(inspired by a section of Werner Herzog's 'Lo and behold')
a big solar storm
will simply shut
the world wide window
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Susan Hawthorne #213 sing the world
if we could learn again
to sing the world
would it bring peace?
if we were to learn
to sing the world
would the world sing back to us?
if we learned as children
to sing the world
would our minds be different?
if as old people we knew how
to sing the world
would young ones listen?
to sing the world
would it bring peace?
if we were to learn
to sing the world
would the world sing back to us?
if we learned as children
to sing the world
would our minds be different?
if as old people we knew how
to sing the world
would young ones listen?
Lies Van Gasse #210
(dag 1-199)
en je denkt, het is waar,
het is tijd.
De dag is zwart omrand.
Uit elkaar omhelzende kaders groeit een perspectief
dat je naar een andere dimensie leidt,
één waar verte iets is dat dichterbij komt
met de slag van een walvis, de hinkstapsprong
dat je naar een andere dimensie leidt,
één waar verte iets is dat dichterbij komt
met de slag van een walvis, de hinkstapsprong
(day 1-199)
and you think, it’s true,
it’s time.
It's a black
boxed day.
Embracing
frames grow a perspective,
that leads you to another dimension
one in which distance is something that comes closer
with the stroke of a whale, the hop, step & jump
that leads you to another dimension
one in which distance is something that comes closer
with the stroke of a whale, the hop, step & jump
Janette Hoppe #3 Hine-nui-te-po
Hine-nui-te-po
1.
perhaps it is the incest
in the DNA
the breath of life
in an earth-made maiden
mud sticks
the shame of it
thick and viscous
all death and darkness
a lifetime of loneliness
much preferred than knowing
Father,
Husband,
God.
Note: This poem is one of a series of poems that features myths and legends of my people.
*Hine-nui-te-po is the Goddess of death and night, the ruler of the underworld, the spirit world.
The myth tells that Tane (God of forests and birds) the son of Ranginui (Sky Father) and Papatuanuku (Earth Mother) breathed life in to Hine-ahuone (Earth-made maiden) and procreated with her. Their daughter was Hine-ata-uira (Maid of the Flashing Dawn a.k.a: Hine-tiitama) and took her to be his wife. When Hine-atu-uira learnt that her husband was also her father she was ashamed and disgusted so she fled to the spirit world. When Tane realised she was missing he went to search for her but Hine stopped him from entering and convinced him to return above ground to raise their children. Maui tried to play a trick on Hine-nui-te-po in order to make mankind immortal by changing into a worm and entering her vagina and leaving through her mouth. However, Hine became aware of his trickery and crushed him with her obsidian teeth in her vagina.
1.
perhaps it is the incest
in the DNA
the breath of life
in an earth-made maiden
mud sticks
the shame of it
thick and viscous
all death and darkness
a lifetime of loneliness
much preferred than knowing
Father,
Husband,
God.
Note: This poem is one of a series of poems that features myths and legends of my people.
*Hine-nui-te-po is the Goddess of death and night, the ruler of the underworld, the spirit world.
The myth tells that Tane (God of forests and birds) the son of Ranginui (Sky Father) and Papatuanuku (Earth Mother) breathed life in to Hine-ahuone (Earth-made maiden) and procreated with her. Their daughter was Hine-ata-uira (Maid of the Flashing Dawn a.k.a: Hine-tiitama) and took her to be his wife. When Hine-atu-uira learnt that her husband was also her father she was ashamed and disgusted so she fled to the spirit world. When Tane realised she was missing he went to search for her but Hine stopped him from entering and convinced him to return above ground to raise their children. Maui tried to play a trick on Hine-nui-te-po in order to make mankind immortal by changing into a worm and entering her vagina and leaving through her mouth. However, Hine became aware of his trickery and crushed him with her obsidian teeth in her vagina.
Rob Schackne #33 - Bashō Was A Snowball
Bashō Was A Snowball
I just wrote a poem
about reaching space
at the speed of light
Three bags full of
cock and steam. I guess
that's all. Empty shovel
We'll remember
every memory to forget
the ones that are special
Enlightened thought
the chance that physics
has always waited for
Each possibility exists
somewhere. The translation
looks into a cold mirror
Bashō was a snowball
sharp-shooter of hats. But
that was then. It's still winter
I'm still writing. So
are you. The next one
comes at the speed of light.
