unask

 

laughter

 

you can take from me bread, if you like
you can take from me air, even, but
don't take from me your laughter.

don't take from me your rose,
your speech, your spear,
the splash of joy, the sudden
silver, the outbreak:

your laughter.

 

From Pablo Neruda, Your laughter, transl. Tom Davis

 

Tu Risa

Quítame el pan, si quieres,
quítame el aire, pero
no me quites tu risa

No me quites la rosa,
la lanza que desgranas,
el agua que de pronto
estalla en tu alegría,
la repentina ola
de plata que te nace.

 

 

 

 

lamp

 

As the Buddha was dying, Ananda asked who would be their teacher after his death. He replied:

"Be a lamp unto yourself. Be a refuge unto yourself. Take for yourself no external refuge. Hold fast to the truth as a lamp. Hold fast to the truth as a refuge. Don't look for a refuge in anyone besides yourself.

And those, Ananda, who, either now or after I am dead, shall be a lamp unto themselves, shall betake themselves as no external refuge, but, holding fast to the truth as their lamp, holding fast to the truth as their refuge, shall not look for refuge to anyone else besides themselves, it is they who shall reach to the very topmost height. But they must be eager to learn."

 

From The Mahaparinibbana Sutta

 

 

 

rehearsal

 

Helen says heaven, for her,
would be complete immersion
in physical process,
without self-consciousness—

to be the respiration of the grass,
or ionized agitation
just above the break of a wave,
traffic in a sunflower's thousand golden rooms.

Perhaps that's why she's a painter,
finally: to practice disappearing
into her scrupulous attention,
an exacting rehearsal for the larger

world of things it won't be easy to love.
Helen I think will master it, though I may not.
She has practiced a long time learning to see
I have devoted myself to affirmation,

when I should have kept my eyes on the ground.

 

From Marc Doty, Heaven for Helen

 

 

 

 

Brighton

 

I found myself sitting in a postcard
Everything I could see, but could not touch
The sea meeting the sky
A fine line between water and air
I could feel the wind and I could smell the seaweed
But all I wanted was to touch the moment that no camera could recall.

 

Poem (by Louise) sent to the Brighton and Hove Living History website

 

 

 

 

window

 

The thief left it behind:
the moon
at my window.

 

Ryokan

 

 

 

 

 

springtime

 

the springtime of love has arrived
this desert is now a garden;
the words of heaven are spoken
the bird of the soul is in flight.
the sea fills with pearls
the salt marsh is sweet
that pebble is now a jewel
the body is all made of soul.

 

Rumi, transl. Tom Davis