Instead of a poem

Poem, I thumb my nose at you!

Open Secret

Chair

Hardwood 

Brick

Job

Task

Deadline

Air

Trees

Moon

Water

Heart

Wind

You choose a language that shuts doors and builds walls

When there is so much spaciousness

Love Speaks

091307 - mod2 (web)

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

–William Shakespeare, Sonnet 130

Nicely read by Alan Rickman My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun - When Love Speaks - The Sonnets or get the whole album, full of excellent readings -->

Guest Post: I am not a stone

When I was newly married
I read a book
It talked about the option of not having children

That a woman could choose not to have children.
For two years, I did not.

Then, I found that I was pregnant
And suddenly, I felt a part of the world.
I was a part of the stream of life

With the birth of my granddaughter, I realized that I was still a part of it.
I was not stagnant, like a rock in the middle of the stream—not moving, and life moving around it.

I am not like a stone that has been thrown to the side of the riverbank—alone and forgotten.

I am the water, still flowing endlessly down stream to the greater river, out to sea—around and back—flowing, moving, living.

— Dianne O'Donnell

C'est would be bon: a little difference of opinion

Art courtesy iTunes.

Fascinated with Yves Montand's singing, I purchased C'est si bon for it's classic lilting melody and Yves classic presentation. I first heard him late in his life when he sang with and to Barbara Streisand in "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever." If I had heard him younger (and when I was younger), I would have been a great fan.

I looked up the lyrics and apparently there's some sort of conflict about the official lyrics and their translation. The lyrics Yves sings match the song I purchased. It's lovely poetry in appreciation of women and their effect on a man in love. Quite lovely. My amateur word-for-word translation is:

It is so good

I don’t know if there is anything more beautiful.

If there is, it’s not for me.

Love is really all the joy of the world.

My life begins as soon as I feel it.

And I say, “Oh!”

And I say, “Ah!”

Love is so good,

Nothing can make me leave.

One arm above, One arm below,

Singing songs.

They are so good,

those sweet little nothings

That say so much.

Seeing us so delighted

Passersby in the street envy us.

It is so good 

to watch for that marvelous hope in her eyes

that gives me shivers.

They are so good

These little feelings.

Better than a million [dollars]

So much, so many, so very good.

You can guess at this happiness which is ours,

And if I love, you understand why.

It makes me drunk and

I want no other

Because all women everywhere are in this one woman.

And I say, “Oh!”

And I say, “Ah!”

It is so good,

Being able to embrace it and

to start with the least little occasion.

They are so good,

to play piano

All the way along one’s back

While we dance.

The allure is amazing.

I can’t speak of it without saying 

They are so good.

When I hold her in my arms,

I have to say all that.

Love is with me forever.

It is so good.

And if we are crazy

It is because it is so good.

Because it is so good.

Because it is so good.

Since the "it" referred to as "so good" (C'est Si Bon - It is so Good) becomes a sort of nebulous referent, I changed the italicized words to make the referent concrete. 

Art courtesy iTunes.

Now, the conflict comes in with this page (with misspellings) which shows different lyrics in both the French and English versions with a more monetary meaning. I have to believe these are bogus lyrics because they have little to do with Yves' sung version in the 1950's. In fact, when Eartha Kitt and Barbra Streisand sing the lyrics, they only sing the first half of the song which is the unmangled part. Dean Martin has his own version, as well, which also leaves out the wishes for a rich woman.

It's just crazy! I've no idea why someone added in those strange lyrics about finding a wealthy woman, replacing the wonderfulness of a woman in love and the references to love's buoyant effects. Perhaps due to the lack of instant communication we have now or the strange way that copyright was enforced. Or perhaps Andre Homez's real lyrics were about finding a rich woman ... but I don't believe it.

Anyway, it's there for your consideration. I hope you find it worthwhile.
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Song of the Day: C'est si bon - À Paris

Not the What

What's that?
What was that again?
What did we have?
Or did what have us?
What not quite benevolent ... what indifferent ... chaos.
What that grabbed us, swirled and then
   put us down
   somewhere else.
At this long distance I see you more clearly —
   but not the what.

