Look to the Day 
Look to the day,
For it is life—
In its brief course lie
all the realities of existence:
the bliss of growth,
the splendour of action
the glory of power.
For yesterday is but a dream
and tomorrow is only a vision
But today, well lived
makes every yesterday a dream
of happiness,
And every tomorrow a vision
of hope
Look well, then to this day
A Sanskirt saying –
I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
By Rainer Maria Rilke
(1875 – 1926)
English version by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.
If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.
Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.
*******
Distant Lands- Glen Falkenberg
Listen
Cupbearer, it is morning, fill my cup with wine.By Hafiz
(1320 – 1389)
Translated by Bernard Lewis
Cupbearer, it is morning, fill my cup with wine.
Make haste, the heavenly sphere knows no delay.
Before this transient world is ruined and destroyed,
ruin me with a beaker of rose-tinted wine.
The sun of the wine dawns in the east of the goblet.
Pursue life’s pleasure, abandon dreams,
and the day when the wheel makes pitchers of my clay,
take care to fill my skull with wine!
We are not men for piety, penance and preaching
but rather give us a sermon in praise of a cup of clear wine.
Wine-worship is a noble task, O Hafiz;
rise and advance firmly to your noble task.
By Fakhruddin Iraqi
(? – 1289)
Beloved, I sought you
here and there,
asked for news of you
from all I met;
then saw you through myself
and found we were identical.
Now I blush to think I ever
searched for signs of you
English version by William Chittick and Peter Lamborn Wilson
Land of Dreams – Indocelt
Guardian AngelBy Rolf Jacobsen
(1907 – 1994)
English version by Robert Bly
I am the bird that flutters against your window in the morning,
and your closest friend, whom you can never know,
blossoms that light up for the blind.
I am the glacier shining over the woods, so pale,
and heavy voices from the cathedral tower.
The thought that suddenly hits you in the middle of the day
and makes you feel so fantastically happy.
I am the one you have loved for many years.
I walk beside you all day and look intently at you
and put my mouth against your heart
though you’re not aware of it.
I am your third arm, your second
shadow, the white one,
whom you cannot accept,
and who can never forget you.
Love - Pablo Neruda
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.
Wendell Berry
The Silence
Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.
Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.
Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say
“It is golden,” while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.
It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines
I cannot make or sing
sounds men’s silence
like a root. Let me say
and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there
The Lost Doll
I once had a sweet little doll, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world;
Her cheeks were so red and white, dears,
And her hair was so charmingly curled.
But I lost my poor little doll, dears,
As I played in the heath one day;
And I cried for her more than a week, dears,
But I never could find where she lay.
I found my poor little doll, dears,
As I played in the heath one day;
Folks say she is terribly changed, dears,
For her paint is all washed away,
And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears,
And her hair not the least bit curled;
Yet for old sakes’ sake, she is still, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world.
Charles Kingsley
now does our world descend by
e. e. cummingsTimeline (1894 – 1962) |
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now does our world descend
the path to nothingness
(cruel now cancels kind:
friends turn to enemies)
therefore lament,my dream
and don a doer’s doom
create now is contrive;
imagined,merely know
(freedom:what makes a slave)
therefore,my life,lie down
and more by most endure
all that you never were
hide,poor dishonoured mind
who thought yourself so wise;
and much could understand
concerning no and yes:
if they’ve become the same
it’s time you unbecame
where climbing was and bright
is darkness and to fall
(now wrong’s the only right
since brave are cowards all)
therefore despair,my heart
and die into the dirt
but from this endless end
of briefer each our bliss -
where seeing eyes go blind
(where lips forget to kiss)
where everything’s nothing
- arise,my soul;and sing
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart with me by e. e. cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
i thank You God for most this amazing by e. e. cummings
I thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(Now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
Francis Thompson, The Hound of Heaven
Dorothy Day, from “The Long Loneliness”
See it Through by Edgar Albert Guest
When you’re up against a trouble,
Meet it squarely, face to face;
Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and take a brace.
When it’s vain to try to dodge it,
Do the best that you can do;
You may fail, but you may conquer,
See it through!
Black may be the clouds about you
And your future may seem grim,
But don’t let your nerve desert you;
Keep yourself in fighting trim.
If the worst is bound to happen,
Spite of all that you can do,
Running from it will not save you,
See it through!
Even hope may seem but futile,
When with troubles you’re beset,
But remember you are facing
Just what other men have met.
You may fail, but fall still fighting;
Don’t give up, whate’er you do;
Eyes front, head high to the finish.
See it through!
