The Fragrance They stopped at a rosebush To inhale the fragrant rush, Noting that the rose was The most beautiful of what nature does. “Perhaps a rose does smell just as sweet By any other name or tweet, Just as Shakespeare also said,” She wondered aloud, from her head.” “Could be, could be,” he pattered. Perhaps the rose’s name doesn’t really matter.” “Maybe, maybe not.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFbv4I4bhwY
"The Tides" By Pablo Neruda "Drenched in my natural waters, I came of age like the mollusk in watery phosphor; salts broke and rebounded in me, contrived the device of my intimate skeleton. How give it a name---something almost unmoved in itself, in the blue, bitter breathing that gave back to me, wave after wave, my unique intimations; that pulsed and then bodied me forth in the brine and the resin: the disdain and desire of a wave, green rhythm at the heart of a mystery that raised a diaphanous mansion; a secret reserved to itself that I later sensed as my own, like a pulse beat made mine, till my song came of age, with the water." From: "Five Decades: Poems 1925-1970. Pablo Neruda" "Translated from the Spanish by Ben Belitt" Grove Press NY*© 1974.
Real-izing From a mountain, they looked back atop, To take one last glimpse at the flop Of the monastical village off in the distance, Where it hardly had any persistence. They stared at it fondly, for a few moments, As he put his arm around her garments. He spoke to her as they sat near a little stream, Where the water ran over, all agleam, As it tinkled around the rocks, as seen. “I spent many long days in that monastery, Trying to unravel eternity’s deepest mystery, But, alas, the only thing that I learned Was that the secret of the universe Was far beyond the sensibility of my existence; It was way beyond mere physics— It was called metaphysics! Yes, all was just a mere shadow, Dim and faint, though all said they did know Of some ultimate and unknown perfection. As I chased those flitting reflections They just as quickly fled away, Before me, at my slightest touch, each day.” She smiled and held him close, without pause. “The realization that theirs was a lost cause, My dear, was the knowledge if rubble Which freed you from that philosophical struggle! Now, for you, life will no longer senseless be, For you are free to enjoy the main reality, One that impinges on your rationality From the six common senses pense— The mind being the sixth sense Since it makes sense of the other five. No more chasing of faith’s phantasms live!” “Yes, I’m free at last,” he said with a cheer, “Free to directly touch all that is real here. No more will my thoughts attempt To claim beyond the limits of the kempt; No more will I speculate on mere faith alone, No more reaching for those faint shadows flown, Of dim phantoms of reflections’ purity That are so many levels removed from reality. Now, and only now, sensibly, Can I fully sense the one and only reality That penetrates into my rationality.” “Yes; see the clear water!” she exclaimed, surely. “Hear it rush along. Taste its purity. Feel its coolness. Smell the freshness. Life’s sensation Is the main attraction! Ah, we’re back in touch with the world known. Too long have we given up the time we’ve sown To excessive worry, hurry, and scurry blown.” “Yes, I’m drinking-in the pleasures now! In the stream I see a face I know; It’s that of yesterday’s summer wanderer—my own— Free again to shine on the world we own.” So it was then that they roamed at ease, Savoring the balm in every breeze, Drinking the sweets from all the flowers, Kissing under every tree, enjoying the earth’s favors. They walked on, following the water’s flow As it led them ever so— Going with it, By not struggling against it— Becoming it. (Real-ize) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bO1rQuG8400
