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#2849 - Wednesday, June 20, 2007 - Editor: Gloria Lee

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  • Gloria Lee
    #2849 - Wednesday, June 20, 2007 - Editor: Gloria Lee Nondual Highlights http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlights A poet s work is to name the unnamable,
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      #2849 - Wednesday, June 20, 2007 - Editor: Gloria Lee
       
       
       

      "A poet's work is to name the unnamable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep."

      --Salman Rushdie



       
       
      Cosmos, posted by Ben Hassine
       

       
      Proverbs and Songs
      by Antonio Machado
       
      Dedicated to Jose Ortega y Gasset


      I
           The eye you see is not
      an eye because you see it;
      it is an eye because it sees you.

      II
           To talk with someone,
      ask a question first,
      then -- listen.

      III
           Narcissism
      is an ugly fault,
      and now it's a boring fault too.

      IV
           But look in your mirror for the other one,
      the other one who walks by your side.

      V
           Between living and dreaming
      there is a third thing.
      Guess it.

      VI
           This Narcissus of ours
      can't see his face in the mirror
      because he has become the mirror.

      VII
           New century? Still
      firing up the same forge?
      Is the water still going along in its bed?

      VIII
           Every instant is Still.

      IX
           The sun in Aries. My window
      is open to the cool air.
      Oh the sound of the water far off!
      The evening awakens the river.

      X
           In the old farmhouse
      -- a high tower with storks! --
      the gregarious sound falls silent,
      and in the field where no on is,
      water makes a sound among the rocks.

      XI
           Just as before, I'm interested
      in water held in;
      but now water in living
      rock of my chest.

      XII
           When you hear water, does its sound tell you
      if it's from a mountain or farm,
      city street, formal garden, or orchard?

      XIII
           What I find surprises me:
      leaves of the garden balm
      smell of lemonwood.

      XIV
           Don't trace out your profile,
      forget your side view --
      all that is outer stuff.

      XV
           Look for your other half
      who walks always next to you
      and tends to be what you aren't.

      XVI
           When spring comes,
      go to the flowers --
      why keep on sucking wax?

      XVII
           In my solitude
      I have seen things very clearly
      that were not true.

      XVIII
           Water is good, so is thirst;
      shadow is good, so is sun;
      the honey from the rosemarys
      ad the honey of the bare fields.

      XIX
           Only one creed stands:
      quod elixum est ne asato.
      Don't roast what's already boiled.

      XX
           Sing on, sing on, sing on,
      the cricket in his cage
      near his darling tomato.

      XXI
           Form your letters slowly and well:
      making things well
      is more important than making them.

      XXII
           All the same...
                     Ah yes! All the same,
      moving the legs fast is important,
      as the snail said to the greyhound.

      XXIII
           There are really men of action now!
      The marsh was dreaming
      of its mosquitoes.

      XXIV
           Wake up, you poets:
      let echoes end,
      and voices begin.

      XXV
           But don't hunt for dissonance;
      because, in the end, there is no dissonance.
      When the sound is heard people dance.

      XXVI
           What the poet is searching for
      is not the fundamental I
      but the deep you.

      XXVII
           The eyes you're longing for --
      listen now --
      the eyes you see yourself in
      are eyes because they see you.

      XXVIII
           Beyond living and dreaming
      there is something more important:
      waking up.

      XXIX
           Now someone has come up with this!
      Cogito ergo non sum.
      What an exaggeration!

      XXX
           I thought my fire was out,
      and stirred the ashes...
      I burnt my fingers.

      XXXI
           Pay attention now:
      a heart that's all by itself
      is not a heart.

      XXXII
           I've caught a glimpse of him in dreams:
      expert hunter of himself,
      every minute in ambush.

      XXXIII
           He caught his bad man:
      the one who on sunny days
      walks with head down.

      XXXIV
           If a poem becomes common,
      passed around, hand to hand, it's OK:
      gold is chosen for coins.

      XXXV
           If it's good to live,
      then it's better to be asleep dreaming,
      and best of all,
      mother, is to awake.

      XXXVI
           Sunlight is good for waking,
      but I prefer bells --
      the best thing about morning.

      XXXVII
           Among the figs I am soft.
      Among the rocks I am hard.
      That's bad!

      XXXVIII
           When I am alone
      how close my friends are;
      when I am with them
      how distant they are!

      XXXIX
           Now, poet, your prophecy?
      “Tomorrow what is dumb will speak,
      the human heart and the stone.”

      XL
           But art?
                     It is pure and intense play,
      so it is like pure and intense life,
      so it is like pure and intense fire.
      You'll see the coal burning
      .

       

      -- from Times Alone: Selected Poems of Antonio Machado, Translated by Robert Bly

      http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/M/MachadoAnton/ProverbsSong.htm 


       
      I was a beggar
       
      by Gabriel Rosenstock
       
       
       
      Dar Óma
      I was a beggar
      You threw me a smile

      I ran off
      delirious
      into the distance

      later, tired
      hungry
      I sat down

      now people toss me coins

      I throw them back at them

      all I ever wanted
      was Your smile


      The selections form Uttering Her Name are addressed to Dar Óma, a Celtic goddess, daughter of OGHMA who gave the gift of writing to the Celts. The communication to Dar Óma at times seems addressed an impersonal God and, at others, to someone immediate, felt, touched. Gabriel Rosenstock describes the work as neo-bhakti and, indeed, it has a strong feel of some of the great bhakti poetry, like that of Mirabai. More of his poems may be read here:
       
       

      BLIAIN AN BHANDÉ,  Year of the Goddess   Listen to a reading:

      http://www.dedaluspress.com/mp3/Year-of-the%20Goddess.mp3  

       



       
      http://www.duirwaighgallery.com/inspiration_heavensrejoice.htm 

      The Heavens Rejoice
      video posted by Ben Hassine
       
       
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