This Week in My History

Here are some things I made during this week in years past.

A work of art titled "Bomb Shelter"

Repeating pattern for a journal cover.

A Scrap of Fictional Conversation

He stands facing me, the luxurious and artsy room behind him. His home is not usual. It's fantastic and futuristic. He grins a little lopsidedly and shrugs a bit.

"This is quite a ... feather in your cap." I say with a smile.
"A feather in my cap. When you say that it sounds so insignificant. Unimportant. As if it didn't matter."
"If it were a feather in my cap it wouldn't matter."
"It means nothing to you."
"No. But it means something to you. And that's what counts."
He turns and his shoulders roll back, his head raises and I can see a part of his satisfied smile as he looks through the huge plate glass and drinks in the view of half of a canyonous valley of trees. He is happy. I am relieved to have survived another awkward moment.

A Poem: Graffiti Grafitto

such as nice boys don't but nice girls do
and do they?
they can't so how can they
there's no answer
no special way to twist the knot or caress the knob
there's no secret combination and no lock to solve
no puzzles
no signs
just you
and me
and just this sort of strange epiphany that it all doesn't matter unless you choose it unless you want it unless you take it unless you keep it and unless
unless
unless
you work at it
really work at it
and not just wish for it
and not just expect heaven or hell to drop it into your lap
or freeze it to your face
or make the colors right or
no
you can't force it
you can't press a duck into china and make a feather stick
you must
you must not
and the song keeps going
there's no strange notes
they are all here
but yet
i discriminate
and the damn breaks
and rusty water flows until it's black and then blue and then clear
and there's a sigh
and in the back someone is hurriedly scribbling
as.
if.
this.
were.
the.
answer.

I am become the grandma

I am become the grandma
living in the land of memories
going out into the morning to smell the sky

i wander barefoot through grass in a nightgown
covered by an ugly warm cardigan
on the line, scraps of fabric I call flags
my wind chime dangles from recycled white chains
the birdbath a disused baking dish

of supreme importance are the blooms in the garden
and which weeds should be removed
I don't remove them all at once
because there will always be more
and stooping must be carefully calculated

that is what you see
yet inside
live many women
6 year old bike rider and avid roller skater
college student swimming in the seas of learning
bedazzled dazzling lover charming and enchanted
young mother carrying three babies
matured mother proud of her graduating children
resourceful business woman making sharp decisions
and always there is yet one more
waiting to be born

In honor of National Poetry Month

In recognition of poetry, here are the labeled poem entries from two of my blogs: Alien Drifter and (this one) Just Another Artist. For those of you interested in more information, click the blog title above. You can also follow daily poetical insights from poets on twitter.
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"On a White Palfrey" is a fantasy story about a time-bending metaphysical quest interrupted by a man in love.

Page Count Statistics

Goal: 100 Pages

Today's Total: 48

Written Today: 0

translation

i want to ride,
just ride
to be carried out to the ocean and dissolve into vastness
a floating morsel of moist
held by the great wet mother
released to the sky — a newer, bigger life
riding into eternity

echo emerged

listening to my top 14 songs

wanting to share them with you

realizing

you know nothing about my music

as i know nothing about yours

doesn't matter

i still want you

even though we barely know each other

having shared stories

although

never in that deep story-telling place

of the stories behind the stories

listening

you listen so intently 

(and i love that about you)

listening

as if you care

are you so polite to everyone?

does your hair tousle just for me?

is your smile just for me?

my smile is just for you

and why

i can't shut up

can't stop thinking about you

feeling you

planning what i'll say to you

next time we meet

even if it's not until after we die

as if that would stop us

you and i know ...

at least

you should know

having tried

severing ties to those who have moved on

and that not working

give up

give in

let us be

before you look away

I have nothing to recommend me
I am not slender, young or rich
so,
why do you look at me so intently –
why do your dark eyes drink me
as if i were a fountain in the desert –

before you look away?