Wednesday 17 April 2013

Do not be sad



Do not be sad, when I will be away
as soon or late each one of us must hence.
It is our slow, dim fate: we are bound to decay –
Yet it is not so bad or unkind an offence.

The fact that I chose which was the un-day
that I would have death for me to commence
isn't what you would expose as cowardly or foul play –
the mere act of taking a breath is at times too intense.

So don't be down to see me leave today.
Allow me to tread beyond the dark fence...
yes, I'm dead, yet certain I haven't gone astray:
I am where all of us must drown every pretence.

The weight on my back often made me sway,
The love of my friends often was immense,
Oft the pain that offends, that nothing could allay,
painted my days black and blue and dulled my good sense
and I could find against the buffets no defence –
one shouldn't slack one's pace yet one shouldn't delay.

I'm gone to the undiscovered country
for the one I have paced was much too dense,
too wan was its sun, too harsh its reality,
too uncaring, too bitter were its sentiments,
too harrowing – and a disaster – was the fray
for me to go on facing all the evidence.

Do not cry, and I beg you, do not pray,
I chose to die and pay the last expense.
I no longer lie nor feel sorry for those who betray,
I no longer shy nor suffer from any negligence –
my current turned awry in a sudden turn of events –
I know I should have said goodbye, but I have a long way.


In memory of Luc C.

Tuesday 16 April 2013

Trimming


"Art is the elimination of the unnecessary."

Pablo Picasso, painter, and sculptor (1881-1973)

Once upon a nighttime



Once upon a nighttime
At the unglad hour
When the twilit bells chime
I saw a man humped on a motorcycle
He was lour he was sour
And he never had the giggles

He knew the road to be treacherous
And full of magnificent bulltoads
When the weather was tempestuous
But on that night he was on the road
For he was remarkably jealous
His wife had been seen with a man named Goad.

Fireflies were dancing before his tired eyes
But he was mad, he was mad with rage
He knew he had to kill them to turn the page
Fireflies were prancing before his unhinged eyes.

The raving chuff-chuff of the motorcycle
Filled the night with an angry pestilence
Here and there in the marches the purulence
Thickened the night air to a charcoal treacle.

When he reached Goad's house on the moor
He saw his wife's car in the alley
So he rammed his cycle through the door
And beat them up into a jelly.

Both his wife and her wan paramour
Ended up in the bulltoads' belly.

Monday 15 April 2013

No quiero olvidar tu sonrisa



No quiero olvidar tu sonrisa
Y tu piel que siente la vida

Je ne veux pas oublier ton sourire
Et ta peau qui sent la vie
Lisse comme les feuilles d'olivier

Et plus sauvage qu'une coulée de lave
Ton tonnerre claque chacun de mes jours
Et à chacune des marées que tu invoques
Armée de tes bras comme des faux
Capable de trancher des horizons
Tu ressacques le limon qui m'enlise
Et rien ne m'importe plus que les vagues
De ta chevelure d'automne
Et des filaments blancs de tes iris

Je n'ai jamais su faire face
Jamais su refaire surface
Je n'ai jamais su que dire
Et parfois je me surprends à sourire
En repensant au goût des fraises de Malte
Quand je t'embrasse
Et le bleu de la mer
Dans l'écho de la conque
Dans le roulis de la barque

Tu m'as appris qu'il faut savoir s'obstiner de temps à autre
Laisser de côté la fureur et marcher
Éviter le regard des méduses
La morsure des soleils de Fez
Et marcher sans d'autre prière
Que celle de clémence faite au vent

Certains se sont fait un peu moins qu'un nom
En gravant "j'étais là" dans la pierre de Corinthe
Passée par le sabre et le feu et le temps
L'anonymat ou l'immortalité
À portée de plainte contre la mort

Tu m'as appris que pleurer comme un enfant
Ne doit pas faire peur, et ça m'est passé,
Car plus d'un a péri sans un souffle conservé
Et l'équilibre est maintenu comme une assiette
Sur la pointe d'une baguette.
Tout arrive si vite qu'on n'a plus le temps.

Alors on disculpe à tour de bras
Et l'envie tourne au vinaigre
Parce qu'on ne sait plus comment faire.
Et d'une poigne de fer on plie la dune.

La nuit semble impénétrable pour qui ne sait pas que la nuit existe
La magie du doigt opérant l'entaille dans le vif de la pierre
Rectiligne car il n'a jamais eu à faire ce geste
Et il ne le répétera jamais –
Il aurait suivi une courbe s'il avait cru en Dieu.

