yd tor yd yd

unask

poems and photographs 464

search ~ latest post ~ earlier

another poem and photograph every weekday. Or so.

(photographs: Tom Davis)


Friday, March 23, 2018

 

tulip

 

 

 

 


light

 

and then my heart
pulled itself apart
and, filled to the brim
with a new light,
overflowed with fresh life.

now even the heavens
are thankful that
because of love
i have become
the giver of light

 

Rumi, ghazal 1393

 

 

 

 

 

 


Thursday, March 22, 2018

 

enamelling

 

 

 

 

hammered gold and gold enamelling



THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.



Yeats, Sailing to Byzantium



 

 

 

 

 


Wednesday, March 21, 2018

 

curves

 

 

 

 

you make angles curve



Then new happenings happened, and said:
'Don't move a muscle. Something overwhelmingly
generous is on its way.'

The sun is a fountain of light. It is you.
I am a tree shadow on the earth.
You make angles curve.

The soul at dawn is the night sea
that slowly begins to incandesce its gratitude.

Then at sunset, again, Venus gradually
becomes the moon; and then she is the sky.

All this comes of smiling back
at your smile.



Rumi, transl. Tom Davis



 

 

 

 

 


 

search ~ strange shadows