Tuesday, November 30, 2010

I have loved hours at sea - Sara Teasdale



I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,

The fragile secret of a flower,

Music, the making of a poem

That gave me heaven for an hour;


First stars above a snowy hill,

Voices of people kindly and wise,

And the great look of love, long hidden,

Found at last in meeting eyes.


I have loved much and been loved deeply --

Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,

Leave me the darkness and the stillness,

I shall be tired and glad to go.

To A Stranger - Walt Whitman





Passing stranger! you do not know
How longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking,
Or she I was seeking
(It comes to me as a dream)

I have somewhere surely
Lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other,
Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me,
Were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become
not yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes,
face, flesh as we pass,
You take of my beard, breast, hands,
in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you
when I sit alone or wake at night, alone
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.


Monday, November 29, 2010

Unquiet Grave - Kate Rusby

Wild Mountain Thyme - Kate Rusby


I am a sculptor, a molder of form.

In every moment I shape an idol.

But then, in front of you, I melt them down

I can rouse a hundred forms

and fill them with spirit,

but when I look into your face,

I want to throw them in the fire.

My souls spills into yours and is blended.

Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,

I cherish it.

Every drop of blood I spill

informs the earth,

I merge with my Beloved

when I participate in love.

In this house of mud and water,

my heart has fallen to ruins.

Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.

Sunday, November 21, 2010


Les chambres intérieures de l'âme sont comme la chambre noire du photographe. On ne peut y séjourner longtemps, sinon cela devient la cellule du névrosé.

Saturday, November 20, 2010



...I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away–
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing–
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth...

T.S. Eliot (East Coker)

Tuesday, November 16, 2010


"Ο άνθρωπος σήμερον αναπτύσσεται τεραστίως. Εις ηλικίαν ολίγων ετών γνωρίζει όσα δεν εγνώριζαν οι γέροι των περασμένων γενεών. Νέος ακόμη έχει χλωμιάσει απάνω σε ογκώδη βιβλία κι έχει δηλητηριασθεί με τους μεγάλους πόθους και με τη δίψα τη μεγάλη των νεώτερων ψυχών... Πως μπορεί να νοιώσει κανείς σήμερα την αφελή χαράν των προγόνων;
Εκουραστήκαμεν από τη σοφία των βιβλίων, έρχονται και παρέρχονται οι ποιηταί και μας αφίνουν τα δάκρυά των και τις αμφιβολίες των κι εκουραστήκαμε πλειά να διαβάζομε και να ρωτούμε και να περιμένομεν απαντήσεις.
Ποιός μπορεί ν'αγαπήση σήμερα τη μεγάλη αγάπη των πατέρων του, τη φαιδράν αγάπη των προγόνων του, αφού μέσα στα βιβλία και τις ψυχολογικές αναλύσεις των νεωτέρων συγγραφέων είδε διακεκορευμένα όλα τα μυστικά της αγάπης;
'Οταν τα χείλη της πλησιάζουν τα χείλη μου ξέρω -μου είπαν- τι σκέπτεται, τι όργια πλάσσονται κάτω από το δέρμα της.
'Οταν πηγαίνω στην Εκκλησιά ξέρω -μου είπαν- τι κρύβεται μέσα στο άγιο Δισκοπότηρο, τι σκέπτονται τα μάτια των ιερέων και γιατί πηγαίνουν οι γυναίκες.
'Ολα τα ξέρει ο σημερινός άνθρωπος. Τίποτε δεν αφήκαν παρθένο στη ψυχή μας. Η εξουσία, η Επιστήμη, η δόξα δεν μας αρκούν πλειά. Κάτι άλλο ζητούμε."

ΝΙΚΟΣ ΚΑΖΑΝΤΖΑΚΗΣ, 1906, σε ηλικία μόλις 23 ετών...

Monday, November 15, 2010


Nous voyageons pour chercher d'autres états, d'autres vies, d'autres âmes.

Anaïs Nin

Monday, November 08, 2010

Iacopone da Todi



Iacopone da Todi από τον Paolo Uccello

'Amore, Amore' grida tutto 'l mondo,
'Amore, Amore' onne cosa clama.
Amore, Amore, tanto si prefondo,
chi plu t'abraccia, sempre plu t'abrama!
Amor, Amor, tu si cerchio retundo,
con tutto cor, chi c'entra, sempre t'ama;
ché tu si stam'e trama, chi t'ama per vistire,
cun sì dolce sentire che sempre grida 'Amore!'
Amore, Amore, quanto tu me fai,
Amore, Amore, no 'l pozzo patere!
Amore, Amore, tanto me tte dài,
Amore, Amor, ben credo morire!
Amore, Amore, tanto preso m'ài,
Amore, Amore, famme en te transire!
Amor, dolce languire, morir plu delettoso,
Amor medecaroso, anegam'enn amore....

Iacopone da Todi 1233-1306

Angelo Branduardi - Vanità di Vanità