Poetry and quotable quotes

[North Star]

Very nice.

Thanks.

And Karl, what is that (from)?

[Karl Henning]

Something I wrote about 20 years ago.  Funny what you find, combing through old shelves . . . .

[North Star]

Something I wrote about 20 years ago.  Funny what you find, combing through old shelves . . . .

Very true!

[North Star]

A Zen Koan:  Trading Dialogue for Lodging



Provided he makes and wins an argument about Buddhism with those who live there, any wondering monk can remain in a Zen temple. If he is defeated, he has to move on.

In a temple in the northern part of Japan two brother monks were dwelling together. The elder one was learned, but the younger one was stupid and had but one eye.

A wandering monk came and asked for lodging, properly challenging them to a debate about the sublime teachings. The elder brother, tired that day from much studying, told the younger one to take his place. "Go and request the dialogue in silence," he cautioned.

So the young monk and the stranger went to the shrine and sat down.

Shortly afterwards the traveler rose and went in to the elder brother and said: "Your young brother is a wonderful fellow. He defeated me."

"Relate the dialogue to me," said the elder one.

"Well," explained the traveler, "first I held up one finger, representing Buddha, the enlightened one. So he held up two fingers, signifying Buddha and his teaching. I held up three fingers, representing Buddha, his teaching, and his followers, living the harmonious life. Then he shook his clenched fist in my face, indicating that all three come from one realization. Thus he won and so I have no right to remain here." With this, the traveler left.

"Where is that fellow?" asked the younger one, running in to his elder brother.

"I understand you won the debate."

"Won nothing. I'm going to beat him up."

"Tell me the subject of the debate," asked the elder one.

"Why, the minute he saw me he held up one finger, insulting me by insinuating that I have only one eye. Since he was a stranger I thought I would be polite to him, so I held up two fingers, congratulating him that he has two eyes. Then the impolite wretch held up three fingers, suggesting that between us we only have three eyes. So I got mad and started to punch him, but he ran out and that ended it!"

[Karl Henning]

sleep took me — I was seeking asylum
driven out of the world of waking
women I once loved ringed me round
bandying the edges of undullable disappointments
they bade me adieu with smiles & kisses
H.P. Lovecraft checked my coat & I raced up
the stairs to catch the last bars of sleep's
sweet overture

                          sleep dragged me into a plush
velvet seat and I smiled knowing it would be
hours before the fat lady would ring but
before I lapsed fully into the first act
I stepped up to read a little Dostoevsky
while listening to Dire Straits

                                                    I slept
but my ambitions fidgeted & climbed off
my shoulders they reached up to caress
the windowpane to feel the imprint of
moonlight (I dreamt I & my love saw Venus
shining over the Lunacharsky Prospect) as my
ambition rested its cheek against the cooling glass
night shattered the window with political ambiguities
and the claws gripping the sill were commas
changing the meaning of love-letter sentences

                                                      (... pillow-talk)
                                                            3 Oct 93

[Karl Henning]

A Zen Koan:  Trading Dialogue for Lodging



Provided he makes and wins an argument about Buddhism with those who live there, any wondering monk can remain in a Zen temple. If he is defeated, he has to move on.

In a temple in the northern part of Japan two brother monks were dwelling together. The elder one was learned, but the younger one was stupid and had but one eye.

A wandering monk came and asked for lodging, properly challenging them to a debate about the sublime teachings. The elder brother, tired that day from much studying, told the younger one to take his place. "Go and request the dialogue in silence," he cautioned.

So the young monk and the stranger went to the shrine and sat down.

Shortly afterwards the traveler rose and went in to the elder brother and said: "Your young brother is a wonderful fellow. He defeated me."

"Relate the dialogue to me," said the elder one.

"Well," explained the traveler, "first I held up one finger, representing Buddha, the enlightened one. So he held up two fingers, signifying Buddha and his teaching. I held up three fingers, representing Buddha, his teaching, and his followers, living the harmonious life. Then he shook his clenched fist in my face, indicating that all three come fromone realization. Thus he won and so I have no right to remain here." With this, the traveler left.

"Where is that fellow?" asked the younger one, running in to his elder brother.

"I understand you won the debate."

"Won nothing. I'm going to beat him up."

"Tell me the subject of the debate," asked the elder one.

"Why, the minute he saw me he held up one finger, insulting me by insinuating that I have only one eye. Since he was a stranger I thought I would be polite to him, so I held up two fingers, congratulating him that he has two eyes. Then the impolite wretch held up three fingers, suggesting that between us we only have three eyes. So I got mad and started to punch him, but he ran out and that ended it!"

