unask

 

Ariel

ARIEL: what part of you am I?
JANET: I beg your pardon?
ARIEL: What part of you, what part of you, what part of you am I?
JANET: Are you some kind of parrot?
ARIEL: I am the back of beyond. I am the paradise bird. I am Ariel, Prospero’s angel, Prospero’s slave. What part of you am I?
JANET: Stop saying that, I don't like it.
ARIEL: Screeeeech! (triumphant). I am what you dislike! Dislike, dislike, I am your dear dislike!
JANET: You make my head hurt.
ARIEL: Pain! I am your lovely pain! I am where you let light in, I am the hole in your head.
JANET: It hurts it hurts stop it.
ARIEL: Noooooooooooo, let it out, let it out. NOW!!

From Janet Jones, by Deirdre Burton and Tom Davis

 

 

daffodils

I love daffodils.
I love Narcissus when he bends his head.
I can hardly keep April and spring and Sunday and daffodils
out of my rhyme of song.
do you know anything about the spring
when it comes again?
God knows about it while winter is lasting.
He is sometimes sad and alone
up there in the sky trying to keep his worlds happy.

"God," I say,
"Don't you care!
Nobody must be sad or sorry
in the spring-time of flowers."

Hilda Conkling

 

 

joyful

I die of thirst right at the fountain side
Hot, like fire, teeth chattering, I freeze
In my home land I am a foreigner
Near the fire bucket I shiver and burn
A naked worm, I am clothed like an emperor
I smile through tears and, hopelessly, I hope
I find comfort in the sadness of despair
Joyful, I have no pleasure, none, at all
Potent, I am, but have no power, no strength
They welcome me, and drive me from the door.

I'm sure of nothing save uncertainty
What's obvious is exactly what's obscure
I only doubt if something's clearly true
And what's predictable is pure blind chance
Winning everything, I lose the lot
At break of day my greeting is 'good night'
Face down on the ground is vertigo
I have everything and I have sweet damn all
I will inherit, I am no-one's heir
They welcome me, and drive me from the door

Je meurs de seuf auprès de la fontaine,
Chaud comme feu, et tremble dent à dent ;
En mon pays suis en terre lointaine ;
Lez un brasier frissonne tout ardent ;
Nu comme un ver, vêtu en président,
Je ris en pleurs et attends sans espoir ;
Confort reprends en triste désespoir ;
Je m'éjouis et n'ai plaisir aucun ;
Puissant je suis sans force et sans pouvoir,
Bien recueilli, débouté de chacun.

Rien ne m'est sûr que la chose incertaine ;
Obscur, fors ce qui est tout évident ;
Doute ne fais, fors en chose certaine ;
Science tiens à soudain accident ;
Je gagne tout et demeure perdant ;
Au point du jour dis : "Dieu vous doint bon soir !"
Gisant envers, j'ai grand paour de choir ;
J'ai bien de quoi et si n'en ai pas un ;
Echoite attends et d'homme ne suis hoir,
Bien recueilli, débouté de chacun.

François Villon (born 1431)
Transl. Tom Davis

 

 

When a man and a woman become one,
that one is You.
And when that one is obliterated, there You are.

Where is this we and this I?
By the side of the Beloved.
You made this we and this I
in order that You might play
this game of courtship with Yourself,
that all you's and I's might become one soul
and finally drown in the Beloved…

Rumi  

 

 

Rilke's fear of dogs

had less to do
with any harm
they might inflict
than with the sad
look in their eyes
expressing a need
for love he felt
he couldn't meet.
And so he looked
away from them.

He was too busy
for such obligations,
waiting instead
for angels to speak,
looking up at heaven
with an expression
they couldn't help
responding to,
try as they might
to avoid his gaze.

Jeffrey Harrison

 

 

Asking eyes

YELLOW dust on a bumble bee's wing,
Grey lights in your asking eyes,
Red ruins in the changing sunset embers:
I take you and pile high the memories.
Death will break her claws on some I keep.

Carl Sandburg