Tag art_and_heart
space Orpheus lost Eurydice on their wedding day— what could be more tragic? The adder’s fangs struck at her heel, tolling into their vernal kiss dead winter’s lead bell. What could he do? Love is no harness for plowing death’s … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space My chapel by the sea is a conch fresh set on wet sand by the day’s first tide. I see it there from this dry chair so far inland, surrounded by nothing of the sea except the music of … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space I have always loved bad girls, those wild women whose sugardark ways seemed so beyond my reach, beyond repair, whose delights so seared my imagination as to torch all good commands, those ways in which mother, world and … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space When a whale dies in the deepest of seas her fall is the song that angels us all. No longer buoyant with air from above, her bulk is down- ballast for great depths. Falling slow—weeks, sometimes months— sharks and crabs … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space Australian aborigines use songlines to walk the vast outback. They come down from the Ancestors and can go on for hundreds of miles without anything more than melody for a path. The route forms in the song’s notation, … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
In the last year of high school in my broken heart’s Chicago I took a course in music theory learning how wings sweep. Who knows why, it wasn’t going to help me play the solo to “Reelin’ In the … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space You sing about loss: I am lament. Comb your blues with my black throat, in meters that have no feet to wind the moody shade. Your songs are suitors: you lured Persephone from her loom, Cerberus bawled for his … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
ace In the still place I seek truth is beauty but beauty isn’t poetry. It’s more. Sleek meters and curved sound, tapestries of tale, description’s torc of rolled gold: All of that just gets me up to the … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space Slowing down is not enough. The last outrageous well was drilled a hundred years ago. Benevolence went extinct with zoos. Even your laboring breath is more than we can bear. Yet here you still persist, pouring dreadful concrete … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space It’s winter in Connecticut, snowing up a gale; Marilyn is home alone this Christmas. Arthur is away, demanding a solitude she knows is iced with the old contempt of her having found her naked self (and probably already with … Continue reading &... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space She came to me out of some emerald of wave urban night, dripping black girders and neon rain streets, a vision icily candescent, the most beautiful X chromosome to date. A blonde Higgs boson whose charm danced both too … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Not the nadir of some bottled bed a hundred swives ago. Not the desecration of some half-jawed virago of a poem. Peril is its own chapel and needs no forest, no night of harrow nor sexual reprieve striking awfulness … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space I. During that summer in Pennsylvania when I was twenty–a bridge between first love and long winters— I scythed a field behind my father’s house. The field was ringed by oak and beech and maple, puritans all of wild … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
ace In the still place I seek truth is beauty but beauty isn’t poetry. It’s more. Sleek meters and curved sound, tapestries of tale, description’s torc of rolled gold: All of that just gets me up to the rough oak … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Only you move like the moon. —Rilke, “To Holderlin” Like a poem drafting itself through rooms of trans-Atlantic dreams, this malaise I’m suffering is finding fresh bread inside its tombs, new ways to rake the dead. The past … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space I’m learning to write the way I always yearned to play piano. Not the upright in the family parlor that I banged on trying to read sheet music for a year. Nor the spinet in a college rehearsal room when … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space Alone he roamed the Hyperborean North And wandered along the snowy banks of the Don Or through the barren frozen fields on the sides Of Piphean mountains, in grief for his lost wife And Hades’ empty promise. — Virgil, … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space On perfect days like this—after the coldest night of a short snap, temps rising gently into the 70s, wan and sunny, skies so blue and still and pure—I think of the day after the night my brother died now … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
You’re still on that island, I know, your t-shirt still sweaty from your last bright springtime run, your eyes still blue as the sky which no longer oceanned you. You are that sunny rock because Salem by the time … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Tonight, thank Heaven, Your hand is close,even heavy on my brow. Has it been that long?Like a mineshaft is History, deep and cold; all our past lives labor somewhere in it, hearingthrough the wall the voices of distant singersfrom … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
… to be wild and perfect for a moment … — Mary Oliver Once, a girlfriend read “Peonies” by Mary Oliver to me over the phone, sharing the poem in our ritual last daily moment of loving while … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Losing everything is least like falling in love yet most akin to it: Different waterfall, same cascade. Remember that flush of that first kiss, the wild tremor of anticipation as you passed through the sacred portal, all of your … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space The apartment in my dream is an old one, the sort of place where despair wrecks eternal. A cold, used-up address, harrowed by too many bad nights and rude coming-to’s. The walls yellow with age and rafters so rotted … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space She came up from the sea of night to teach me her wet druidry. “Here is Womb,” she rasped through a larynx of gale, pointing to the sea inside her scales. “The water of birth and firstness, blue glitters … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space It was coming on Christmas 40 years ago when I found myself alone with Dena in her bedroom, down at the end of a dark hall in her parents’ high-rise over Lake Shore drive: A bitter cold night, wind … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space Slowing down is not enough. The last outrageous well was drilled a hundred years ago. Benevolence went extinct with zoos. Even your laboring breath is more than we can bear. Yet here you still persist, pouring dreadful concrete … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
space Blue is not an image to indicate the sense of the holy. Blueness itself is the holy, in virtue of its gathering depth which shines forth only as it veils itself. — Martin Heidegger On mornings like this … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
