June 5, 2017- Monday, Move!

Hello June,

it is sunny and cloudy and windy over here; time to open my eyes and move, wouldn’t you say?

I am sitting at the café next to two men in their fifties talking business and looking 8-year-old deep down.

Or is it because I am still asleep and they are part of my dream?

In any case, I just mailed my poems back home because I am looking for another publisher.

In the meanwhile, there is a short story to finish for today.

Let’s see how it goes.

January 11, 2017-Is Poetry accessible and vital to everyone?

Hello January,

I was rushing to a poetry meeting when I got to a discussion with a busy driver who intercepted me as I was riding my bike. Where are you going? He asked. My answer surprised him.

Well, I wish there was time for any poetry reading in everyday life. I am too busy to earn my life.

Ok, this is true if you take poetry to be a form of luxury? Is it only for those who are idle rich and carefree? Or who have a higher education?

Maybe or maybe not. If art is a luxury, and if rest, fun and then education is a luxuryy,  if love or taking time to look at the stars, is an unecessary luxury what is left?

But if we need to rush all day long?

Then we can start with a poem as a mantra for the day.


The Roses of Saadi’
I wanted to bring you roses this morning; 

But I had closed so many in my sash

That the knots were too tight to contain them.
The knots split.

The roses blew away.

All blew off to the sea, borne by the wind,

Carried to the water, never to return.

The waves looked red as if inflamed.

Tonight, my dress is still perfumed.

Breathe in the fragrant memory.https://www.talkinfrench.com/french-poems-english-translations/




September 29- The Tiger is back :-)

Dear September,

since I go through a Tiger period, I run into this wonderful poem of William Blake, -by chance?- and I would like to share it. So here it is, the Tiger as a force of nature:

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


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