yd tor yd yd


poems and photographs 463

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another poem and photograph every weekday. Or so.

(photographs: Tom Davis)

Thursday, March 15, 2018







the golden flowers, the garden


Was there a Garden, or, perhaps, a dream?
As the light lessens, I pause, I ask
(perhaps for comfort) if the past
over which once I thought myself the lord

might not have been a trick of light. It goes, it fades.
God's conjuring, and God himself a dream? 
That inconceivable clarity, that always Spring?
But no, I know it is, with me not there.

Instead I have the unrewarding earth
and all the enmities and awkwardness it owns.
Implacably, for all of how I live.

And yet. There is a memory of love.
Of primal sunlight, of the shining way
things really are: the golden flowers, the Garden.

Borges (original and literal translation here), transl. Tom Davis






Wednesday, March 14, 2018








And thus our good Lord answered to all the questions and doubts that I might make, saying full comfortably: I may make all thing well, I can make all thing well, I will make all thing well, and I shall make all thing well; and thou shalt see thyself that all manner of thing shall be well.

And thus signifieth He when He saith: THOU SHALT SEE THYSELF if all manner of things shall be well: as if He said: Take now heed faithfully and trustingly, and at the last end thou shalt verily see it in fulness of joy.

From Julian of Norwich (1342 – c.1413), Revelations of Divine Love






Tuesday, March 13, 2018


bring wine





bring wine

Bring wine, my thirst is desperate, God has taken hold of me, he is holding me so close.
For love, for the essence of love, bring wine that is the envy of the sun.
All that I know or care about is love.
Bring that whose name my mouth cannot say, that which breaks the boundaries of speech;
Bring that which gets us out of this 'bring' and 'don't bring'
Quickly, please, and don't say 'where shall i find it?'; just
Bring wine.


Rumi, retranslated by Tom Davis







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