I just wrote a poem
about reaching space
at the speed of light
Three bags full of
cock and steam. I guess
that's all. Empty shovel
We'll remember
every memory to forget
the ones that are special
Enlightened thought
the chance that physics
has always waited for
Each possibility exists
somewhere. The translation
looks into a cold mirror
Bashō was a snowball
sharp-shooter of hats. But
that was then. It's still winter
I'm still writing. So
are you. The next one
comes at the speed of light.
#200 Kevin Brophy 'Burning the logs'
#200 ‘Burning the logs’
The fire began with a usual blaze and pop.
We sat around it.
We pushed logs further in
as talk pushed further
into the past.
We kept looking into it
as it demanded,
and it danced for us
even exploded a little for us.
In time, someone said,
each one of us
becomes an ancestor,
and we understand
this is a return to the present
as ash, as message, as reminder.
With diminishing pirouettes
and dying flourishes it threatened
to disappear
as we pulled our chairs in
our faces over its glow
our palms out in surrender to it.
Night a world at our backs
the past at last too vast
for anyone to find a thread,
someone found water,
the dark hissed in on us,
night was there all over the place again.
Rob Schackne #32 - An Ape's Raincoat
An Ape's Raincoat
No more going back
it's a playful galaxy
(all majestic dress)
stars are mine and thine and we
their celestial seawrack
Still more vintage wine
upon the leaning trellis
(takes a year to press)
a star gently climbs the stairs
as we wait to hear her sigh
Still more petrichor
on the breasts of a woman
(a star to caress)
who so loves each sleepy rain
her lover listens to her snore
Still more empty shells
that listen on the seashore
(still the seagulls' mess)
to time in its giggling core
pump stars from distant wells.
No more going back
it's a playful galaxy
(all majestic dress)
stars are mine and thine and we
their celestial seawrack
Still more vintage wine
upon the leaning trellis
(takes a year to press)
a star gently climbs the stairs
as we wait to hear her sigh
Still more petrichor
on the breasts of a woman
(a star to caress)
who so loves each sleepy rain
her lover listens to her snore
Still more empty shells
that listen on the seashore
(still the seagulls' mess)
to time in its giggling core
pump stars from distant wells.
Jeltje Fanoy #32 Wars
Wouldn't you like
to send the bill
for th effects of WW2,
on all of us, to somebody?
my miserable childhood,
spent, painfully, piecing
together th shards
that were my father,
we thought our father
was wilful, unpredictable,
a little crazy, at times,
out of touch, incapable
of understanding,
just when empathy
was needed th most,
something was amiss,
we had to tell him
th simplest things
over and over,
bridging th ruptures
left by his ECT,
he was responsive,
went along, enthusiastically,
basking in our love for him,
we were lucky. After WW1
many came home, to live out
th rest of their lives
shell-shocked,
in turmoil, reliving
th horrors they lived thru
again and again, out of sight,
and away from their children.
to send the bill
for th effects of WW2,
on all of us, to somebody?
my miserable childhood,
spent, painfully, piecing
together th shards
that were my father,
we thought our father
was wilful, unpredictable,
a little crazy, at times,
out of touch, incapable
of understanding,
just when empathy
was needed th most,
something was amiss,
we had to tell him
th simplest things
over and over,
bridging th ruptures
left by his ECT,
he was responsive,
went along, enthusiastically,
basking in our love for him,
we were lucky. After WW1
many came home, to live out
th rest of their lives
shell-shocked,
in turmoil, reliving
th horrors they lived thru
again and again, out of sight,
and away from their children.
Kerri Shying R # 35.1 Adapting Grasses
Adapting
Grasses
I took the candles off the table
wondered where to put them
so they can be used to light the wake
disease it’s like the reed
left dry in an old bassoon
too cracked too shrill
blowing off the tune
catching up your tongue
to tears
all reeds split in time
there is no more money
no more knowing
can get the supple back.
Red Cone (LF)#208-not a shadow
not a shadow
he stared at the shiny surface
he was only there when he looked
when he looked away he tried to smell
the other dog
not a shadow
a reflection without scent
today there is a lake out the front
the floods have come
inviting water fowl of all types
he sits and watches
thrilled
they have a scent
that glassy surface reflects more birds
and it has a scent
all a dream really
as we slide from one image to another
shadows and reflections
introspection
Mikaela Castledine #205 Accordion Time
Accordion time
the squeeze and the expanded wheeze
wearing on the bended crease
go bellowing bellowing into each
All enfolded that lets you rub
up closer to the previous past than to
the just gone hours
with reedy rattle some breaths a last
We’ll concertina will we not
towards the end
in mazurka
in tarantella
with the dreadful squeezebox wail
into the pleated dancingdays of time
Robert Verdon, #224, Death and the Mynah
We are driving down
David St O’Connor when we see a knot of mynah ‛pest’ birds in our path.
