tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30258422011-07-28T14:18:26.995-07:00Pocketful'oPoesiePoems, transfusions and creative writing by
Colin Joseph Wolfgang MaharColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comBlogger2141100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-47717471928801022622011-05-06T03:44:00.000-07:002011-05-06T03:51:00.592-07:00GregThe tumour was the size of a Florida orange;had made him and island in the stream of consciousness.The wake of the past; erased. the ripples that race towards the future -now : a still lakenow : a daisy-chain without the chain.Life; now : a thousandColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-73835293574669347522011-05-06T03:37:00.000-07:002011-05-06T03:43:52.252-07:00I Have Been Trying to Tell YouWhen Summer comes, it bringsthe summer sun and, for a moment, you.Summer comes and, if it's not too busy with the flowers,it brings you to me, naked as the rain.Spring brings rain, they say, and the earth is -and I am - grateful. She fills the air with perfumeand sings to me a love song, a promise.I have set Winter aside to consider Love.There is still the sun, Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-34292612861272048682010-03-15T06:56:00.001-07:002010-04-13T06:44:01.965-07:00One More- Boris Vian (translated by Colin Mahar)One more.One for no reason.But then, there are the others,asking questions of the others,and they answer with the words of others.What does the other do ?What, but to write like the others ?and to hesitate ?and repeat ?and to seekbut not to find?To drive themselves crazyand to say to themselves "this is pointless"I would do better to earn a living,Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-43452624420577078782009-12-31T05:35:00.001-08:002010-02-06T00:30:50.276-08:00Here is the Scene :The fire is cheery, but not roaring, let's say purring,which brings us to the cat who,after testing my solar plexushas opted to curl herselfbetween the pillow and my thighand who, after a negociationwhich consisted of sly cat-eye glances,warnings that I'd better be comfortable,and a few scratches behind the ears to seal the deal,goes to sleep.The dog and my friend both sleepandColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-29921732695467366962009-10-21T09:36:00.000-07:002009-10-21T09:41:34.698-07:00There is Sunlight In the StreetThere is sunlight in the streetI like the sunlight but not the streetand so I stay at homewaiting for the world to come to mewith its golden towersand it's white cascadeswith its voice of tearsand the songs of happy peopleor of the people who are paid to sing.And in the evening a moment will comewhere the street will become something elseand disappear beneath the Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-66621856984454934062009-10-21T09:31:00.000-07:002010-04-13T05:38:05.335-07:00A Naked Man Was WalkingA naked man was walkinghis garment in his handhis garment in his handPerhaps it wasn't cleverbut it made me laughhis garment in his handhis garment in his handAh ha ha ha ha ha ha ha A completely naked manWalking down the streetHis costume in his hand- Boris Viantransl by meOct 2nd, 2009MontréalColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-50527949207317182962009-10-21T09:13:00.000-07:002009-10-21T09:19:11.485-07:00When I have the Wind In My SkullWhen I have the wind in my skullWhen I have the wind on my bonesPerhaps then, I'll believe in the dullEditions of my future tomes.How I will miss itMy elemental plasticPlastic tic ticand my face devoured by ratsthis pair of lipseyebrows, eyelidsmy thighs and the assupon which I sit.My hair, my fists,my pretty blue eyesmy hooded eyes.So I bequeath to youmy roman Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-56833611025285637732009-10-21T09:04:00.000-07:002009-10-21T09:11:35.895-07:00There Was a Brass LanternThere was a brass lanternwhich burned for many years.There was a magic mirrorand in it was seen the facethe face which would one day beupon the golden bed of Death.There was a book of blue leatherwhere slept the earth and skyWater and Fire and the Thirteen MysteriesAn hourglass marked the timeupon its sliver of dust.There was a heavy lockwhich held its hard way shuta Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-37577313804555408472009-10-21T08:58:00.000-07:002009-10-21T09:01:25.328-07:00Life Is Like a ToothLife, is like a toothat first, you don't even think of ityou are contnet just to chewand then, it is suddenly rottenIt's yours - it hurts youYou baby it and you suck on itbut to be really curedyou have to rip it out, Life.- Boris Viantransl by meSept. 