(a sequence)
A body lying broken
upon the strand of time:
like so much trash.
Like an ocean,
surging
Time has taken you -
time has let you dive
into the mysteries;
time has seen you through.
It is middle of the night, and
on that timeless strand,
a bunch of out-time vultures
prey on you, as if you were
but so much sea-forgotten fish:
it is an ill wind that
blows nobody no good.
***
I saw a sea of grass
ebbing,
flowing,
coming and meeting the air -
I touched the dead centuries,
gone,
forgotten,
times of hope and despair -
I, I was the link, the tie
between the earth and the sky;
I, a dead body,
laid on the shore
of a never-silent green
timeless ocean of grass…
I saw a sea of grass
a barrier
that lets no traveller past
unchangéd
leaf, wind
A leaf floating in wind
where it comes from
where does it go?
The gold of autumn
has already touched it-
the freedom of dying
Freedom of flight
from nowhere into the air
that freedom of unattachedness
A leaf carried by wind
what does it come from
what does it go into
when the still golden seal
is laid upon them,
what are the leaves after
in their maddening run
through the winds,
through the gale…
no other death
After the first death there is no other.
(Dylan Thomas)
This is the end of time.
The days come to sunset;
The nights come to dawn.
It is all over, it is.
When the lances are drawn
to slay those who dare not
approach the death on their own.
This is the end of time.
The springs come to summer;
The autumns come to winter.
The growing is over, it is.
And no other begins anew
when the slain stay in a desolate field that,
beastlessly, buries them.
On the high Ground of aeternal battle
beholding the banners over the battlements
broken by untimely frost
coming forth, the four Riders
having been sent towards
the end of time.
This is the time
of gaining no victories.
All the victories come to a loss
All the losses victorious
When the soldiers, defending and charging alike,
fall in the slimy bloodshed of time:
the conquerors conquered,
the conquered conquering,
When the Four Riders
come forth to accomplish
the end of time:
A crimson rose-blossom
lonely beyond
beholding.
naked moments
At times…
there are moments that
make
one absolutely naked.
Those moments breathe us
like the smoke
a smoker inhales
So… irretrievably.
Then, the exhalation process
that lasts, maybe for
a moment
or, for the time limit
that can be expanded
endlessly.
Those are moments
that breathe us like
A fire-person struggles thru smoke
of a collapsing building.
To behold the face
of one other,
A moment when beholding
becomes life and breath.
A star, falling,
fulfils a wish, or maybe
is but a meteorite.
Candlelight Mass
Every candle extinguishes
a week of thought
and then
Darkness
the Hope has gone with the light.
Night.
Wait.
Amongst the stones of walkways
there is flint
there is iron.
Sunrise sparkle.
morning…mourning
Crystal candleplate
Reflecting the lights
of those admiring eyes around thee
Reflections, sparkles, gleams,
moments of miraculous music:
O I adore thee
As no one
could kneel in adoration.
Crystal playing with light
Sharp rays right in the eyes
of those around thee
Tune, song, melodie,
seconds of sights unseen.
O I do kneel
As never before
in adoration.
Shafts of sunrays so cruel
Stones under my feet
candles are out of fuel
Shadows, shapes and shades
daylight wrought of dusk.
Where art thou?
That cross over yonder
claims recognition.
****[Amos 4:13]
Did I know Thy Name
when I called upon Thee
Then — down there in that
pit of darkness?
Did I know whom to speak to
did I know who to address
When I sought in tears
Thy light in that dusk?
Was I trying to whisper
Thy Name when calling for help?
When I beheld the beauty
of a world created
different every separate time
from that one I saw
an hour, a moment ago —
Was that Thy Name, I knew
was at the foundation of all that?
A wind breathed a Name upon me
a Name of Creation Done
a Name of Creation Perfected
a Name of Forgiveness
was that/is that Thy Name?
no man’s land
I am nobody’s land.
Like a hurricane, the feelings
Rush over me, they
Come and they go
Leaving only ruins
Ahead.
Behind.
My soul resides in the basement.
In that no man’s land
Between frontiers
Not a single spot to stand
On that would have life:
Only iron and stone
Around.
And under.
My soul hides in a cellar.
Distorted and crippled
The land un-claimed
The land over-desired
Where the territories over-lap
Where nobody stops
For life.
For death.
My soul digs hideouts.
No body’s land.
Two rows of barbed wire
A sea and a sky somewhere
Maybe the adversaries meet
By an arbour in a better place
To talk.
To smoke.
