I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

7 July 2010

Contemplating a goodbye: June tanka 2010

This quiet morning,
contemplating a goodbye,
I’m soothed by sunlight
nourishing both vines and weeds,
and by mountains deep-sea-blue.


As one person leaves
another is arriving
at the same station.
The children wave in welcome
as two new journeys begin.


I watch him walking
alone through strands of music
as if unaware
of the two violinists
duetting beside the path.


When the light wanders
over the side of the hill
like an animal
roaming in search of its prey,
the Wild Woman starts to sing.

Listen! Can you hear
the song of the Wild Woman
rising from the earth,
swelling along the ridges
and infiltrating the sky?


It's sunny today
and the cats sprawl on the bed
with Spouse who awaits
breakfast — muesli not porridge.
(It's my turn, and I'm no cook.)


A glass of muscat.
I smile to recall my youth,
‘misspent’ you might say.
I spent it with certain men
who wined and dined and so on.


A carafe of red!
I affected a beret,
admired de Beauvoir,
frequented the Troubadour ...
smoked Black Russian Sobranies.


The week of falling:
falling apart, why fight it?
My darling fell ill;
my old aunt fell into death.
(Did she fall up, to Heaven?)

‘Things fall apart’, viz.:
I decide to sleep, but then
the wardrobe rail breaks,
all the clothes land in a heap.
Time to discard old garments.


Old bodies, alas,
can grow uncomfortable,
the garments of flesh
become too heavy to bear.
The soul goes naked.


No comments:

Post a Comment