“Milk Carton Portrait” “Milk Carton Portrait” This morning I woke up missing Just a question mark in mid air I spoke and no one listened Cried and no one cared Passed through my day The missing life in my eyes What, purpose stripped away Was truth but not a prize The book of life, open to see Clearly now a missing page The moral has been set free And the plot has flown the cage All that is sacred is not All that would bear mention Is as never and forgot As is lacking its invention Everything less and nothing more The beginning gone as the end Neither word nor pen or paper Nothing where the writer had been No clock or numbers for its face No history or future time No ever cleansing virgin space No song, rhythm or rhyme Not being right nor wrong Not a who or what All that could, being gone I was and now was not My shadow being almost gone To reach out there’s only air Left as the darkness in the dawn The reflection has no me in there No one crying or dying No one wrapped in false hope No one cheating or lying No bad jokes about the pope Mercy and penalties undone Where there was a world There was no thing or one The cosmic dice never hurled It occurred to me and not to me I had not or had a choice If I am and not to be I could revolt and rejoice Self creation, a two edged sword The captain lashed to the wheel Creation is such a dark house If I had fingers I could feel I could see beauty if I had eyes Hear music if I had ears I’d see hellos and good byes Hear the smiles and tears From nowhere every where’s close Delusion or invention of being By its occurrence of notion be Nothing’s always filled by something Yet the mind is tainted by the soul All things known to its affects The stage is set from what it is told And what it sees is what it expects To recreate the world subjective By faith I declare my self alive And faith attests to God above Does reality by faith survive Roam the earth and tell me why Go search the hearts and minds The best is only just getting by To light a candle for the blind What do you say if some one listens What do you do if someone cares I’d make a world that wasn’t missing I’d make a world where I was there
“Van Gogh’s Ear” “Van Gogh’s Ear” Van Gogh’s ear sings tales all night Soulful moaning over mind’s eye sight Antagonize the heart and turn the eye A visitor to the heart or passing by From this spring that we all drink What whispers all the thoughts we think Lunatic genius with eyes turned in Tell me where my mind has been A freighting tether is shelter and cage Where the writer’s pen touches page Ink’s fossil trail bleeding from my pen A history of where my heart has been To go and not say in doing so Beyond this point no words can go With feet of clay and hand to chalk I’ve come to hear Van Gogh’s ear talk
“Yarn of Truth” “Yarn of Truth” The sky is falling on Wall Street All manner of right and wrong Going not going going on indeed Just pay the piper for his song A radio echoes from empty homes The shadows ascend the stairs Past the wing joint savings and loan Past the fog of frigid coal kissed air Sickly sweet teat fed romances Yarns of truth so fat and round A blind man could see it with both hands Sure as thorns on a martyrs crown After all that is meaningful we find What nearly kills us makes us nervous That sight is dearest to the blind And we only see what serves us Removing his temporal cataract Death watches the days and hours Providing what our lives lack Incorruptible stopping power Life’s a slow fall toward the grave Hold your hands up and enjoy The company of the brave Whose dreams we do not destroy
“Romance Lost” Death stalks me like a sweetheart Rushes up and then just let’s me be All together my life comes apart And I keep watching but I can’t see Brush away the dead canaries And put a picture on the desk Another charm on the keys And a dead carnation on your vest Pound the swords into plowshares And the romance into bell curves Atop all the freshly painted prayers Only Satan’s corporate d’oeuvres Pull out the dreams and polish Cry a tear for all the windmills Look to progress instead of solace Hope is just another bitter pill
TURN, TURN, TURN There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for every purpose under heaven A time to be born, a time to die A time to plant, a time to reap A time to kill, a time to heal A time to laugh, a time to weep To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for every purpose under heaven A time to build up, a time to break down A time to dance, a time to mourn A time to cast away stones A time to gather stones together To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for every purpose under heaven A time of war, a time of peace A time of love, a time of hate A time you may embrace A time to refrain from embracing To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for every purpose under heaven A time to gain, a time to lose A time to rend, a time to sew A time to love, a time to hate A time of peace, I swear it's not too late!