Very much enjoyed this, BTW

[Ken B]

A Zen Koan:  Trading Dialogue for Lodging



Provided he makes and wins an argument about Buddhism with those who live there, any wondering monk can remain in a Zen temple. If he is defeated, he has to move on.

In a temple in the northern part of Japan two brother monks were dwelling together. The elder one was learned, but the younger one was stupid and had but one eye.

A wandering monk came and asked for lodging, properly challenging them to a debate about the sublime teachings. The elder brother, tired that day from much studying, told the younger one to take his place. "Go and request the dialogue in silence," he cautioned.

So the young monk and the stranger went to the shrine and sat down.

Shortly afterwards the traveler rose and went in to the elder brother and said: "Your young brother is a wonderful fellow. He defeated me."

"Relate the dialogue to me," said the elder one.

"Well," explained the traveler, "first I held up one finger, representing Buddha, the enlightened one. So he held up two fingers, signifying Buddha and his teaching. I held up three fingers, representing Buddha, his teaching, and his followers, living the harmonious life. Then he shook his clenched fist in my face, indicating that all three come from one realization. Thus he won and so I have no right to remain here." With this, the traveler left.

"Where is that fellow?" asked the younger one, running in to his elder brother.

"I understand you won the debate."

"Won nothing. I'm going to beat him up."

"Tell me the subject of the debate," asked the elder one.

"Why, the minute he saw me he held up one finger, insulting me by insinuating that I have only one eye. Since he was a stranger I thought I would be polite to him, so I held up two fingers, congratulating him that he has two eyes. Then the impolite wretch held up three fingers, suggesting that between us we only have three eyes. So I got mad and started to punch him, but he ran out and that ended it!"

[jochanaan]

(Whitman)

AS I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado,
The confession I made I resume—what I said to you in the open air I resume:
I know I am restless, and make others so;
I know my words are weapons, full of danger, full of death;
For I confront peace, security, and all the settled laws, to unsettle them;
I am more resolute because all have denied me, than I could ever have been had all accepted me;
I heed not, and have never heeded, either experience, cautions, majorities, nor ridicule;
And the threat of what is call'd hell is little or nothing to me;
And the lure of what is call'd heaven is little or nothing to me;
Dear camerado! I confess I have urged you onward with me, and still urge you, without the least idea what is our destination,
Or whether we shall be victorious, or utterly quell'd and defeated.

[North Star]

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517 – 19 January 1547 / Norfolk)

The soote season, that bud and bloom forth bringes,
With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale:
The nightingale with fethers new she singes:
The turtle to her make hath told her tale:
Somer is come, for every spray nowe springes,
The hart hath hong his olde hed on the pale:
The buck in brake his winter cote he flinges:
The fishes flote with newe repaired scale:
The adder all her sloughe away she slinges:
The swift swallow pursueth the flyes smale:
The busy bee her honye now she minges:
Winter is worne that was the flowers bale:
And thus I see, among these pleasant things
Eche care decayes, and yet my sorow springes.

[North Star]

[4] from Certain Sonnets - Sir Philip Sidney

The Nightingale as soone as Aprill bringeth
Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,
While late bare earth, proud of new clothing springeth,
Sings out her woes, a thorne her song-booke making:
     And mournfully bewailing,
     Her throate in tunes expresseth
     What griefe her breast opresseth,
     For Theseus force on her chaste will prevailing.
          O Philomela faire, ô take some gladnesse,
          That here is juster cause of plaintfull sadnesse:
          Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth,
          Thy thorne without, my thorne my thorne my heart invadeth.

Alas she hath no other cause of anguish
But Theseus love, on her by strong hand wrokne,
Wherein she suffring all her spirits languish,
Full womanlike complaines her will was brokne.
     But I who dayly craving,
     Cannot have to content me,
     Have more cause to lament me,
     Since wanting is more woe then too much having.
          O Philomela faire, ô take some gladnesse,
          That here is juster cause of plaintfull sadnesse:
          Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth,
          Thy thorne without, my thorne my thorne my heart invadeth.





Katherine Philips: EPITAPH. On her Son H.P. at St. Syth's Church where her body also lies Interred

What on Earth deserves our trust?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one moment calls again.
Seven years childless marriage past,
A Son, a son is born at last:
So exactly lim'd and fair,
Full of good Spirits, Meen, and Air,
As a long life promised,
Yet, in less than six weeks dead.
Too promising, too great a mind
In so small room to be confin'd:
Therfore, as fit in Heav'n to dwell,
He quickly broke the Prison shell.
So the subtle Alchimist,
Can't with Hermes Seal resist
The powerful spirit's subtler fight,
But t'will bid him long good night.
And so the Sun if it arise
Half so glorious as his Eyes,
Like this Infant, takes a shrowd,
Buried in a morning Cloud.