I beep the horn and
they fly into the air briefly to let us through.
Then we realise they have been clustered about an inert mynah face-up in the middle of the road.
Has there been a fight? Were they about to dine?
Or
like elephants and
ourselves, do they recognise the dead?
*
Twa
Corbies (trad.)
AS
I was walking all alane
I
heard twa corbies makin' a mane:
The
tane unto the tither did say,
‛Whar
sall we gang and dine the day?
‛— In
behint yon auld fail dyke
I
wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And
naebody kens that he lies there
But
his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
‛His
hound is to the hunting gane,
His
hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His
lady’s ta’en anither mate,
So
we may mak our dinner sweet.
‛Ye’ll
sit on his white hause-bane,
And
I’ll pike out his bonny blue e’en:
And wi’
ae lock o’ his gowden hair
We’ll
theek our nest when it grows bare.
‛Mony
a one for him maks mane,
But
nane sall ken whar he is gane:
O’er
his white banes, when they are bare
The
wind sall blaw for evermair.
Julie McElhone #32 Buoyance
Before winter set in fully
I swam in the sea pool
at Austinmer. And figured
myself to be detritus
of the sea
along with seeds and weeds.
Then a shivering molecule
that could freeze and boil
evaporating into air
and moving up across
the escarpment.
But I did not believe
myself better than
the sea slug snuggled
in the pool wall
just because my mind
could take flight.
The sea contained us both.
Kerri Shying R # 35 Sphere of Influence
Sphere of Influence
What shape does worry make
if you pour it
raw like candle wax
molasses
corn polenta
let it set
Never so successful as a circle
worry
all those inlets
nicks
grottoes, follies
the medium where the sea monkeys
from the comic books of youth
flock to grow
What shape does worry make
if you pour it
raw like candle wax
molasses
corn polenta
let it set
Never so successful as a circle
worry
all those inlets
nicks
grottoes, follies
the medium where the sea monkeys
from the comic books of youth
flock to grow
Michele Elliot #31: collective anxiety (xxxi)
I was worried it
might be angina.
Oh I had that
before ... its fine, please don’t worry.
You are my
oldest and wisest patient, what can I tell a 93 year old about how to live. Just
come and see me when you need help.
Kit Kelen #213 - time out of mind (notes towards a theory of presence)
213
time out
of mind
(towards a
theory of presence)
time for
everything upon us now
all collected
here
collect your
thoughts
this ink's an
instance
says what's
seen
you watch the
one leaf down
or it's a
certain meteor
eye catches
because
you happen
there
mist most
web wove
day begun
dripping
time takes
down its pants
and shows you
a thing or two
all aches it
is
and clench of
cold
when seasons
are got up
that goes
seasons set
us back
there's the
motor hum
one distance
is as any other
birds are
best oblivious
the job to do
is urgent
the world to
change
now ours
beyond the
measure of things
of course
there is the future tense
tombstone
time mainly
and out
beyond the forward estimates
not much can
be known
the past is
much this way
dead already
there
time out of
mind!
a certain
posture's taken up
with trying
not to think
that's
succeeded by the mad dash
and generally
from brink to brink
when aren't
the trees how they've decided?
doesn't the
sun take a rise out of us?
the time for
everything is now
and swim
through it until you sink
won't matter
much just how
stop in the
on-the-way place
cup of tea
perhaps
and
afternoon's all middle
ripe
centuries couch there
yellow as
pages too lazy to turn
time is on my
side
and you'll
come running back to me
you think of
being here as absence
every breath
a little exile
remember the
gone, the fallen, the lost
listen hard
(even with
the noise cancelling headphones)
and you'll
know there isn't a moment's silence
time for
everything is with us
words will
make a mess of it
all miracles
are of the moment
there isn't
any hindsight with them
rotate your
hips around an ache
be fond of
best advice
the moment is
the miracle
and happen to
be in it
how'd you do?
and then
we're gone
must be to a
better world
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