The Lady One Another spectral vision appeared before their sum, A brightness that shone much like the sun. “I am Dame Fortune— Lady Luck shining upon your noon. In turn, I visit everyone who lives the state opportune. You have turned your chance meeting into good fortune. You are lucky—others don’t see me when I come, Or they ignore me, and some, They refuse to take a chance on me, not even one, For they are busy going nowhere before they become. Of course, then it is a while before again I come.” They bid her fond farewell and sweet return, and Then He and she walked on through the strange land, The place where all things were possible, But where all ideas had to be liven Before they could even be written. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0syOmnyxEUU
“Why Johnny Can’t Sleep” “Why Johnny Can’t Sleep” A life is swinging in the breeze My feet don't touch the ground I got everyone pushing me The grease paint draws the clowns In a rainbow looking at the blues Life is thin and souls show through Springer’s surfing in the gene pool IQ’s drop and the sponsor drools Conscience wax and morals wane Why not face the wind and ride Faster than rust, rot, and pain Taking the life before it dies Absurd and vulgar petty rules The frail and useless social tools Don’t be desperate or ask for much Life’s to feel, but not to touch Sing the sails are full with wind And maybe that will make it so Turning up the music to pretend We’re doing fine don’t you know 40-carat fools will point the way And tell me other things to say So little grease paint and so many clowns Life’s a swing and my feet don’t touch ground
“Through My Fingers” “Through My Fingers” I noticed it was gone Knew it was the end Heard the closing song Caught in the wind Being left there holding Fate’s hand of unused hints My house of cards folding A world around me went A perfect betrayal Naked in the moment Reality so frail Twisting in the wind Just being lost for me Purpose as it lingers Being life’s irony Through my fingers
“Third Act” “Third Act” Blue ribbon Disney rats Watching the sun die Their dreams are fat While mine go by I wrote my own plays Picked all my parts And so spent my days In suffering for my art On a velvet curtain of time Life felt its dialogue From each and every line Curled a meaningful fog Pathos cast a shadow On every zealous act Like echoes in a tornado Words keep coming back A soul will turn a page So a heart begins to sing But, for every fool on stage The final act is coming What makes an audience stay Reality is based on this fact Life is not just a bad play You can’t get your money back
“Thin Gray Line” Who’s behind my curtain What makes me tick Is illusion for certain When I fall for my tricks I can’t find me Here and there I go With all I see I still don’t know What’s inside of me Who’s in the center Master of the mystery Creator of the inventor Sewing a question Pondering puzzles Flexing to fashion Cognitive muscles Are answers clear And questions folly Mapping frontiers Flawed and faulty And when it’s done The difference is where Inside this onion From which I stare
“Sample Sized Life” “Sample Sized Life” Little square life with a toothpick flag Whose ambition was this toe tag Voices from the fountain can’t tell me And the river holds no key Wisdom brings an audience of fools Broken genius and a yoke of rules Whose life is running from the dark A run-on life with exclamation mark This banshee from the debris Yells my name like it knows me The tender footed feeling every stone The tender hearted feeling all alone Van Gogh’s ear in a jar on the shelf Says I need a hobby like cutting myself I want to cut my shadow free And let it run back into the night But, this banshee from the debris Yells my name, like it knows me
"Rats Go Round" "Rats Go Round" Rats in a cage and around we go Round and round we go Keep your tail up Keep your head down Which ways up And around we go Three too many on the wheel Too too long between meals One step ahead of the frail Some will eat their young Some chew their tail And some be carefully hung Clear my eyes of what I know Draw the truth in pleasing rows From every cage there’s one Who more than the rest Lacks standard deviation And his Kung Fu is best Life accelerates as the cliffs heat And for all the lemmings in bare feet Truth may be just too close to call What unravels one may unravel all Being certain I'm no kind of bird I'm drawn to the back of the herd
“Poet Drown” “Poet Drown” You can see it in a drowned man’s eyes In the pawn shop window I just passed Frosty truths that come to the table uninvited The poet and the truth Face to face, one whistles, one listens The napkins fill with cognitive snapshots The poet drowns in words Just wanting to say something Or hear it said at all The dying words from a poet’s mouth Blow about in autumn color Drifts and piles that shape the years of practice What's worth saying has to be said by someone So a poet goes looking and would suppose That words rubbed together right would produce Word museum sentences ripe with meaning Phantasms haunting great books and minds Torches lighting the way for all The poet takes aim and fires At the fog of meaning He tugs at God’s coat tail
