Showing posts with label Greece. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Greece. Show all posts

4 July 2015

summer afternoon/απόγευμα καλοκαιριού







©m.cassapidis










The Gifts
Miltos Sachtouris

Today I wore a
warm red blood
Today people loved me
A woman smiled at me

A girl gave me a sea shell
A boy gave me a hammer

Today I kneel on the sidewalk
and nail the naked white feet of the passerby
to the pavement tiles
they are all in tears
but no one is frightened
all remain in the places to which I had come in time

they are all in tears
but they gaze at the celestial advertisements
at a beggar who sells hot cross buns
in the sky

Two men whisper
what is he doing is he nailing our hearts?

Yes he is nailing our hearts

Well then he is a poet

Translated by Kimon Friar















9 February 2015

Φεβρουάριος/February





For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.
Vincent van Gogh





©m.cassapidis, 2015







2 January 2015

falling wave








©m.cassapidis, 2014







The falling wave,

arch of identity, shattering feathers,

is only spume when it clears,

and returns to its source, unconsumed.

From: Pablo Neruda, ‘Canto General’






20 September 2014

*








©m.cassapidis,2014




In what sense I am I





©m.cassapidis,2014





As in Giorgione
the suspense
is eternal.

Carl Rakosi, "In What Sense I Am I" from The Collected Poems, published by the National Poetry Foundation.











31 March 2014










©m.cassapidis, 2014

Silence II
Silence is not a lack of words.
Silence is not a lack of music.
Silence is not a lack of curses.
Silence is not a lack of screams.
Silence is not a lack of colors
or voices or bodies or whistling wind.
Silence is not a lack of anything.

Silence is resting, nestling
in every leaf of every tree,
in every root and branch.

Silence is the flower sprouting
upon the branch.
Silence is the mother singing
to her newborn babe.
Silence is the mother crying
for her stillborn babe.
Silence is the life of all
these babes, whose breath
is a breath of God.

Silence is seeing and singing praises.
Silence is the roar of ocean waves.
Silence is the sandpiper dancing
on the shore.
Silence is the vastness of a whale.
Silence is a blade of grass.

Silence is sound
And silence is silence.
Silence is love, even
the love that hides in hate.

Silence is the pompous queen
and the harlot and the pimp
hugging his purse on a crowded street.

Silence is the healer dreaming
the plant, the drummer drumming
the dream. It is the lover’s
exhausted fall into sleep.
It is the call of morning birds.

Silence is God’s beat tapping all hearts.

Silence is the star kissing a flower.

Silence is a word, a hope, a candle
lighting the window of home.

Silence is everything –the renewing sleep
of Earth, the purifying dream of Water,
the purifying rage of Fire, the soaring
and spiraling flight of Air. It is all
things dissolved into no-thing–Silence
is with you always…..the Presence
of I AM

- Elaine Maria Upton




6 January 2014

Jove in the clouds...











©fourteenth





III

Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind
He moved among us, as a muttering king,
Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
With heaven, brought such requital to desire
The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
The blood of paradise? And shall the earth
Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

Wallace Stevens
from Sunday Morning



3 January 2014

Strive to discover the mystery before life is taken from you.











©fourteenth



Strive to discover the mystery before life is taken from you.
If while living you fail to find yourself, to know yourself,
how will you be able to understand
the secret of your existence when you die?

 Farid al-Din 'Attar
from Bird Parliament


Farid al-Din 'Attar was born at Nishapur in northern Persia on November 12, 1119, but sources on his date of death vary from 1193 to 1234. He is one of the most ancient poets of Persia. He has provided the inspiration for Rumi and many other poets. Attar met Rumi at the end of his life when Rumi was only a boy and gave his book Asrarnameh (The Book of secrets) as a present to him. (text from http://allpoetry.com/)






27 October 2013

8 August 2013

~*~










breath lines ©fourteenth





breath lines ©fourteenth








Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.


― Leonardo da Vinci

12 April 2013

fragile beauty








©fourteenth






The heart only reflects the Sky when it is giving and
compassionate.
Who would want to stand before a mirror that was shattered,
and thus distorts our
beauty

that is so fragile
as we grow.


~ Meister Eckhart ~









17 August 2012

Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.










©fourteenth









Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.


Theodore Roethke


Straw for the Fire: From the Notebooks of Theodore Roethke

















21 July 2012

Into Arcadia :Seamus Heaney







Ήφαιστος   ©fourteenth












Into Arcadia

It was opulence and amen on the mountain road.
Walnuts bought on a high pass from a farmer
Who'd worked in Melbourne once and now trained water
Through a system of pipes and runnels of split reed
Known in Hellas, probably, since Hesiod -
That was the least of it. When we crossed the border
From Argos into Arcadia, and farther
Into Arcadia, a lorry load
Of apples had burst open on the road
So that for yards our tyres raunched and scrunched them
But we drove on, juiced up and fleshed and spattered,
Revelling in it. And then it was the goatherd
With his goats in the forecourt of the filling station,
Subsisting beyond eclogue and translation.

Seamus Heaney
Sonnets From Hellas


















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