that is here at this moment and is me

I do not see it going its own way

but I never saw how it came to me

It extends beyond whatever I may

think I know and all that is real to me

it is the present that it bears away

where has it gone when it has gone from me

there is no place I know outside today

except for the unknown all around me

the only presence that appears to stay 

everything that I call mine it lent me

even the way that I believe the day

for as long as it is here and is me

~ W.S. Merwin

from:  The Shadow of Sirius

.

That sounds wonderful

.

.

Good poetry

Makes a beautiful naked woman

Materialize from

Words,

.

Who then says,

With a sword precariously waving

In her hands,

.

"If you look at my loins

I will cut off your head,

.

And reach down and grab your spirit

By its private parts,

.

And carry you off to heaven

Squealing in joy."

.

Hafiz says,

"That sounds wonderful, just

Wonderful.

.

Someone please - start writing

Some great

Lines."

.

- Hafiz

from: The subject tonight is love - versions by Daniel Ladinsky

.

what the bird with the human head knew

I went to the bird

with the human head,

and asked,

Please Sir,

where is God?

God is too busy

to be here on earth,

His angels are like one thousand geese assembled

and always flapping.

But I can tell you where the well of God is.

Is it on earth?

I asked.

He replied,

Yes. It was dragged down

from paradise by one of the geese.

I walked many days,

past witches that eat grandmothers knitting booties

as if they were collecting a debt.

Then, in the middle of the desert

I found the well,

it bubbled up and down like a litter of cats

and there was water,

and I drank,

and there was water,

and I drank.

Then the well spoke to me.

It said: Abundance is scooped from abundance,

yet abundance remains.

Then I knew.

~ Anne Sexton

.

(Few established poets nowadays have a background as non-spectacular as that of Anne Sexton (1928-1974), a mediocre student who neither went to college nor formally studied literature. For a time she worked as a fashion model. Emotional, impetuous, she even eloped at the age of 19.

.

Anne Sexton began falling to pieces in her early 20’s after the births of her two daughters. Her psychiatrist recommended writing poetry as a form of therapy; she took to the typewriter at the age of 26 and never looked back.)

(Biography from: http://katebenedict.com/lectio/sexton.html)

what's that

.

 

 

Before it came inside

I had watched it from my kitchen window,

watched it swell like a new balloon,

watched it slump and then divide,

like something I know I know —

a broken pear or two halves of the moon,

or round white plates floating nowhere

or fat hands waving in the summer air

until they fold together like a fist or a knee.

After that it came to my door. Now it lives here.

And of course: it is a soft sound, soft as a seal’s ear,

that was caught between a shape and a shape and then returned to me.

 

 

You know how parents call

from sweet beaches anywhere, come in come in

and how you sank under water to put out

the sound, or how one of them touched in the hall

at night: the rustle and the skin

you couldn’t know, but heard, the stout

slap of tides and the dog snoring. It’s here

now, caught back from time in my adult year —

the image we did forget: the crackling shells on our feet

or the swing of the spoon in soup. It is as real

as splinters stuck in your ear. The noise we steal

is half a bell. And outside cars whisk by on the suburban street

 

 

and are there and are true.

What else is this, this intricate shape of air?

calling me, calling you.

 

 

 

 

~ Anne Sexton

.

The divine will

.

The divine will

is a deep abyss

of which the present 

moment is the entrance.

If you plunge

into this abyss

you will find it

infinitely more vast

than your

desires.

.

~ Jean Pierre de Caussade

(French Jesuit who in the 18th century coined the phrase

"the sacrament of the present moment."  

He said,

"It is necessary to disengage from all we feel and do

in order to walk with God in the duty of the present moment...")

.

.

The Pentecost Castle (excerpt)

.

I shall go down

to the lovers' well

and wash this wound

that will not heal

beloved soul

what shall you see

nothing at all

yet eye to eye

depths of non-being

perhaps too clear

my desire dying

as I desire

~ Geoffrey Hill

You who want

.

.

You who want

knowledge,

seek the Oneness

within

.

There you

will find

the clear mirror

already waiting

.

~ Hadewijch II
art by Picasso

.

Tighten

.

 

 

Tighten

to nothing

the circle

that is

the world's things.

 

Then the Naked

circle

can grow wide,

enlarging,

embracing all

 

 

 

 

~ Hadewijch II