28, 2009OttawaColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-25581870220923032672009-10-21T08:56:00.000-07:002009-10-21T08:58:24.283-07:00I No Longer WantI no longer really wantto write poetry.If things were as they were beforeI would do it more often,but I feel very oldI feel very seriousI feel conscientiousI feel lazy.- Boris Viantransl by meSept. 28, 2009,OttawaColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-36291830007275021582009-10-21T08:53:00.000-07:002009-10-21T08:56:21.366-07:00I Would LoveI would love I would loveTo become a great poetand for peopleto place many laurels on my headBut, there it is.I don't have enough taste for booksand I enjoy life too muchand I think too much of peopleto ever be contentwith having written nothing but wind.- Boris Viantransl - by me Sept 28, 2009,OttawaColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-76676251652379788622009-10-19T00:26:00.000-07:002009-10-20T03:07:31.351-07:00Why Should I Live ?Why should I live ?Why should I live for the golden legof the blonde womanleaning against the wallin the full sunlightFor the billowing jibof a sailing shipfor the shadows on the shoreThe iced coffeewe drink through strawsTo touch the sandsee the backdrop of waterwhich has become so bluewhich sinks to such depthswith the fishthe silent fishthey swim through the depthsflying Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-31049236998911958022009-09-28T03:55:00.000-07:002009-09-28T04:12:24.770-07:00They Break the WorldThey break the worldinto little peicesthey break the worldwith hammerblowsbut it's all the same to meit's all just the same to me.There's enough left for me,enough.It's enough that I lovea blue feathera road of sanda skittish birdIt's enough that I lovethe strands of fresh-cut grassa drop of ruby winea splinter of wood.They can break the worldinto tiny peices.There's enough Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-72799319148504701762009-09-24T06:30:00.000-07:002009-09-24T06:50:52.107-07:00a LetterSo often this summerI have found myselfsitting in the early lightof a rising sun.Though now it is August,the season of my birth,and there is a chill in the airand the cushions of the chaircool on my bare back.You can still count on the birds to singwhether I am in Paris or Ottawa -though they are not the same birds,the sky is the same,just a different part of it.The sun is the samethough Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-47959041836662684532009-09-24T04:14:00.000-07:002009-09-24T04:21:15.998-07:00OwnershipOur mistakes are what we makeand back we cannot takewe own up to them - they are our own.They are so like our bones -once we have them grownthey are ours and ours alone.(ours in our hours alone)We do not own our bonesto our selves they are only on loanand though we can break themwe cannot forsake themfor then we would all fall apart.(which reminds me of our hearts.)Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-11979777061993978032009-09-23T13:58:00.000-07:002009-09-23T14:03:50.607-07:00Nature PoemBehind a wall of white mistthe sun is strugglingto send its heatto the morningto me.I am sitting on my mother's balconywith a splinter in my heart -echoes of a conversationwith the girl who put it thererunning round my brain.The sun is burning the fog awayand the geese are down theresomewhere - laughing.They sound flippant and glib,indifferent to my heartache.It's good to be a poet,Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-54155806247942120542009-09-23T12:48:00.000-07:002009-09-23T13:01:42.953-07:00One of The TimeYou can't fool all of the peopleall of the time.Or is that please ?Maybe you can please some of the peoplesome of the time -but surely not all of the time.Unless you can fool one of the peopleinto thinking he is pleasedall of the time.Actually, I might be a good candidate.Certainly some of the time.At least one of the time.Like this time :Laying on my mother's couchwith a cup of Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-44142796022610177872009-09-23T04:29:00.000-07:002009-09-23T04:32:21.398-07:00How to Write a PoemSlow down.Stop and giveyour undivided attention to -I was about to say 'everything'but that isn't it.What you need to giveis your full and undividedattention to something ;a cherry blossum perhaps,or the sound of the cars,or your mother softly coughing in the next room.The choice is yours.It depends on what kind of poet you are.Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-33387731161489873642009-09-23T04:23:00.000-07:002009-09-23T14:05:52.924-07:00How to Write a Poem (continued)I guessI wasn't finished.Valery said poems are never finished -only abandoned. Anyway, after you've slowed downand are giving your full attentionto the things of this worldyou can adopt your poetry toneand get to work making your observations.After all, the giving of attentionis only half the battle - afterwards, you have to write the poemsabout the laughter of the Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-26193968819865627362009-09-22T03:14:00.000-07:002009-09-22T03:15:52.803-07:00tell me, tell me, smiling child, tell me of days gone by. "one night in august, sweet and mild, the wind did sadly sigh." And what of the day that is dying? "A green blast, full of flowers. And for his feat of flying, a little bird gathers his powers." And what of tomorrow, blessed one? "The powerful, sparkling sea. The sea unveilled, beneath the sun, rejoins infinity." - e. bronte, a frenchman Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-85278705524895205292009-09-22T02:52:00.000-07:002009-09-22T03:09:31.230-07:00meditations beneath the rainthe kiss of the rain in the provencal gardenleaves a troubling rhythm on the leaves of the treesand the serene smell of the wet earthfills our heart with vague sadnessthe mute horizon unleashes a cloudin the sleeping mirror of the fountain falldroplets - like a shower of pearls ripples radiate trembling shadowsthe melancholy evening unveils my chagrinthe garden employsColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-23091078796278906342009-09-16T02:34:00.000-07:002009-09-22T03:12:02.577-07:00Girl on the MetroWasn't she pretty ?The tall one with the green eyes.The one with too many bags.Formal-wear spilling over the topof the third bag -tips of clothes hangers jutting outlike antlers, as if she were smugglingtiny deer.Perhaps there's a wedding this week-end.A sister, or a best friend.She'll look on through herslim green eyes,tall in her lavander dress,emotionstirring in her bride's Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-8228063356701938522009-09-12T02:41:00.000-07:002009-09-22T03:11:31.634-07:00San Francisco, CaliforniaThe North Beach windis always blowingalways cold,my hands stuffed into pockets,huddling into my jacket.She doesn't seem to mind it,walking straight into the sun,her bouquet of red ballonsdancing in the wind.The sun bouncesred-gold on the surface of the wavessea-green, blue-green, white creambreaking, retreating, breaking ...She follows them towards the horizon,her thin Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-33185779456525575852009-09-07T01:24:00.000-07:002009-09-07T01:28:07.352-07:00This Morning This morningthe sun hangsin the skyexactlywhere the moonsat last night.The kids in the schoolyardare making that joyfulnoise.The spiders have woventheir artacross the railingabove the flowerboxes.The flowershave growna little.and I still love you.Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-85823528110489037722009-08-29T02:43:00.000-07:002009-08-29T03:09:46.137-07:00Why Did I Laugh This Night ?Why did I laugh this night ? There is no explanationNeither God nor Demon has that retort,Neither Heaven nor Hell would dignify the questionso I must turn to my human heart.Heart ! You and I are here, lonely and alone;tell me, why do I laugh ? In this ; my human pain Darkness ! Darkness ! Forever must I moan,Petitioning Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain !Why do I laughColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-4670481304969754592009-08-28T13:16:00.000-07:002009-08-28T13:22:01.677-07:00When the fear that I'll cease to exist is upon me,before my pen can move, my mind has hatchedmore than a book, a stack of books, in wordswhich flower like full-ripe seed.When I see the star-decked face of the night,the immense, symbolic clouds, the high romance,I think that I will never live to followtheir shadows, the magic hand of fate;and I feel, gorgeous creature of the hour, that never more Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-78686687178021494082009-08-28T13:00:00.000-07:002009-08-28T13:11:52.379-07:00When the shadows of the clouds are pressed upon the plaina long sad season ends.Born in the sweet mid-day,Cleansing the sick sky of its impurity.The anxious month, relieved of its pain,rediscovers the sensations of May, like a long lost right restored.Like the petals of the rose, or the finest summer rain,the calmest of thoughts comes to us, the petals unfolding,fruit, silently ripening, autumnalColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-29086624609703087262009-08-22T10:51:00.000-07:002009-08-22T11:40:23.678-07:00On The Grasshopper and the CricketThe poetry of the earth will never die.When the birds are faint beneath an ardent sun,and they hide themselves in the trees, a voicerings out between hedge and fresh-cut grass.It's the voice of the grasshopper. She conductsthe symphony of Summer; she will never befinished with that joy. When she is left to playshe pauses at the foot of a mad and pleasant Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-51866967950974871272009-08-22T10:43:00.000-07:002009-08-22T11:41:36.355-07:00For One Who's been Too Long in