Certains tournent la page en fuyant le jour,
Laissent une traînée incandescente de misère dans leur sillage.
Le marbre dalle nos allers et venues.
Tu m'as appris qu'on fait des choix par amour.

Tu m'as appris qu'il y a des cris dans la nuit
Dont on n'entend que la fin,
Pour peu qu'on ait laissé la fenêtre entrouverte.
Sinon on n'entend rien, car la voix s'arrête, ou on a fui.

Et les aurores reprennent dans tes pupilles
Car tu m'as appris que la vie continue
Car souvent dix mille mains tendues
N'y suffisent pas. Si on le veut, on vacille.

Et les branches des pins bruissent entre tes doigts,
Pareilles à des montagnes qui se caressent
Douze mille ans durant tu m'as manqué
Car la nuit vint s'interposer entre nous
Alors que nous marchions dans les oliveraies de Damas
Douze mille ans que je n'ai baisé tes lèvres
Et autant à attendre ta venue sur ce chemin de terre.

À présent que tu es arrivée,
Je sais que je n'ai pas oublié ton sourire
et ta peau qui sent la vie.

Ups and downs


"Only mediocrity can be trusted to be always at its best. Genius must always have lapses proportionate to its triumphs."

Max Beerbohm, essayist, parodist, and caricaturist (1872-1956)

Sunday 14 April 2013

Slippery when said


"No one means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous."

Henry Brooks Adams, historian (1838-1918)

Friday 5 April 2013

Accidental purpose


"What is the purpose of the giant sequoia tree? The purpose of the giant sequoia tree is to provide shade for the tiny titmouse."

Edward Abbey, naturalist and author (1927-1989)

Thursday 4 April 2013

Sifting



So many times I disagree
with what people say
for I look and think differently
I'm not like them they say
and with that I'm perfectly okay
for I've learnt how to feel
because I went blind
inside
and I perspired the fear
the dark glare of that black sun
which most are content to get away from

so often I'm just glad to be alive
and to be able to remember my dreams
even if more often than not they hurt
even if so often they drive
me nuts
for they show what I spurn
and place a mirror
before my face

for days and days I've been hard-pressed
not to say depressed
but I walked on
in parks
along pavements
sifting the sentiments
scribbling messages
on the bark of the planes

perhaps I've never felt right in my head
but I tend to smile the more
at the silly lies people invent
to thresh reality
to shred their dreams
and they stay at home, content
as I sometimes am, sometimes,
to stay at home when I'm low
and stay put in bed
all lights in the red
but then I get fidgety
I want to see to see
what the world's up to

I'm full of bad habits
and of all sorts of odd bits
but my girlfriend likes me this way
she says we could open up a shop
and sell reveries
and fantasies
to all those who stopped
thinking life's bewildering array
is not too bewildering not to do away
with the oddities
I say that in time we all can learn
to fake even our happiness
and to fool the best of friends

I've been known to talk in my sleep
I've been known to blow a fuse
that's because I've seen the deep
for me darkness has no hidden hues

sometimes I hate to be alone
even lousy company suffices
to feel at home
in this mad world
bar the deficiencies
Sometimes I just hate to be alone
no word
to express
the loneliness
even a word
can shatter

Perhaps I'm mad but that's how I live
and I don't forget to give
as much as I receive
and I leave
on tiptoe
before they know
I was here -
only one line
cut afresh
on a tree
mentions
I am free.

Tuesday 2 April 2013

Sunhaze



I sleepwalk all my days
bathing in sunhaze
I'm bogged-in at nighttime
swathing in moonslime

dusk and dawn offering nothing less
than a sedative inbetweenness

I lick my wounds
in the cold house
finding comfort in the relative
security of four consecutive
standing thickwalls

I pass the days half-awake
sunhaze-baked
I strut the strung streets at night
moonslime-bedight

stuck and gone where people used to sleep
where sentiments through spun shadows seep

Tomorrow I boxed-up and shelved,
yesterday-like, as null and void,
as unlookedforward to
dismissed in absentia
clammy doldrums that can't be helped

plodding through nights after nights
through moonslime and trodden lights
sunhaze stilling all my highs
sunhaze burning through my eyes

Alliteration


"Everyone, in some small sacred sanctuary of the self, is nuts."

Leo Calvin Rosten, academic, humorist, scriptwriter, storywriter, journalist (1908-1997)

Habits

I am a man of habits I got to this conclusion because I flash-realised that I am hoping that someone, someday will see the patterns the rou...