Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Kubla Khan - Samuel Taylor Coleridge


Or a vision in a dream - A Fragment

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
   Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
   The shadow of the dome of pleasure
   Floated midway on the waves;
   Where was heard the mingled measure
   From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

   A damsel with a dulcimer
   In a vision once I saw:
   It was an Abyssinian maid
   And on her dulcimer she played,
   Singing of Mount Abora.
   Could I revive within me
   Her symphony and song,
   To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

When a Woman Loves a Man - David Lehman




When she says margarita she means daiquiri.
When she says quixotic she means mercurial.
And when she says, "I'll never speak to you again,"
she means, "Put your arms around me from behind
as I stand disconsolate at the window."

He's supposed to know that.

When a man loves a woman he is in New York and she is in Virginia
or he is in Boston, writing, and she is in New York, reading,
or she is wearing a sweater and sunglasses in Balboa Park and he
    is raking leaves in Ithaca
or he is driving to East Hampton and she is standing disconsolate
at the window overlooking the bay
where a regatta of many-colored sails is going on
while he is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway.

When a woman loves a man it is one ten in the morning
she is asleep he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels
drinking lemonade
and two hours later he wakes up and staggers into bed
where she remains asleep and very warm.

When she says tomorrow she means in three or four weeks.
When she says, "We're talking about me now,"
he stops talking. Her best friend comes over and says,
"Did somebody die?"

When a woman loves a man, they have gone
to swim naked in the stream
on a glorious July day
with the sound of the waterfall like a chuckle
of water rushing over smooth rocks,
and there is nothing alien in the universe.

Ripe apples fall about them.
What else can they do but eat?

When he says, "Ours is a transitional era,"
"that's very original of you," she replies,
dry as the martini he is sipping.

They fight all the time
It's fun
What do I owe you?
Let's start with an apology
Ok, I'm sorry, you dickhead.
A sign is held up saying "Laughter."
It's a silent picture.
"I've been fucked without a kiss," she says,
"and you can quote me on that,"
which sounds great in an English accent.

One year they broke up seven times and threatened to do it
    another nine times.

When a woman loves a man, she wants him to meet her at the
    airport in a foreign country with a jeep.
When a man loves a woman he's there. He doesn't complain that
    she's two hours late
and there's nothing in the refrigerator.

When a woman loves a man, she wants to stay awake.
She's like a child crying
at nightfall because she didn't want the day to end.

When a man loves a woman, he watches her sleep, thinking:
as midnight to the moon is sleep to the beloved.
A thousand fireflies wink at him.
The frogs sound like the string section
of the orchestra warming up.
The stars dangle down like earrings the shape of grapes.


Unless you love someone, nothing else makes any sense.
e. e. cummings

Tuesday, March 18, 2014


“I demolish my bridges behind me...then there is no choice but to move forward”
Fridtjof Nansen

“I'm simply saying that there is a way to be sane. I'm saying that you can get rid of all this insanity created by the past in you. Just by being a simple witness of your thought processes.

It is simply sitting silently, witnessing the thoughts, passing before you. Just witnessing, not interfering not even judging, because the moment you judge you have lost the pure witness. The moment you say “this is good, this is bad,” you have already jumped onto the thought process.

It takes a little time to create a gap between the witness and the mind. Once the gap is there, you are in for a great surprise, that you are not the mind, that you are the witness, a watcher.

And this process of watching is the very alchemy of real religion. Because as you become more and more deeply rooted in witnessing, thoughts start disappearing. You are, but the mind is utterly empty.

That’s the moment of enlightenment. That is the moment that you become for the first time an unconditioned, sane, really free human being.”

Osho

Sunday, March 09, 2014


Μιλούσαν για τις ανομίες της εξουσίας, για τα βάσανα των αναξιοπαθούντων, για τη φτώχεια που μάστιζε το λαό, όμως στα μάτια τους όλη την ώρα της θερμής κουβέντας τους πλανιόταν ασταμάτητα ένα βουβό ερώτημα: «Θα μπορούσες να μ’ αγαπήσεις;».
Λέων Τολστόι

Monday, March 03, 2014

Il est des jours


Il est des jours, des nuits, des temps
Où je me sens las, vieux, usé
Fatigué de la méchanceté des gens
De l'ignorance, celle des autres, de mon passé.

Je suis venu, j'ai vu, j'ai fait ce que j'ai pu,
On m'a battu, pendu, mordu, conspué;
Je pense n'avoir pas trop mal services rendu,
Enseigné, guérit, pansé, aimé.

Que faire de plus, que dire, que montrer
Que donner de plus, parler, agir
Dois-je demeurer, subir, pâtir
Ou continuer, marcher, monter.

Qui a haï, trahi, hélas le sera
Celui qui poison a donné, infligé
Douleur subira, par elle mourra
Il en est ainsi hors toute volonté

Tourner une page, regarder le Sage
Admirer lune et soleil, mirer l'Éveil
Reposer pensée, dompter, quitter mirage
Apaiser le souffle, purifier la vue, l'Esprit en veille.

Jamais la main fermée ne sera, ni aujourd'hui ni demain
Mon attention ira vers les autres, amis et ennemis
Le regard sur moi plus ne se tournera, mais vers demain
S'éveillera et se dirigera sans répit.

Il est des jours, des nuits, des temps
Où je me sens las, vieux, usé
Fatigué de la méchanceté des gens
De l'ignorance, celle des autres, de mon passé.

Et pourtant sans cesse je reviendrai
Pour les autres, pour tous, pour un, je mourrai
Car au fond de moi, au cœur de mes souhaits
Il n'est d'autre but que je chérirai.

Ronan Chatellier