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poem of the moment
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madameshawshank



Joined: 30 Sep 2004
Posts: 1654
Location: Penrith (where jacarandas remind me of change), New South Wales, Australia

PostPosted: Sat Jun 24, 2006 11:44 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

ah sweetbabyjames..

Kabir ~ a poet AND weaver...can you begin to imagine his weavings?

thoughts

playthings I believe
programmed perhaps, still the chance
to create oneself...

sbjames..thank you so much for sharing..like a herb or spice for the forum Wink
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"I've never accepted the external appearance of things as the whole truth. The world is much more elaborate than the nerves of our eye can tell us." - James Gleeson
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sweetbabyjames



Joined: 05 May 2006
Posts: 357

PostPosted: Sat Jun 24, 2006 2:33 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thank you madame, and thanks for knowing Kabir! I realized after I went to bed that I had forgotten to give him credit.
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madameshawshank



Joined: 30 Sep 2004
Posts: 1654
Location: Penrith (where jacarandas remind me of change), New South Wales, Australia

PostPosted: Sun Jul 02, 2006 4:39 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

an oh-so-quick visit to the National Gallery of Victoria...and wadda ya know...I fall in love ~ with a piece of Venetian glass fashioned in the 1600s by some god or goddess or other Wink I'm talking serious love here.....soul depths stuff! occasionally I fine an image, word, strand of music, scent....stays within..becomes part of ...that's what's happened with the glass...

when I'm back in Sydney I'll post a photo of the newest love ~ couldn't take my eyes off it....you know that instant "where's my breath gone" moment..until then, haiku must do

NGV acquisition

fragile I call you
flask glass blue-beaded necklet
as I gaze at you
_________________
"I've never accepted the external appearance of things as the whole truth. The world is much more elaborate than the nerves of our eye can tell us." - James Gleeson
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madameshawshank



Joined: 30 Sep 2004
Posts: 1654
Location: Penrith (where jacarandas remind me of change), New South Wales, Australia

PostPosted: Tue Jul 04, 2006 3:38 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Heard Kevin Kopelson talking about his book "Neatness Counts" ~ essays on the writer's desk ~ he was a joy to listen to Smile ~ he spoke of Elizabeth Bishop, so I thought a Bishop post might be in order ~ as I read this poem all I can do is shake my head in wonder at the exquisite words..tripping one over the other...eyes skipping to gobble Elizabeth's thoughts..and all the while my heart is saying "Thanks!"

clever life!

"it is like what we imagine knowledge to be" ~ simply to be alive to read that is a priceless moment for me ~ may it also joyously take your breathes away..even for a priceless moment

hugs

At the Fishhouses

Although it is a cold evening,
down by one of the fishhouses
an old man sits netting,
his net, in the gloaming almost invisible,
a dark purple-brown,
and his shuttle worn and polished.
The air smells so strong of codfish
it makes one's nose run and one's eyes water.
The five fishhouses have steeply peaked roofs
and narrow, cleated gangplanks slant up
to storerooms in the gables
for the wheelbarrows to be pushed up and down on.
All is silver: the heavy surface of the sea,
swelling slowly as if considering spilling over,
is opaque, but the silver of the benches,
the lobster pots, and masts, scattered
among the wild jagged rocks,
is of an apparent translucence
like the small old buildings with an emerald moss
growing on their shoreward walls.
The big fish tubs are completely lined
with layers of beautiful herring scales
and the wheelbarrows are similarly plastered
with creamy iridescent coats of mail,
with small iridescent flies crawling on them.
Up on the little slope behind the houses,
set in the sparse bright sprinkle of grass,
is an ancient wooden capstan,
cracked, with two long bleached handles
and some melancholy stains, like dried blood,
where the ironwork has rusted.
The old man accepts a Lucky Strike.
He was a friend of my grandfather.
We talk of the decline in the population
and of codfish and herring
while he waits for a herring boat to come in.
There are sequins on his vest and on his thumb.
He has scraped the scales, the principal beauty,
from unnumbered fish with that black old knife,
the blade of which is almost worn away.

Down at the water's edge, at the place
where they haul up the boats, up the long ramp
descending into the water, thin silver
tree trunks are laid horizontally
across the gray stones, down and down
at intervals of four or five feet.

Cold dark deep and absolutely clear,
element bearable to no mortal,
to fish and to seals . . . One seal particularly
I have seen here evening after evening.
He was curious about me. He was interested in music;
like me a believer in total immersion,
so I used to sing him Baptist hymns.
I also sang "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God."
He stood up in the water and regarded me
steadily, moving his head a little.
Then he would disappear, then suddenly emerge
almost in the same spot, with a sort of shrug
as if it were against his better judgment.
Cold dark deep and absolutely clear,
the clear gray icy water . . . Back, behind us,
the dignified tall firs begin.
Bluish, associating with their shadows,
a million Christmas trees stand
waiting for Christmas. The water seems suspended
above the rounded gray and blue-gray stones.
I have seen it over and over, the same sea, the same,
slightly, indifferently swinging above the stones,
icily free above the stones,
above the stones and then the world.
If you should dip your hand in,
your wrist would ache immediately,
your bones would begin to ache and your hand would burn
as if the water were a transmutation of fire
that feeds on stones and burns with a dark gray flame.
If you tasted it, it would first taste bitter,
then briny, then surely burn your tongue.
It is like what we imagine knowledge to be:
dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free,
drawn from the cold hard mouth
of the world, derived from the rocky breasts
forever, flowing and drawn, and since
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"I've never accepted the external appearance of things as the whole truth. The world is much more elaborate than the nerves of our eye can tell us." - James Gleeson
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gingerpale



