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poems and photographs 441

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another poem and photograph every weekday. Or so.

(photographs: Tom Davis)


 

 

 

 

My apologies, for the hiatus. A combination of Jury Service and the production of a play got in the way.

Normal functioning will return on Monday, 11 September.

 

 

 

Friday, August 25, 2017

 

green

 

 

 

 

green

 

Green, how I sought for you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of bright silver.
Green, how I sought for you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
all things are watching her
and she cannot see them.


Lorca

 

 

 

 

 


Thursday, August 24, 2017

 

orange

 

 

 

 

orange, rose

 

Tell her that sheds
Such treasure in the air,
Recking naught else but that her graces give
Life to the moment,
I would bid them live
As roses might, in magic amber laid,
Red overwrought with orange and all made
One substance and one color
Braving time.


From Ezra Pound, Envoi (1919)

 

 

 

 

 


Wednesday, August 23, 2017

 

red

 

 

 

 

red

 

Fling your red scarf faster and faster, dancer.
It is summer and the sun loves a million green leaves, masses of green.
Your red scarf flashes across them calling and a-calling.
The silk and flare of it is a great soprano leading a chorus
Carried along in a rouse of voices reaching for the heart of the world.
Your toes are singing to meet the song of your arms:

Let the red scarf go swifter.
Summer and the sun command you.


Carl Sandburg

 

 

 

 

 


Tuesday, August 22, 2017

 

blue

 

 

 

 

fragmentary blue

 

Why make so much of fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?

Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)--
Though some savants make earth include the sky;
And blue so far above us comes so high,
It only gives our wish for blue a whet.

 

Robert Frost

 

 

 

 

 


Monday, August 21, 2017

 

landscape

 

 

 

 

landscape

 

The dawn light. A light rain.
I hear it on the treetop leaves.
Then, the mist. The morning wind
blows it and the clouds away.

Now colours deepen, and a sense of grace:
the presence of water.
And then, across the landscape
the smell of morning rain.

 

Du Fu (712-770 AD) tr. Tom Davis

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

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