I watched a leaf hang steady to its tig
Until one day it flew
Back and forth, weaving the air in crisp blood red
Life from limb, what a miraculous fall
Mine, a bittersweet death
Susie Edging
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Lot's Wife and One more...
In the light of Mark_W’s adventure with the prose of Anna Akhmatova, I’ve decided to put some of my absolute fav’s on blogger. Considering most of my readers are what I can only describe as “Contemporary natural-born philosophers,” the first poem I will post should raise a few delighted eyebrows even if you generally do not like poetry. I hope you enjoy!
Lot’s Wife
And the just man trailed God’s messenger,
His huge, light shape devoured the black hill.
But uneasiness shadowed his wife and spoke to her:
‘It’s not too late, you can look back still
At the red towers of Sodom, the place that bore you,
The square in which you sang, the spinning-shed,
At the empty windows of the upper storey
Where children blessed your happy marriage-bed.’
Her eyes that were still turning when a bolt
Of pain shot through them, were instantly blind;
Her body turned into transparent salt,
And her swift legs were rooted to the ground.
Who mourns one woman in a holocaust?
Surely her death has no significance?
Yet in my heart she never will be lost,
She who gave up her life to steal one glance.
-Anna Akhmatova 1922-24
Mark, this should please you and give you a taste of who Akhmatova was. Other readers, you may enjoy the tone.
Untitled
He loved three things alone:
White peacocks, evensong,
Old maps of America.
He hated children crying,
And raspberry jam with his tea,
And womanish hysteria.
…And he had married me.
-Anna Akhmatova 1911
Lot’s Wife
And the just man trailed God’s messenger,
His huge, light shape devoured the black hill.
But uneasiness shadowed his wife and spoke to her:
‘It’s not too late, you can look back still
At the red towers of Sodom, the place that bore you,
The square in which you sang, the spinning-shed,
At the empty windows of the upper storey
Where children blessed your happy marriage-bed.’
Her eyes that were still turning when a bolt
Of pain shot through them, were instantly blind;
Her body turned into transparent salt,
And her swift legs were rooted to the ground.
Who mourns one woman in a holocaust?
Surely her death has no significance?
Yet in my heart she never will be lost,
She who gave up her life to steal one glance.
-Anna Akhmatova 1922-24
Mark, this should please you and give you a taste of who Akhmatova was. Other readers, you may enjoy the tone.
Untitled
He loved three things alone:
White peacocks, evensong,
Old maps of America.
He hated children crying,
And raspberry jam with his tea,
And womanish hysteria.
…And he had married me.
-Anna Akhmatova 1911
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Quoting Myself
Various people have often told me that they know god exists because they feel ‘him’. On the contemplation of sin, the same people have told me that no one should trust their desires.
Susie
Susie
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Invigorate your senses
Ray Lamontagne is one of my favorite musicians. His music takes you to another world to what I can only describe as gentle torturous beauty. I don't believe anyone could listen to his music and not feel his sincerity. He's real! You can feel his insides screaming but he doesn't have to scream at you to get heard. Instead he uses the perfect harmony to blend his emotions with some of the most eloquent verses.
So for those of you who dare, there are 4 video's to sip on your preferred beverage, be it coffee or tea, open your ears, and feel... Enjoy =)
Friday, January 9, 2009
Soul Remembered
Fist in the sheet, weathered with the sea
Hung and clipped to the line behind the grained fence
Where the white whirlwind teased
It was a sweet smell that evaporated and lingered with winter
I prayed for snow to come and still the world,
But the clouds did not stretch, flatten, or shadow the ground
The stars that shone brightly quieted years ago
in my corner of this universe glows still
Was it deemed to resist my plea for me to see the sky at this night’s hour
what we know does not exist?
Like this cool and coiled waft - convoluted and passing through my recollection
Reminiscence of what was my own soul
Hung and clipped to the line behind the grained fence
Where the white whirlwind teased
It was a sweet smell that evaporated and lingered with winter
I prayed for snow to come and still the world,
But the clouds did not stretch, flatten, or shadow the ground
The stars that shone brightly quieted years ago
in my corner of this universe glows still
Was it deemed to resist my plea for me to see the sky at this night’s hour
what we know does not exist?
Like this cool and coiled waft - convoluted and passing through my recollection
Reminiscence of what was my own soul
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Where to Find Me
Southern pavement lined in detached stems of dry amber
The breeze and mellow hum of wood and bronze strings
Telephone wires trim midnight as the sky slowly edges left
Calming vibration on my back as my eyes peer up, my heart begins to slow
On the hood of my car, atop this mountain, kissed by the chilled air
Buttoned in silk and wool, as soft red tresses tinge my cheeks into shivering rouge
With black stained finger-tips, tracing the numberless dots above
And the still beady eyes singing that eerie song in his naked home
Stolen by the road that leads the way back to that small city below
Susie E.
01-08-09
The breeze and mellow hum of wood and bronze strings
Telephone wires trim midnight as the sky slowly edges left
Calming vibration on my back as my eyes peer up, my heart begins to slow
On the hood of my car, atop this mountain, kissed by the chilled air
Buttoned in silk and wool, as soft red tresses tinge my cheeks into shivering rouge
With black stained finger-tips, tracing the numberless dots above
And the still beady eyes singing that eerie song in his naked home
Stolen by the road that leads the way back to that small city below
Susie E.
01-08-09
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