31.12.09

thursday






I've been running old conversations through my mind like ticker tape. The last time I spoke with my grandmother. Driving with Maria this week, forever on the freeway. Laughing through warm happy days with Autumn. Running into Joshua at the airport when leaving was the last thing I wanted to do (still the last thing I want to do). Meaningless conversations that gain meaning because meaningless conversation was the only thing we could do.

If anyone knows how to turn off your brain, please let me know.















5 comments:

  1. The Rain in Pineto

    Be silent. On the border
    of the wood I don’t hear
    the human words you say ;
    but I hear
    newer words
    that speak drops & leaves
    from far.
    On duty. Rain
    falling from the clouds
    Rain on the tamarisks
    briny & singeing,
    rain on the pines
    scaly & bristly,
    rain on the divine
    myrtles,
    on the glittering broom
    of a bouquet,
    on the thick juniper
    on the scenting berries,
    rain on our sylvan
    faces,
    rain on our bare
    hands,
    on our light
    clothes,
    on the fresh thoughts
    that the new soul
    encloses,
    on the nice fable
    that deceived you
    yesterday ; that is deceiving me today,
    o Hermione.
    Do you hear ? The rain is falling
    on the solitary
    greenery
    with a rattle that lasts
    & varies in the air
    after the foliage
    more or less sparse.
    Listen. The dirge
    of the cicadas
    is answering the rain
    the southern rain
    doesn’t frighten them,
    the gray sky neither does
    & the pinetree
    has a sound & the myrtle
    another sound, & the juniper
    yet another one, different
    instruments
    under countless fingers.
    & we are submerged
    in the sylvan
    spirit,
    live the the treelike life ;
    & your damp face
    is soaked by the rain
    like a leave,
    & your hair
    scents
    clear broom,
    o earthly creature
    that you call
    Hermione.
    Listen, listen. The harmony
    of the ethereal cicadas
    little by little
    deafer
    in the increasing
    rain ;
    but a song mingles with this
    hoarser
    that over there
    from a humid shadow arises.
    Deafer & hoarser
    it fades, it extinguishes.
    Only one tone
    still trembles, extinguishes,
    revives, trembles, extinguishes.
    One hears no voice from the sea.
    Now you hear all the greenery
    rattle
    the silver rain
    that purifies,
    the rattling varies
    after the foliage
    more or less sparse.
    Listen.
    The girl from the air
    is still ; but the girl
    of the far silt,
    the treefrog,
    is singing in the deepest darkness,
    who knows where, who knows where !
    & it is raing on your eyelashes,
    Hermione.
    It is raining on your black eyelashes
    as if you are crying
    but of delight ; you are not pale
    but almost verdant,
    of the bark you came from
    & the whole life is fresh scent
    in us,
    the heart in the chest is a s a peach
    intact,
    between the eyelids your eyes
    are like springs in the grass,
    the teeth in the teeth ridges
    are like bitter almonds.
    & we go from bush to bush,
    now together then separated
    (& the greenery vigorously harshly
    ties the ankles,
    shackles the knees)
    who know where, who knows where !
    It is raining on our sylvan
    faces,
    rain on our bare
    hands,
    on our light
    clothes,
    on the fresh thoughts
    that the new soul
    encloses,
    on the nice fable
    that deceived me
    yesterday ; that is deceiving you today,
    o Hermione.

    ReplyDelete
  2. what a wonderful place, i feel refreshed just looking at the photos.

    i know exactly what you mean about turning it off! i wish i knew. . .

    ReplyDelete
  3. I'll let you know if I ever figure it out. I love the photos, especially the fellas! I wish I knew some as uniquely stylish as that.

    ReplyDelete
  4. i feel refreshed just looking at the photos.

    beyonce video

    ReplyDelete