Tag Archives: poetry
A translation (original German lyrics follow) für Birgitt und Simone “The Language of Rain” Understand the language of rain and know of what it speaks; in the night’s darkness [descend] and in the morning light awakens again. I want to be: … Continue reading
I’ve kissed her more times than snow has fallen, thought her more beautiful than the greatest masters’ masterpieces have always wanted to be–seen: what we like to believe Helen was worthy of, but she is. I’ve seen her stretch more … Continue reading
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There are whole symphonies waiting to erupt, unseeable landscapes that spring up every time you reach for me. Your touch is all story, all drum beat and legend around the fire. When you leave, ghost worlds are left behind; they … Continue reading
All the words in me bloom for you. At night these roses howl at the moon. Come dance with me in the garden beneath ancient stars, and I’ll throw the petals of my skirt around you, love you in the … Continue reading
The most perfect poem is the one that cares to live. Will you dance with me, then, under the stars in the city or the cemetery, paint it with our breath and the warmth of our bodies so that all … Continue reading
I will make a ruler of your absence to measure the moon’s face by until its little sail is close hauled and waxing in the black waters over this city, promising to bring you in. Somehow that distant arc must … Continue reading
An interior Kreuzweg turns six conjoined points out as in time—honeycomb tension— self-taut; each intersection, membrane potential radiates outward potentiating— in- and ex—spires radial— emanation of expressivity, grows antennae, extends extensions: every possible whatcouldbe circumscribed by nothing rings around them. … Continue reading
It’s that pleasure of cold, salt,that light carbonated sugar—alcohol and silence, remembrance—an implied comfort, familiarity,strangeness; I wanted to be there.Sitting—here—in an empty divewhere any somebody could benobody because everyoneis preoccupied with nothing.The music is melancholy—how I imagine you are.But you … Continue reading
Once a year honeyed madness descendsfrom the onset of the vernal equinox,when Bacchante prevails over great minds,when generative bodies become spirit-full.Beauty and danger—living death—overpoweropen, receptive souls with kairotic momentsthat spill—above embankments, thresholds,horizons girding what is appropriate, what is moral.Maenads appear … Continue reading
By stringing together beadsof wild-born color, shape, texturewe make jewelry to ornamentour naked bodies, as buildersbind stones into walls, archesunder which people can gather,dressing and undressing themselveswith space they claim to ownfor a time, like dinner partiescoming out of nowherewith … Continue reading
Like self-propelled pool balls bouncing off bumpers and borders come the idiots who wear their words like awards of truth, pinned to labile tongues for loyalty, courage, faith— so many dawdling, flightless birds. They will never see the other side … Continue reading
Petit Sphinx Gardien by Leonor Fini, 1943-44. Oil on canvas. What is it that wounds and also heals, disappears and reappears, hides and reveals. Sphinx, I dare not give the word for fear that it will then have power over … Continue reading
I want to whisper cliches that the days are too short and cost more than we know, but saying so is not enough. Still I am charged, dear friend, by the weight that amputates many a future rendezvous, distance and … Continue reading
So many aches are shadows of pleasures that elongate when a light source moves away from us; we see darkness deepening, cast by the fire burning only, now, behind us. What turns us away from the flame so we step … Continue reading
She kneads me in the middle of the night while I should be sleeping and leaves affectionate pin pricks that are still there on my skin in the morning and look a bit like a rash on my rib cage. … Continue reading
Damn poet–child–won’t let me sleep. All she wants to do is goof off, put on, make up silly songs or riddles. She’d skip about the place if I’d let her, but the downstairs neighbors!
The deeper joy in body lies while under madness dream descries, a tragedy unborn: will, rise! Still–what complies with hope: remains unstable.
Why is the poet’s voice most arresting when duty requires other agency? At 4am the sphinx stretches and purrs. What scratches her back to make her sing? What rubs her velvet nose and tugs gently at her scruff, forehead to … Continue reading
It’s a hardening of grounds, a calcification that occludes, redirects the flow of any fluid-state body: man freezes into the role of laborer. A bottlenecking of resources through the narrow straights of attention takes the broadness of personhood and whittles … Continue reading
My life in you becomes a living dream— reality without a gravity. between the spheres I cannot find a seam dividing good from good’s depravity. between our eyes a portal opens wide, a hall of mirrors, in yours I see … Continue reading
© 2012 Jasper James Photography Man breaks those windows silvered with years of regret— ice melts into streams.