Joined: 23 Jan 2006
Posts: 1324

PostPosted: Tue Jul 04, 2006 4:13 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

poem

Last edited by gingerpale on Thu Aug 31, 2006 1:07 am; edited 1 time in total
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gingerpale



Joined: 23 Jan 2006
Posts: 1324

PostPosted: Tue Jul 04, 2006 5:16 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

book

Last edited by gingerpale on Thu Aug 31, 2006 1:09 am; edited 1 time in total
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madameshawshank



Joined: 30 Sep 2004
Posts: 1654
Location: Penrith (where jacarandas remind me of change), New South Wales, Australia

PostPosted: Tue Jul 04, 2006 9:09 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

rest and be kind

how exquisitely sweet a concept!

bit "sing the mystery and tend the garden"ish Wink
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"I've never accepted the external appearance of things as the whole truth. The world is much more elaborate than the nerves of our eye can tell us." - James Gleeson
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elegantsufficiency



Joined: 03 Jul 2006
Posts: 8
Location: Melbourne, Australia

PostPosted: Tue Jul 04, 2006 11:17 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

madameshawshank wrote:
an oh-so-quick visit to the National Gallery of Victoria...and wadda ya know...I fall in love ~ with a piece of Venetian glass fashioned in the 1600s by some god or goddess or other Wink I'm talking serious love here.....soul depths stuff! occasionally I fine an image, word, strand of music, scent....stays within..becomes part of ...that's what's happened with the glass...

when I'm back in Sydney I'll post a photo of the newest love ~ couldn't take my eyes off it....you know that instant "where's my breath gone" moment..until then, haiku must do

NGV acquisition

fragile I call you
flask glass blue-beaded necklet
as I gaze at you


I think I'll have to hot foot it down to the NGV today to find that glass. It sounds exquisite!
Meanwhile, I have to share the poem that leaves me gasping (well, it's pretty sensual!) And also edible in part

It's by Michael Ondaatje (better known for the English Patient) .... and called The Cinnamon Peeler. (Set in Sri Lanka.)

It's quite long, but here are excerpts:

"If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow ...

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you ...

What good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife. Smell me




PS: I'm still trying to work out what a lime burner's role in life is!! Any ideas?

E.S.
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Judy



Joined: 29 Sep 2004
Posts: 1196
Location: buried under a pile of books somewhere in Adelaide, South Australia

PostPosted: Tue Jul 04, 2006 11:25 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Cinnamon, my favourite spice. When we were in Viet Nam a few years ago, I searched everywhere for carved cinnamon boxes as I had read about them and wanted to see what there were like.

Then one day we were sitting outside a cafe and a street seller wandered up to us with... cinnamon boxes. I bought her entire stock. Unfortunately (for me) I gave them all away as gifts, but my Mum keeps her cinnamon sticks in hers.
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gingerpale



Joined: 23 Jan 2006
Posts: 1324

PostPosted: Tue Jul 04, 2006 11:56 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Lime Burner

Last edited by gingerpale on Thu Aug 31, 2006 1:17 am; edited 1 time in total
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elegantsufficiency



Joined: 03 Jul 2006
Posts: 8
Location: Melbourne, Australia

PostPosted: Wed Jul 05, 2006 12:56 am    Post subject: Lime burners Reply with quote

Oh that's very funny.... and just a bit disappointing! Ever since I discovered that poem I've had this romantic notion that a lime burner must have made some sort of potion or syrup with fresh limes, which would seem to fit with the whole Sri Lankan theme! But I suppose it makes the contrast with the profession of cinnamon peeler that much greater.
ES
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Griffin



Joined: 09 Jun 2006
Posts: 932
Location: England

PostPosted: Fri Jul 07, 2006 4:07 pm    Post subject: Poem of the moment Reply with quote

How about a short poem by the fabulous Ogden Nash, called 'Breaking the Ice at Parties'

Candy
is dandy,
But liquor
is quicker!
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gingerpale



Joined: 23 Jan 2006
Posts: 1324

PostPosted: Fri Jul 07, 2006 4:56 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Williams

Last edited by gingerpale on Thu Aug 31, 2006 2:13 am; edited 1 time in total
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madameshawshank



Joined: 30 Sep 2004
Posts: 1654
Location: Penrith (where jacarandas remind me of change), New South Wales, Australia

PostPosted: Sat Jul 08, 2006 12:50 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

gingerpale darlin'...I could dance to the poetry of Mason Williams...my body is moving just thinking of those poems you posted...

golly ain't this internet thing just THE most marvellous thing..

zillion thanks Clotilde...wherever in the USA you might be... Wink



bit of space before this one..


When I can bear to, I imagine Dorothy Parker writing this...'n then I think of sunshine, seasons, 'n smiles....going to you Dotty Dear...going to you...wherever YOU might be... Smile

resume

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
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"I've never accepted the external appearance of things as the whole truth. The world is much more elaborate than the nerves of our eye can tell us." - James Gleeson
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gingerpale



Joined: 23 Jan 2006
Posts: 1324

PostPosted: Sat Jul 08, 2006 1:55 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yes

Last edited by gingerpale on Thu Aug 31, 2006 2:16 am; edited 1 time in total
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