31 August 2012

Syria : Ziad Dalloul

©Ziad Dalloul

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.


from The Waste Land
I. The Burial Of The Dead

24 August 2012

Artists create out of a sense of desolation : El Greco


                                           Artists create out of a sense of desolation.
                                           The spirit of creation is an excruciating, intricate exploration from within the soul.

                                           El Greco

A weightless word : Octavio Paz


       Una palabra de poco peso
       para saludar al día
       una palabra de vuelo a vela
       A weightless word
       to greet the day
       a word for setting sail

       Octavio Paz
       from Salamander

23 August 2012

We are only passing by.

water and pebbles3

Looking down
lines of light reflecting;
little fish around my feet

Fish, light, cool sea-surface--

We are only passing by. We were never really here.

17 August 2012

...windswept small, dry leaves


Thursday evening

Walking uphill
whirling circles
of windswept small, dry leaves
at my feet

Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.


Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.

Theodore Roethke

Straw for the Fire: From the Notebooks of Theodore Roethke

Kobayashi Issa: Summer night--


Summer night-- even the stars
are whispering to each other.

Kobayashi Issa

Rabindranath Tagore: Listen, my heart...


Listen, my heart, to the whispers of the world with which it makes love to you.

Rabindranath Tagore
from Stray Birds

With infinite thanks 
to my mother

15 August 2012

Simone Weil

© James Owens

We must try to love without imagining
-- to love the appearance in its nakedness without interpretation.
What we love then is truly God.

--Simone Weil

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