Friday, February 5, 2010
She is in an all-night diner, making people fall in love with her. She does not mean to do it and they do not mean to let her. But she is inevitable. There is no protection against the flashing of her eyes, the movement of her shoulders and music of her hands.
These poor souls have no way of not losing themselves- in her voice and the things it says, the truths it reveals…she is a child…she is a mother…she is a minister…she reminds them of something and makes them forget something else…she is jazz and she is classical…she is a lonely acoustic guitar that cries on a street corner in a small town.
-christian kindschy, 2002
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Then falter not, O book! fulfil your destiny!
You, not a reminiscence of the land alone,
You too, as a lone bark, cleaving the ether—purpos’d I know
not whither—yet ever full of faith,
Consort to every ship that sails—sail you!
Bear forth to them, folded, my love—(Dear mariners! for you I fold it here, in
Speed on, my Book! spread your white sails, my little bark, athwart the
Chant on—sail on—bear o’er the boundless blue, from me, to every shore,
This song for mariners and all their ships.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
It is you at grips with that too long hour never dim enough until sleep
You as though you could be
The same except that I shall perhaps never meet you
You pretend not to know I am watching you
Marvelously I am no longer sure you know
You idleness brings tears to my eyes
A swarm of interpretations surrounds each of your gestures
It's a honeydew hunt
There are rocking chairs on a deck there are branches that may well scratch you in the
There are in a shop window in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette
Two lovely crossed legs caught in long stockings
Flaring out in the center of a great white clover
There is a silken ladder rolled out over the ivy
By my leaning over the precipice
Of your presence and your absence in hopeless fusion
My finding the secret
Of loving you
Always for the first time