Letter From Under The Sea by by Nizar Qabbani
If you are my friend…
Help me…to leave you
Or if you are my lover…
Help me…so I can be healed of you…
If I knew….
that the ocean is very deep…I would not have swam…
If I knew…how I would end,
I would not have began
I desire you…so teach me not to desire
teach me…
how to cut the roots of your love from the depths
teach me…
how tears may die in the eyes
and love may commit suicide
If you are prophet,
Cleanse me from this spell
Deliver me from this atheism…
Your love is like atheism…so purify me from this atheism
If you are strong…
Rescue me from this ocean
For I don’t know how to swim
The blue waves…in your eyes
drag me…to the depths
blue…
blue…
nothing but the color blue
and I have no experience
in love…and no boat…
If I am dear to you
then take my hand
For I am filled with desire…from my
head to my feet
I am breathing under water!
I am drowning…
drowning…
drowning…
………………………………………….
I see His Blood Upon the Rose
by Joseph Mary Plunkett
I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice—and carven by his power
Rocks are his written words.
All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.
Life is a walz
Was going to write a song at a time
When my life and my moods were in order and fine
But the hour was late and my room was a state
And I realized that song I would never create
And so this is a song I discovered instead
The song about living before we are dead
And by living I don’t mean perfection like gold
Cos living my friends is the sweet unresolved
I’ve seen people trying to package their love
Like a dove in the kitchen with a note that says
Make sure you scrub well and plan and prepare everything
Affection as clean as a triangle ting
But love it or not love’s as mad as they come
Oh it’s sly and it’s wise and it’s wonderfully dumb
And while some might still say ‘No it’s pure like one’
My love it is wild and not mild and on the run
I’d never be too old or bitter and thin
Was born with a smile and I’d die with a grin
And I dive in the ocean when the sky tumbles in
And I’d rise when I find a way to make her shining
And I know the trick that the gods love to play
You say you want one thing they take it away
But action I’ve found is a seven letter word
Pretend you want a shoebox
And find you’ve found the world
(Felix Riebl, Cat Empire)
All that talking
And when it happens it’s like
honey and pain
horns in the rain
misty seas and mysteries
a dog with no name
it’s that time again
not sure if I’m sleeping
but the vision’s as clear
as fog on the pier
someone fishing aimlessly
IMPARTIALITY by James Russell Lowell’s
I cannot say a scene is fair
Because it is beloved of thee
But I shall love to linger there,
For sake of thy dear memory;
I would not be so coldly just
As to love only what I must.
I cannot say a thought is good
Because thou foundest joy in it;
Each soul must choose its proper food
Which Nature hath decreed most fit;
But I shall ever deem it so
Because it made thy heart o’erflow.
I love thee for that thou art fair;
And that thy spirit joys in aught
Createth a new beauty there,
With throe own dearest image fraught;
And love, for others’ sake that springs,
Gives half their charm to lovely things.
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Work
No man is born into the world whose work Is not born with him: there is always work, And tools to work withal, for those who will; And blessed are the horny hand of toil!
James Russell Lowell’
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Mary’s Son |
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1911 If you stop to find out what your wages will be If you ask for the reason of every command, If you stop to consider the work you have done Rudyard Kipling |
The Little Song
I have not walked on common ground,
Nor drunk of earthly streams;
A shining figure, mailed and crowned,
Moves softly through my dreams.
He makes the air so keen and strange,
The stars so fiercely bright;
The rocks of time, the tides of change,
Are nothing in his sight. by Marjorie Pickthall
Swallows
O LITTLE hearts, beat home, beat home,
Here is no place to rest.
Night darkens on the falling foam
And on the fading west.
O little wings, beat home, beat home.
Love may no longer roam.
O, Love has touched the fields of wheat
And Love has crowned the corn,
And we must follow Love’s white feet
Through all the ways of morn.
Through all the silver roads of air
We pass and have no care.
The silver roads of Love are wide,
O winds that turn, O stars that guide.
Sweet are the ways that Love has trod
Through the clear skies that reach to God.
But in the cliff-grass Love builds deep
A place where wandering wings may sleep.
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Afterglow by Wilfred Campbell
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| AFTER the clangor of battle, There comes a moment of rest, And the simple hopes and the simple joys And the simple thoughts are best. After the victor’s pæan, |
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| After the thunder of gun, There comes a lull that must come to all Before the set of the sun. Then what is the happiest memory? |
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| Is it the splendid praise of a world That thunders by at your feet? Nay, nay, to the life-worn spirit |
15 |
| And the sweetness of life’s repose.
A simple love and a simple trust |
