autumn haiku

Le colibri - Charles-Marie Leconte De Lisle

Le vert colibri, le roi des collines,
Voyant la rosée et le soleil clair
Luire dans son nid tissé d'herbes fines,
Comme un frais rayon s'échappe dans l'air.

Il se hâte et vole aux sources voisines
Où les bambous font le bruit de la mer,
Où l'açoka rouge, aux odeurs divines,
S'ouvre et porte au coeur un humide éclair.

Vers la fleur dorée il descend, se pose,
Et boit tant d'amour dans la coupe rose,
Qu'il meurt, ne sachant s'il l'a pu tarir.

Sur ta lèvre pure, ô ma bien-aimée,
Telle aussi mon âme eût voulu mourir
Du premier baiser qui l'a parfumée !


Charles-Marie Leconte De Lisle (1818-1894)

Μια έννοια που έχει τη δύναμη να ρυθμίζει όλη τη ζωή μας: Επιείκεια.

Κομφούκιος

When you say nothing at all - Alison Krauss

“Whether one believes in a religion or not, and whether one believes in rebirth or not, there isn't anyone who doesn't appreciate kindness and compassion.”

Dalai Lama

“Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them.”

Dalai Lama

Dolly Parton & Kenny Rogers - Islands in the stream

You And I - Kenny Rogers & the Bee Gees

Une belle historie - Michel Fugain

Pascal Danel - Les neiges du Kilimadjaro

Elles te feront un blanc manteau
ou� tu pourras dormir

Procol Harum - A salty dog

We sailed for parts unknown to man, where ships come home to die

So Pure - Alanis Morissette

χωρίς εσένα

η σωτηρία της ψυχής

the ocean is our blood

Deeply ingrained in our society, I think, is a belief that the sea as something to be challenged, something that is threatening, something that is a physical presence, an object only. Like the rocks that make the mountains, water makes the sea; it is essentially inanimate to us. For me the ocean is alive and has no end, all life exists in the sea and is connected. We carry the ocean in our blood.
Nearly everything I have read about the sea has been, no matter how lyrical, about the experience of the sea as a physical challenge to the individual, or tries to explain the ocean as a system. Trying to communicate the sea as a place of being is difficult when we cannot be in the ocean, yet we cause so much unknowable damage and hurt.
How can someone write about this place that doesn’t exist for most people but that is the essence of life?
How to communicate connectedness with something that is separate: there is ‘the sea’ and then there is ‘life in the sea’.
Bringing them together, uniting as one place that exists everywhere and giving that unison is the challenge. To me a sense of place is the particular place or environment that allows you to feel and connect with the wholeness of life, to feel and be part of the pulse of the world-animal.

όλο το άρθρο εδώ.

Après une Lecture de Dante

If you don't love yourself, you cannot love others. You will not be able to love others. If you have no compassion for yourself then you are not able of developing compassion for others.

Dalai Lama

Then was my Neophyte - Dylan Thomas

Then was my neophyte,
Child in white blood bent on its knees
Under the bell of rocks,
Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas
The winder of the water-clocks
Calls a green day and night.
My sea hermaphrodite,
Snail of man in His ship of fires
That burn the bitten decks,
Knew all His horrible desires
The climber of the water sex
Calls the green rock of light.

Who in these labyrinths,
This tidethread and the lane of scales,
Twine in a moon-blown shell,
Escapes to the flat cities' sails
Furled on the fishes' house and hell,
Nor falls to His green myths?
Stretch the salt photographs,
The landscape grief, love in His oils
Mirror from man to whale
That the green child see like a grail
Through veil and fin and fire and coil
Time on the canvas paths.

He films my vanity.
Shot in the wind, by tilted arcs,
Over the water come
Children from homes and children's parks
Who speak on a finger and thumb,
And the masked, headless boy.
His reels and mystery
The winder of the clockwise scene
Wound like a ball of lakes
Then threw on that tide-hoisted screen
Love's image till my heartbone breaks
By a dramatic sea.

Who kills my history?
The year-hedged row is lame with flint,
Blunt scythe and water blade.
'Who could snap off the shapeless print
From your to-morrow-treading shade
With oracle for eye?'
Time kills me terribly.
'Time shall not murder you,' He said,
'Nor the green nought be hurt;
Who could hack out your unsucked heart,
O green and unborn and undead?'
I saw time murder me.

Collected Poems, 1934-1952

μοίρα ποιητή - Οκτάβιο Παζ

Λεξούλες; Ναι από αέρα, και στον αέρα χαμένες. Άσε με να χαθώ μέσα σε λέξεις άσε με να 'μαι ο αέρας σε δυό χείλια, ένα φύσημα αλήτικο δίχως περίγραμμα που στον αέρα διαλύεται. Ακόμα και το φως στον εαυτό του χάνεται.

μάτια δίχως λογική - Λαυρέντης Μαχαιρίτσας

το δίχτυ - Δήμητρα Γαλάνη

η ελληνική γλώσσα - Νικηφόρος Βρεττάκος

Ὅταν κάποτε φύγω ἀπὸ τοῦτο τὸ φῶς
θὰ ἑλιχθῶ πρὸς τὰ πάνω ὅπως ἕνα
ρυακάκι ποὺ μουρμουρίζει.
Κι ἂν τυχὸν κάπου ἀνάμεσα
στοὺς γαλάζιους διαδρόμους
συναντήσω ἀγγέλους, θὰ τοὺς
μιλήσω ἑλληνικά, ἐπειδὴ
δὲν ξέρουνε γλῶσσες. Μιλᾶνε
μεταξύ τους μὲ μουσική.