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.
these are beautiful!
ReplyDeleteThe Rain in Pineto
ReplyDeleteBe 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.
what a wonderful place, i feel refreshed just looking at the photos.
ReplyDeletei know exactly what you mean about turning it off! i wish i knew. . .
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.
ReplyDeletei feel refreshed just looking at the photos.
ReplyDeletebeyonce video