The Clue She looked at the red rose that she still carried, And said to him, “It’s for you. We’re married.” “I will surround the blossom of Your flower with my unselfish love.” “My blossom unfolds over you, As does your own within me, too.” “We’ll refold and enfold each other’s home.” “I’ll enrapt you, like the words of a poem.” They again opened the tome, The mysterious book of poems. “What is the name of the rose?” He asked of the magic book that knows. “Can you not tell us now what’s true, After all that we’ve been through?” The book replied, quite alive, “There is much more to arrive. I shall answer you as time wears on. It all has to do with the life of the rose. So you shall see—the thorn that grows.” They walked on, eager for the quest, Entering into their innermost bowers’ rest Of their flowered spirit’s yin, Savoring there all the flora within. They could now almost understand the flower, And much that their speechless memory had devoured— All that life’s drudgery had stolen and overpowered. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ynDm_60ZlKI
“Eat the Rich” “Eat the Rich” Oh how the rich and vain Spin it to the poor and plain Gated castles just beyond view Nests of sanctuary for the few Everyday they leave for work Driving past in high comfort Thinking about stock perks Working on reports Wage slaves on the street With signs that say “Eat” Class struggle is not just Seats all up back of the bus Riots can’t get the point across It takes a cost of personal loss Lacking vision and wine for courage They will “Eat” the Rich
Day Dreams They hiked up a slight hill, Whereupon they saw a lady, ill, Sleeping in the middle of the path, And stopped to look at what she hath, And then he turned to she, His rosy partner, saying free, “In my mind I see a flame that’s growing dim; It’s the depressed spirit of that drowsing woman.” “Tell her,” she said, “tell her! Bring life to her.” He whispered in the woman’s ear, “I am Life, my dear. I found you sleeping in your mother’s womb, And one day I’ll have to leave you all too soon, When you sleep in the earth’s silent tomb, Yet now I find you, newly abloom, But sleeping away the time, a-weep, In between those longer and deeper sleeps; I am whispering a lovely dream in your ear. Wake! Live! Life is a dream come true here. The rose abloom Withers all too soon.” She laid the rose on the woman’s chest As they continued on their quest. Looking back they saw the sleeper’s pose As now sitting up and clutching the rose. “Her flame is growing, out of the sighs, For now she’s looking on the bright side.” “The woman probably gleans That she had a vivid dream, A phantasmic reality scene.” “I always listen to my daydreams.” “Yes, me too, it seems.” “Daydreams pierce the noise of consciousness, To tell us of that which is best for us.” “Daydreams are full of thoughts promenading, On parade, before our own eye’s shading.” “Wishes and fantasies cascade freely over the mind, Directly presenting themselves to us, in kind, As our very own suggested roads to find.” “Well, by merely aspiring to the goal’s net, One’s already halfway to the realization of it.” “Yes, and all that we now have together, blest, Was once a dream, no less, That was loved into being, From merely the seeing.” “Because life grows from visions we contemplate, Those that we symphonicly orchestrate.” “Yes, but one must act on those plans already made.” “True—for, by dusk, the phantom shapes may fade.” “Well, if beliefs are blown of a halfhearted fife, Then so will be one’s life.” “Let our dreams, wishes, in the main, Become one and the same!” “Pay close attention to your desires, wishes, and ken. Deny not those dreams welling up from the soul’s den— For it is your duty to fulfill them.” “It guarantees happiness, really, For then you know exactly What you require to be happy.” “Come along,’ he beamed, “Sweet-dream!” They moved on, awakening, Musing in a world of their own making. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x3XzR5c7RaU
The Man InThe Long Black Coat Bob Dylan Crickets are chirpin' the water is high There's a soft cotton dress on the line hangin' dry Window wide open African trees Bent over backwards from a hurricane breeze Not a word of goodbye not even a note She gone with the man in the long black coat. Somebody seen him hangin' around As the old dance hall on the outskirts of town He looked into her eyes when she stopped him to ask If he wanted to dance he had a face like a mask Somebody said from the bible he'd quote There was dust on the man in the long black coat. Preacher was talking there's a sermon he gave He said every man's conscience is vile and depraved You cannot depend on it to be your guide When it's you who must keep it satisfied It ain't easy to swallow it sticks in the throat She gave her heart to the man in the long black coat. There are no mistakes in life some people say It is true sometimes you can see it that way But people don't live or die people just float She went with the man in the long black coat. There's smoke on the water it's been there since June Tree trunks unprooted beneath the high crescent moon Feel the pulse and vibration and the rumbling force Somebody is out there beating on a dead horse She never said nothing there was nothing she wrote She gone with the man in the long black coat.