[Ten thumbs]

MATRIMONIAL CREED.

He must be rich whom I could love,
His fortune clear must be,
Whether in land or in the funds,
'Tis all the same to me.

He must be old whom I could love,
Then he'll not plague me long ;
In sooth 'twill he a pleasant sight.
To see him borne along

To where the croaking ravens lurk.
And where the earth worms dwell :
A widow's hood will suit my face.
And black becomes me well.

And he must make a settlement,
I'll have no man without ;
And when he writes his testament,
He must not leave me out.

Oh ! such a man as this would suit
Each wish I here express ;
If he should say,— Will you have me?
I'll very soon say— Yes !

[Florestan]

Mihai Eminescu

Şi dacă...

Şi dacă ramuri bat în geam
Şi se cutremur plopii,
E ca în minte să te am
Şi-ncet să te apropii.

Şi dacă stele bat în lac
Adâncu-i luminându-l,
E ca durerea mea s-o-mpac
Înseninându-mi gândul.

Şi dacă norii deşi se duc
De iese-n luciu luna,
E ca aminte să-mi aduc
De tine-ntotdeauna.

[jochanaan]

Mihai Eminescu

Şi dacă...

Şi dacă ramuri bat în geam
Şi se cutremur plopii,
E ca în minte să te am
Şi-ncet să te apropii.

Şi dacă stele bat în lac
Adâncu-i luminându-l,
E ca durerea mea s-o-mpac
Înseninându-mi gândul.

Şi dacă norii deşi se duc
De iese-n luciu luna,
E ca aminte să-mi aduc
De tine-ntotdeauna.

Well, it looks lovely!  But I can't read Romanian...

[Karl Henning]

The school of resentment and amateurish cultural studies, appropriate targets of Bloom's learned animus, will die an inglorious death, as dogmatic political hermeneutics cannot withstand the test of time.

From this interesting review.

[Florestan]

Well, it looks lovely!

Ain´t it? 

But I can't read Romanian...

Oooops, I forgot to post the translation. Here it is. (not by me)

And If...

And if the branches tap my pane
And the poplars whisper nightly,
It is to make me dream again
I hold you to me tightly.

And if the stars shine on the pond
And light its sombre shoal,
It is to quench my mind's despond
And flood with peace my soul.

And if the clouds their tresses part
And does the moon outblaze,
It is but to remind my heart
I long for you always.

[North Star]

Scribbled a few weeks ago:



Music

Harmony, melody and rhythm,
All dissipate into nothingness,
Vibrations of the ear
Are all you hear -
Nothing more, nothing less.

Architecture of the mind
Walls of silence and sound
In which you will find
Yourself forever bound.



The first line is from Yeats's The Heart of the Woman:

My heart upon his warm heart lies,
His heart still beating cries
Apart from its body.
My mind better him dead abides
In the gutter, knife still bloody.

[Ten thumbs]

A. Mary Robinson, 1888

Darwinism

WHEN first the unflowering Fern-forest
Shadowed the dim lagoons of old,
A vague, unconscious, long unrest
Swayed the great fronds of green and gold.

Until the flexible stem grew rude,
The fronds began to branch and bower,
And lo ! upon the unblossoming wood
There breaks a dawn of apple-flower.

Then on the fruitful forest-boughs
For ages long the unquiet ape
Swung happy in his airy house
And plucked the apple, and sucked the grape.

Until at length in him there stirred
The old, unchanged, remote distress,
That pierced his world of wind and bird
With some divine unhappiness.

Not love, nor the wild fruits he sought,
Nor the fierce battles of his clan
Could still the unborn and aching thought,
Until the brute became the man.

Long since ; and now the same unrest
Goads to the same invisible goal,
Till some new gift, undream'd, unguess'd,
End the new travail of the soul.

[North Star]

Recent scribblings:

The Ballad of the Woodsman

Long ago, on a cold summer night
Walking in the woods, dark and mossed
I met a dryad and at the first sight
My heart to her was forever lost.

Her hair was green, and so her eyes
That, meeting mine, imprisoned me.
My nymph and I, intertwined at thighs
I told her: like this I want forever be.

But she vanished to her forest home
And I was doomed by that one tryst,
To wondering under the green dome
With the memory of the lips I but once kissed.

O where are you, green dryad?
All my days and all my nights I spent
In your search, but I am now tired
And realize: to you it nothing meant.




