Friday, April 14, 2017

Spirit



Cantico del Sole
BY EVAN KENNEDY 

let through praise while cycling
—a hill or shop to match you—
the shining bay
the foggy gray
beneath all names and phrases


let through praise while working
—a bird or book to watch you—
the formal sun
the queerer ones
lifting their heads to face you


let through praise while flirting
—a storm or song to patch you—
the iced-down bruise
the new black shoes
and all the things that make you


let praise through earthly city
—a sibling glad to catch us—
the blameless meek
the faceless deep
please mind your house and graces

Nothing Is Far
BY Robert Francis

Though I have never caught the word
Of God from any calling bird,
I hear all that the ancients heard.

Though I have seen no deity
Enter or leave a twilit tree,
I see all that the seers see.

A common stone can still reveal
Something not stone, not seen, yet real.
What may a common stone conceal?

Nothing is far that once was near.
Nothing is hid that once was clear.
Nothing was God that is not here.

Here is the bird, the tree, the stone.
Here in the sun I sit alone
Between the known and the unknown.




The Turning Tree

BY Allen Grossman

This to be beautiful to you 
Set against all this you know of 
So ominous, set against it, 
Overcome, might overcome. 
This to be beautiful, beautiful, 
Never alone enough with God 
Never enough among fountains 
This be beautiful Spring blue. 
Leaf love you for this the while 
I am with you and the while after 
This earth I am standing on, the 
Herons and smaller birds possess. 
This to be beautiful to you 
The downward fire I spoke of 
The eel grass, the snowy path, 
The wide shore, the wide shore. 
Speak of it, speak it, unceasing, all 
These lines to the tomb, O turning tree, 
Set against all this you know of 
Overcome, will, overcome. 
Grave tree of the dark plowland under, 
I will will the whole time to you: 
Falling water, wave falling, dew 
Dust, horses, spirits, Spirit.


The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
 and I wake in the night at the least sound
 in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
 I go and lie down where the wood drake
 rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
 I come into the peace of wild things
 who do not tax their lives with forethought
 of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
 And I feel above me the day-blind stars
 waiting with their light. For a time
 I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.









Friday, April 7, 2017

I'll Remember April




April Midnight

BY Arthur Symons


Side by side through the streets at midnight,
Roaming together,
Through the tumultuous night of London,
In the miraculous April weather.

Roaming together under the gaslight,
Day’s work over,
How the Spring calls to us, here in the city,
Calls to the heart from the heart of a lover!

Cool to the wind blows, fresh in our faces,
Cleansing, entrancing,
After the heat and the fumes and the footlights,
Where you dance and I watch your dancing.

Good it is to be here together,
Good to be roaming,
Even in London, even at midnight,
Lover-like in a lover’s gloaming.

You the dancer and I the dreamer,
Children together,
Wandering lost in the night of London,
In the miraculous April weather.


Spring
BY Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again? 
Beauty is not enough. 
You can no longer quiet me with the redness 
Of little leaves opening stickily. 
I know what I know. 
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe 
The spikes of the crocus. 
The smell of the earth is good. 
It is apparent that there is no death. 
But what does that signify? 
Not only under ground are the brains of men 
Eaten by maggots. 
Life in itself 
Is nothing, 
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. 
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, 
April 
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers. 



After Rachmaninoff
By Ralph Block



LIKE rain, that silvers out of a silent sky—
“So hard,” you said.
And I sent back my heart in a vain try
To hold below your voice
Some remnant memory of strange songs he played.

(These moments never quite return—
Not through all the years I’ll count and spend,
Or light tapers to old gods and watch them burn.)

“Like granite feet”—
You laughed, and then came back,
“Both light and strong,
A tracery of rock on rock.”

The moment opened wide and let me in.
I looked behind
As a man who plays with sin,
Knowing what it was I sought—
The “variation” he could never play,
That from his fingered keys would always stray
Uncaught.

“You seemed held deep
In thought”

I lied to that—confession’s cheap,
A lie’s a compliment—
And found myself wondering where to heap
New devotions that would keep
Your eyes in mine
In this strange experiment.

We were in a net
Of other people’s words:
They crossed us there like swords.
At last I tipped my hat
And felt your tension drop—
Hearts stop perhaps
Like that

No doubt you will forget
The evening when we remet:
For you a door had edged and closed
Upon a stranger awkwardly disposed
When I went out.

For me the days will live it through each time
In a kind of troubled rhyme—
When concert whispers rise and fall,
And other Russian preludes run
Up chromatic scales and down.
Repelled by chatter, and in vain,
I’ll watch the faces for a sign;
As when I held out hands and cried,
And of all the souls that faced my way
Only yours replied.



I’ll Remember April
By Gene DePaul

This lovely day will lengthen into evening
We'll sigh goodbye to all we ever had

Alone where we have walked together

I'll remember April and be glad



I'll be content you loved me once in April

Your lips were warm and love and spring were new
I'm not afraid of autumn and her sorrow
For I'll remember April and you



The fire will dwindle into glowing ashes

For flames live such a little while
I won't forget but I won't be lonely
I'll remember April and smile