My soul, famished in the dungeon.
somewhere
I live somewhere
far away from the place
they call my home.
Every moment I torment
the land that I step on
By the sounds of my feet
I do not live in a temple
The ground’s not sacred but walkable
They call it Normal
Every moment I torment
my heart so yearning to fly
By fettering it to my flesh
I live at a distance
of a heart-flight from Heaven
They say it’s right
Every moment I torment
the soul that inhabits my breast
By denying it light from above
in memoriam teacher
A forget-me knot on thy forehead,
A never-remember sign in thy eyes.
Raindrops will cease their dancing
When that quietest sparkle dies.
Whatever was there — whether rain or tears —
On paths long-forgotten, on hillsides steep
Still I hear thy voice calling
When my heart is longing for sleep.
Thou knowest the quietest ways
Those lit only by sparkles
Of the moments of our togetherness —
My ears seeking thy heartbeats.
A forget-me-not by thy last home,
A sign of remembrance at my place.
Out of my sight hast thou gone
At thy unfaltering pace.
King’s Fool
Amongst the wise I stand disguising
that flame of heart that would depart
only with the embers of soul.
A hand
Stretched out towards those
who have lived in dark
and never seen the light, to delight their hearts
till that last contest
King’s Fool
Amongst the strong beings to despond
the topmost of hope to elope
and find a place of security.
Our eyes
Meet across the bars of a marble altar
How bare are the walls
depicting the fall
of the wise
a way of a stranger
Like a mortally wounded animal,
retreating to the rock of refuge;
Like a ship, captainless,
sailing towards its last storm;
Like a clown, playing
all the joys and tears of a nation;
Like a pillar of a ruined dome;
Like a fire, fuelless,
retreating into the embers,
A way of a stranger
through this
journey home.
Madonna
Madonna, in you
has the Word come true
In you, has the Word come
into this world of pain and joy.
Madonna, Mother,
the one who gave the world their Hope
through you like a gate
could He come to his fate.
what will I say to you, Madonna —
your quiet smile,
your understanding and trust —
teach me, Madonna.
Поэтовы затменья /Не предугаданы календарем.
М. Цветаева
A touch of moondust
The dogs howl death away
The last bullet fired.
— — —
My words are unknown
to the majority winds
up the sky-path
— — —
Hey, you. The steps
Leading to my garden of Youth
Have grown old.
— — —
Yes, behold it.
Right on the field of your vision
The whitest snowflake.
—- —- —- —-
Wherever there is a light
a chance to walk—
onto the unknown. Into the void
My right hand knows not
what my left hand hath done.
I Forgot — this is a slogan—
you walk by day
day in day out.
Today I forgot my name.
I wrote it in wind
that went away far
over my house.
I forgot,
winds have paths
different from ours.
In different hours,
Winds
Go past..
—- —- —- —-
I lost my name
All the connections gone
I start out afresh.
— — —
One of us goes mad
Soon enough the snows
Will cover the summer
— — —
We forget those days
That build finest pictures
unseen
Then we remember.
Beyond my vision
Black swans in wintry fields.
How I long for spring.
— — —
I refuse to take
The roar of autumn leaving.
My steps so heavy.
—- —- —- —-
Go out into the night.
Night waits outside—
Every step will lead
further, into unknown
paths of dead leaves
lives, thrown into winds
lives, out-lived,
now feeding this earth.
— — —
Earth always is hungry.
Every step
Leads deeper into Earth’s stomach.
— — —
No-one survives
at the end of this
path of the fallen
leaves
— — —
Go out and behold—
The path, once taken
will go
beyond, outside, without
you knowing or
taking part
shall i follow?
My Lord,
art Thou in a desert now,
where the stones at night
are twice as cold as the heat
was in the daytime?
Shall I follow Thee? —
To that desert where among
the stones of human hearts
some are not stones
but adamant something?
And the most adamant diamond
is that of my heart?
Shall I go with Thee? —
To a place where
Thou art a furnace
a melting pot
a breaking point
For steel, stone and other
hard(ened) hearts —
To that desert,
Shall I follow Thee?
spring night
The headlights glare
At the not-so-empty streets.
The bitter-sweet smell of earth
On this asphalt.
A cry from a far-off skreech-owl
A howl by a two-room house.
The ambulance has moved
Two sidewalks further
From where it was when I left.
Now, returning,
I step on this spring,
Starless, cloudless, in the nebula
Of artificial lights.
the four riders
I and I saw, and behold, a white horse, and its rider had a bow;…and he went out conquering and to conquer.