Summer Nights

Endless light
Shining bright
over the land
Touching the trees,
and kissing the lips
of the misty lake

holding your hand
caressing your knees
bonding our hips
All through the night
so bright, awake




Sea Pictures

The waves hit the coast
time and again, but most
of the shore stays afloat
As returns the fishing boat

Generations, like ripples
following each other,
suckling the nipples
of their mother

On the shore, the two fishermen
drink from the sea
and one asks the other:
'which are you drinking, the water or the wave?'
After a while, the other replies:
'when the sea hits the beach,
the wave has hit its reach,
and only water remains -
the sea never drains'


("which are you drinking, the water or the wave" quoted from John Fowles' "The Magus")

[Wakefield]

I was recalled of Parra, Nicanor Parra, who turned 100 last September, because of a post by Brian, talking about Neruda.

Parra is, IMO, the greatest alive poet in Spanish and probably, sorry Pablo, our rightful national poet.



Epitaph
Of medium height,
With a voice neither shrill nor low,
The oldest son of an elementary school teacher
And a piecework seamstress,
Naturally thin
Though fond of good eating,
With drawn cheeks
And oversize ears,
A square face,
And slits for eyes,
And the nose of a mulatto boxer
Over an Aztec idol's mouth
-All this bathed
In a light halfway between irony and perfidy -
Neither too bright nor totally stupid,
I was what I was: a mixture
Of vinegar and olive oil,
A sausage of angel and beast!

Epitafio
De estatura mediana,
Con una voz ni delgada ni gruesa,
Hijo mayor de profesor primario
Y de una modista de trastienda;
Flaco de nacimiento
Aunque devoto de la buena mesa;
De mejillas escuálidas
Y de más bien abundantes orejas;
Con un rostro cuadrado
En que los ojos se abren apenas
Y una nariz de boxeador mulato
Baja a la boca de ídolo azteca
-Todo esto bañado
Por una luz entre irónica y pérfida-
Ni muy listo ni tonto de remate
Fui lo que fui: una mezcla
De vinagre y aceite de comer
¡Un embutido de ángel y bestia!

_______________
Test
What is an antipoet
Someone who deals in coffins and urns?
A general who's not sure of himself?
A priest who believes in nothing?
A drifter who finds everything funny
Even old age and death?
A speaker you can't trust?
A dancer at the edge of a cliff?
A narcissist who loves everyone?
A joker who goes for the jugular
And is mean just for the hell of it?
A poet who sleeps in a chair?
A modern-day alchemist?
An armchair revolutionary?
A petit-bourgeois?
A fake?
a god?
a naive person?
A peasant from Santiago, Chile?
Underline the right answer.

What is antipoetry
A tempest in a teapot?
A spot of snow on a rock?
A tray piled high with human shit
As Father Salvatierra believes?
A mirror that doesn't lie?
A slap in the face
Of the president of the Writers' Society?
(God save his soul)
A warning to young poets?
A jet-propelled coffin?
A coffin in centrifugal orbit?
A coffin run on kerosene?
A funeral parlor without a corpse?
Put an X
Next to the right answer.

Test
Qué es un antipoeta:
Un comerciante en urnas y ataúdes?
Un sacerdote que no cree en nada?
Un general que duda de sí mismo?
Un vagabundo que se ríe de todo
Hasta de la vejez y de la muerte?
Un interlocutor de mal carácter?
Un bailarín al borde del abismo?
Un narciso que ama a todo el mundo?
Un bromista sangriento
Deliberadamente miserable
Un poeta que duerme en una silla?
Un alquimista de los tiempos modernos?
Un revolucionario de bolsillo?
Un pequeño burgués?
Un charlatán?
un dios?
un inocente?
Un aldeano de Santiago de Chile?
Subraye la frase que considere correcta.

Qué es la antipoesía:
Un temporal en una taza de té?
Una mancha de nieve en una roca?
Un azafate lleno de excrementos humanos
Como lo cree el padre Salvatierra?
Un espejo que dice la verdad?
Un bofetón al rostro
Del Presidente de la Sociedad de Escritores?
(Dios lo tenga en su santo reino)
Una advertencia a los poetas jóvenes?
Un ataúd a chorro?
Un ataúd a fuerza centrífuga?
Un ataúd a gas de parafina?
Una capilla ardiente sin difunto?

Marque con una cruz
La definición que considere correcta.

http://www.nicanorparra.uchile.cl/english/

[Ten thumbs]

Easy 'tis advice to give,
    Hard it is advice to take
Years that lived--and years to live,
    Wide and weary difference make.

Letitia Elizabeth Landon