WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading
WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2007
WHERE: Your blog
WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Bridgid, aka Groundhog Day
HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.
RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. Last year Reya put out the call and there was more poetry in cyberspace than she could keep track of. So, link to whomever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.
Without further ado, a trio of poems:
One I didnt write:
To a Cat
Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.
Jorge Luis Borges
Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.
Jorge Luis Borges
One that I wrote:
a life springs outward
seeds of fantasy whirl in eddies
cast off from branches like reaching hands
a life springs outward
seeking salvation in words
cast off from branches like reaching hands
the seers listen to the cries of children
seeking salvation in words
remembered from lullabyes long forgotten
the seers listen to the cries of children
thrusting hands into gold-filled cauldrons
remembered from lullabyes long forgotten
when days and youth were bright
thrusting hands into gold-filled cauldrons
that spilled their seeds onto the desperate fields
when days and youth were bright
with the promise of another new tomorow
that spilled their seeds onto the desperate fields
seeds of fantasy whirl in eddies
with the promise of another new tomorow
a life springs outward
seeds of fantasy whirl in eddies
cast off from branches like reaching hands
a life springs outward
seeking salvation in words
cast off from branches like reaching hands
the seers listen to the cries of children
seeking salvation in words
remembered from lullabyes long forgotten
the seers listen to the cries of children
thrusting hands into gold-filled cauldrons
remembered from lullabyes long forgotten
when days and youth were bright
thrusting hands into gold-filled cauldrons
that spilled their seeds onto the desperate fields
when days and youth were bright
with the promise of another new tomorow
that spilled their seeds onto the desperate fields
seeds of fantasy whirl in eddies
with the promise of another new tomorow
a life springs outward
And one fitting the season:
Snowflakes
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All three are wonderful! I'm particularly fond of the cat poem (big surprise), but your poem is lovely, too.
ReplyDeleteI like the cat one best too, naturally, and darn! I was looking for a Jorge Borges poem to post for St. Brigid day.
ReplyDeleteI love your imagery!