II and out came another horse, bright red; its rider was permitted to take peace from the earth, so that men should slay one another; and he was given a great sword.
III and I saw, and behold, a black horse, and its rider had a balance in his hand; and I heard… a voice saying: A quart of wheat for a denarius, and three quarts of barley for a denarius, but do not harm oil and wine!
IV and I saw, and behold, a pale horse, and its rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed him, and they were given power…, to kill…(Revelation 6: 2, 4 – 6, 8)
First: White
firearms speaking
both Allah and Jehovah
are losing their right of voice
what does the White Rider stand for?
Second: Red
to wail. to shout, to cry out
against these mountains of corpses
created in defence
of human rights.
amongst heaps of dead bodies
some still quick
passing judgement.
behold the sky of fire-colour,
behold the waters blood-red
the only records of our great deeds
might never ever be read
what colour comes the Rider of War?
Third: Black
those eyes of a child
asleep
what do they see
they fight for you kid
your brothers do
your
father
sleep kid tomorrow
is gonna be a day
among ruins inflicted upon us
by brothers
tomorrows, kid,
come inevitably.
what rider bears the colour of black?
Fourth: Pale
o mother, bless
your son before death
o mother, bless
your son into death
o mother
your sons
are going out to meet sons
that have other mums,
o mother, your pain
stands uncried
officially denied
o mother, bewailed
is your fate
O mother, why does so pale
come the Rider of Death?
irish dream
The marble halls I dreamt of,
the Marble Halls…
The winds of love, the winds of souls,
the winds, the winds;
the rocks upon the hither shore,
the rocks, the rocks…
The Rocks that I
(and don’t know why)
have left behind…
So reckless, heedless, will-at-wispy
as I go…
The Marble Halls, the halls of stone,
the Halls of Dream I saw,
before my eyes, beneath my feet,
All dream, and torn by storm;
the Marble Halls I knew so well
so well that I should miss them,
All gone in mists of Great Beyond,
Beyond, Beyond…
All gone in mists of Great Beyond,
the place that no one dares
approach or call by name,
the place that always scares
the seeking creature…
The Marble Halls where I belong
so deep that unawares
I seek them far in Great Beyond
The place that ever dares
to quench the seekers fires
the fires, the fires…
O Marble Halls, o halls of doom
o Halls of dream unsaid
I yearn for you, I long for you,
I dream of you, ye halls so sweet,
but never will we meet
But never will we meet…
christmas
Tidings of joy
to this faceless world;
tidings of joy
to the blind windows
of the TV’s.
Amongst the forsaken stars
one for the season
has come and goes on
beaming.
Tidings of peace
to this faceless world;
tidings of peace
to the blind weapons
of superpowers.
Amongst the forsaken words
one for a brother
has been spoken and is still
valid.
Tidings of good will
to this faithless world
tidings of good will
to the blind hearts
of human forms.
Amidst the forsaken promises
one cut in stone
is being re-written again
on hearts.
time you know
Time is nigh, time you know
words like fiery rods
scourging my soul
time is up, time you know
like a comet, words,
leave impact in soul
time you know, leaves scars
in a soul preparing to go
towards sunset
time is nigh, time up
words like a red-hot iron
branding thoughts:
time that has brought
departure
the inability
To be blind –
the inability to see
To walk, stumbling.
With every step –
Nothing new.
Only your feet know
The stones of the road.
At times – at the moments
When the road
Comes up to meet your face,
Even then all the stones are invisible.
I touch their sharp edges.
Their malevolent, cutting
surface. The stones, my
relatives –
lie waiting there,
for my hands.
In my world of blindness,
I will take the stones
To build a transparent house
Of light.
a hermeneutics of love
The air is olive-grey.
You perform beside me:
Your song of meta-text.
The wind carries blue sky.
You breathe the spring fragrance:
Your acceptance of the unspeakable.
The graffiti are covered by dust.
Your eyes unfocussed on the birds:
You develop an abstraction of nest.
I am a horizon in this narrative.
You shine on me unlimited
By expectations. Or biases.
the poet became landscape
And the poet became landscape.
His head was a minor knoll,
On which his hair rose
Like trees in MacBeth.
Threatening myriads of readers
Who should have settled for less.
His neck expanded into a delta
Of sinews, runny flesh and slime,
Right into the labyrinthine chest
Complete with the grid of ribs
Like an ancient ship, bared of boards,
Ready for a funeral pyre.
His backbone became a thoroughfare
With slabs of vertebra clinching
To mother earth in despair.
His hip-bones formed a lake
With a peninsula cutting it
Exactly in half.
His arms now were extreme paths
Five-pointed, white webs
Of desire and fulfilment
Of sensuality and of horror,
Leading from nowhere, into nowhere,
Connecting some memories to some other.
His legs melted into the ground
Like inverted canyons, climbing
The never-ending path into death
Binding generations to look and fear
The explanations of
incontinent scholars.
Christmas 2005
It feels like March,
Only the roses
Are not bitten by snow.
The melting smell in the air,
The sky grey with a margin
Of translucent sun.
Someone is born,
Only to walk
To the end of their life.
It feels like joy,
Only the smiles
Have thorns in them.
Someone is born,
And all the world getting ready
For a killing.
Petals dew-dappled,
Roses stand in mid-winter:
Life has no end.
The blackbird sings
Under the street-lamp
Oblivious of all theology.
It feels like March.
Only it is December
And I look at the roses, immortal,
In a web of memory.
dance with death
Come, dance with me,
Quoth Death,
I will teach thee
This
Will be Easy.
I made him
A cuppa. I
Broke bread for him,
Buttered it, and proffered:
No one should dance hungry.
Come, this is a Waltz,
Quoth Death,
One-two-three, One-two-three, One…
It will be slow
And becoming.
I made him
New shoes. I
Knitted him the socks,
Warm and well-fitting,
No one should dance barefoot.
And this,
Is Quickstep, quoth Death,
Just jump in the pattern I show,
This will be
Easy, ye know.
I made him
Mittens. I used
A herring-bone pattern of green
Wool and gold,
No one should dance
With hands that cold.
Come, dance with me,
Quoth Death.
All your life away,
This will be
Easy, when I
Will teach thee,
Quoth Death.
in memoriam brother
Grass Tik
Still green. Zaļa zāle.
Leaves Tik
Still brilliant. Spožas lapas.
Sun Tik
So mercilessly bright. Svelmīga saule.
Time Laiks
Still flowing. Pil caur pirkstiem.
Why Kāpēc
Then Gan
This water Ūdenī
Has little ripples; Sīki apļi?
Why Kāpēc
Then Gan migla
This mist has stiffled Man sažņaudz
My throat? Kaklu?
The
Little Mazais
Dog Suns
Yelps Ķiukst
Unwoken Nemodināts
He Viņš
Opens Atkorķē
A beer Aliņu
In a
Different Citajās
Meadow. Pļavās.
consideration
We kill those we love
Because we love, we kill
It is those we love we kill.
Only by love, a true murder
Can be accomplished.
this this
is is
the way the way
of of
death love
approaches
We thank you for giving […] to us, […] family and friends, to know and to love as a companion on our earthly pilgrimage (BCP, Burial of the Dead, Rite II)
To know is to love. To love, is to know.
In the process of our journey here on earth, we meet strangers.
In the process of the journey on earth, we learn to know the strangers in us.
In the process of the journey on earth, we learn to know the strangers around us.
We start with apparences and guesses and likenesses.
Catching shadows, reading signs, watching out, trusting, keeping up and failing to keep up.
We start with words and silences and misunderstandings and direct meanings.
Blushes, stumlbings and getting straight, blunders and knowing exactly what to do, and often not getting it right.
We start from a distance.
We move in the Eliotan formal pattern of advances and retreats.
Till that moment in time, when my retreat is you advancing, and your change of pace causes a change in me.
We move to the slow beat of our hearts and our brain that are often at odds with each other.
Till that time when they start off in unison, then we know our selves.
We reach an agreement with other strangers: of admittable distances and speed, of the polite and impolite, of noise and of silence. We journey together.
And yet – we belong not here, not to ourselves, not to each other.
We are given. Like lessons, to learn by heart, from heart, with heart.
Our journey is personal. Strange, even to the strangers.
We learn each other, and walk by, and share.
Food, skin, life; thoughts, dreams, expectations.
Strength. Power. Vision.
And only the parting shows the value of the journey.
We are gifts, given for a time. A time of journey, a period of mutual appreciation.
Of knowledge. Of… ultimately, love.
wild hearts
Out of boredom
Come wild thoughts.
I look at the maples
Turning colour:
Red, yellow, pale brown,
Falling to ground only too soon.
Out of boredom,
Come wild thoughts
I hear those steps,
Crushing the leaves:
Step, crush, trample
The colourful beauty to mud.
Only too soon.
Out of boredom
Come wild hearts.
Red-hot, burning,
Opening up to the void world.
Then, falling to ground,
Only too soon.