the CityFor one who's been too long in the city, It's very sweet to look at the beautifulOpen face of the sky, to murmur a prayer,Smiling at the blue firmament.Who is more happy than when a satisfied heartAbandons itself to that pleasant placeOn waves of grass, reading an old romanceA noble tale of love and loss ?To return home, in evening, an ear attentiveTo the Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-15842239942161049522009-08-22T10:32:00.000-07:002009-08-22T10:43:49.363-07:00Oh Solitude, If I must live with youOh Solitude, If I must live with you,if I must be far from the chaos and the jumble,of dark castles, let's climb together to the peakof Nature's Observatory - from whence the valleywith its flurry of flowers, its raw, crystal sourceseem a stretch of time. Only with you will I abideIn the nerves of the trees, where the quick deer bounds.The forest bee thrums itsColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-82542519275035979452009-07-16T03:29:00.000-07:002009-07-16T03:41:37.776-07:00Reading Nazim Hikmet in County ClareIt seems almost unfairto be losing myself in the beautyof Nazim Hikmet's Moscow - when behind me the irish sky is singing its song of clouds as the fishermen chatter in melodic brogue and the wind ripplesColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-80991385479574594252009-07-10T06:30:00.000-07:002009-08-07T08:54:01.069-07:00I Will Come When You Know the Worst Worry I will come when you know the worst worrySupine in a shadowy room,The mad joy of the day, vanishedAnd your happy smile banishedTo the evening's icy gloom.I will come when your heart's true feelingRules completely, can't be swayedAnd I can stir you with my influenceDeepen your desolation, freeze your happinessSteal your soul away.Listen, this is the hour Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-40799819213123391322009-07-08T02:29:00.001-07:002009-07-08T02:48:51.925-07:00Wind, Lay Down in the HeatherWind, lay down in the heatherYour wild voice pleases me notI wanted savage weatherBut one which wind forgot.Sun, leave the evening skyYour smile does not delightIf there must be a glow in HeavenLet it be Cynthia's light.- emily brontë, french version - Pierre Leyris, transl back into english by cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-25319614642413068202009-07-03T01:25:00.000-07:002009-07-03T01:29:21.760-07:00Handmaid Lord, when I walked with you under the starsand we were overcome by desireand we lay down in the desert night,I fell into your eyes, tasted your salt.And, Lord, when I was impaled on you,gazed on your face with devotion,you spoke of the hard day's rideand distances you had crossed to couple with me.I have opened wide as a rivermouth to youand would have you invade my cells,my womb, my Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-47670047616167064492009-07-03T01:19:00.001-07:002009-07-08T02:50:20.511-07:00To the Handmaid- for Paula MeehanLady, when we walked beneath those starsand that feeling overtook usand together we lay in that cool sandyou trusted my eyes, drank my desire.And Lady, when you sprang from me, like a treestretching to the sky, gazing down from that height with such undisguised delightI swore I would cross a thousand distances to be one with you.You opened yourself to me like a Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-36923621325240766652009-06-19T15:05:00.000-07:002009-06-19T15:06:31.245-07:00version 2.Take from me everything, but leave me my Ecstasy,and I am Richer still than all my Contemporaries.Does such a fortune suit me ?While at my very doorthere are those who have much more than me ?and yet they are so Poor !- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-74023359608116454392009-06-19T15:02:00.000-07:002009-06-19T15:03:40.758-07:00version 2.Immortality flees from fortuneWe Borrow it to our GravesWe Hunger for a PromiseThat the Force of our Love saves- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-64013708709508680662009-06-17T08:28:00.001-07:002009-06-17T08:28:55.723-07:00Glory is a Bee.It has a song,It has a sting.It also has a wing.e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux par cjmwColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-63442797764649124312009-06-17T08:26:00.000-07:002009-06-17T08:28:04.219-07:00Here we whiled away sweet hoursTimid in this roomUpon the walls of wishes playedThe shadows of the Tomb.e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux par cjmwColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-64373317638617855052009-06-17T08:25:00.001-07:002009-06-18T08:32:45.360-07:00Words spoken by happy peopleAre merely melodyBut those who are awed by BeautyExpress it silently.e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux par cjmwColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-88901322184237147262009-06-17T08:23:00.000-07:002009-06-17T08:25:13.096-07:00God is in Truth a jealous GodHe could not bear to discoverHow we love nothing morethan to play with one another.e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux par cjmwColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-44552893552581274472009-06-17T08:21:00.000-07:002009-06-17T08:29:48.782-07:00As Subtle as tomorrowthe one that never camea Guaranteed convictionyet nothing but a name.e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux par cjmwColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-76512868137143659412009-06-17T08:19:00.000-07:002009-06-17T08:21:18.591-07:00That Love is all there isis all we know of Loveand that's enough, it's mark is madeand to its measure paid.e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux par cjmwColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-27923979745796695672009-06-12T16:30:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:32:16.624-07:00version 2.In morning's Warm ClarityMy first certitude was youMy first worry was that Mystery In the Night would swallow you - e. dickinson aprés claire malroux par cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-67230817810815402942009-06-12T16:27:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:28:35.655-07:00version 2.When the Memory is FullWe put the Lid on tight.The First Syllable of Morning -'Presumptuous' said the Night.- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-17957035283167832922009-06-12T16:18:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:22:57.462-07:00version 2.The Vanity of what's EarthlyIs the Refrain that Nature Sings.She Blesses with Her Beauty -and undoes everything.- e. dickinson aprés Claire Malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-82542017252060019002009-06-12T15:59:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:01:12.413-07:00version 2.How good it is - this lava bed,For this hard-working boy -Who must awake to wake the worldAnd dress his drowsy joy.- e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux, transl by cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-56690769968165545532009-06-12T08:48:00.000-07:002009-06-12T08:49:54.405-07:00The Glimmer of one Heroic actGives Strange Illumination;The Slow fuse of the PossibleLights the Fire of Imagination- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-49682826314786000152009-06-12T08:41:00.001-07:002009-06-12T08:42:11.806-07:00Of Glory not a thing survivesThough Eternal are its scars -The Asterix is for the DeadThe Living have the Stars- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-52197062367928091822009-06-12T08:38:00.000-07:002009-06-12T08:40:51.658-07:00Immortality flees its fortuneWe Borrow it to our GravesWe Hunger for a PromiseThe Force of Human Love - e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-70047321376510995422009-06-12T08:36:00.000-07:002009-06-12T08:38:29.112-07:00version 2.Is it too late, my Dear, to touch you ?Here's a moment we once knew -Oceanic Love, Terrestrial Love,and Celestial Love too.- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-70802971602725654332009-06-12T08:35:00.000-07:002009-06-12T08:36:49.458-07:00version 1Is it too late, Dear, to touch you ?We've known this moment before -The Ocean Love and the Earth Love -and the Love of Heaven too.- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-19906356041810091452009-06-12T08:34:00.001-07:002009-06-12T08:34:56.087-07:00A letter is an earthly pleasure,One denied the Gods.- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-69579191363629132982009-06-12T08:31:00.001-07:002009-06-12T15:39:19.621-07:00Take from me everything, but leave me my Ecstasy,and I am Richer still than all my Contemporaries.Does such a fortune suit me ?While at my very doorthere are those who have much more than me ?How Vast their Poverty !!- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-51780328972448351512009-06-12T08:27:00.000-07:002009-06-12T15:42:33.307-07:00As if I were to Questiona Banal Autumn, which puzzled in my hand.A Foreigner toppled a Kingdom,while I, perplexed, stood by.As if I were to pray to the Orientto give to me a Morning which would Rise like a porpoise -and shatter the Dawn.- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-16822139998043262462009-06-08T05:10:00.000-07:002009-06-12T15:46:18.418-07:00You left me with Regret.Would that we had Never met.Your Heart - a Sudden Stranger.Remember to Forget.- e. dickinson, aprés Claire Malroux, transl : cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-58496103616382294642009-06-08T05:09:00.001-07:002009-06-12T15:44:44.131-07:00Certain Arrows don't Strike their marksand Others, nothing Save -Who calls upon EvasionFights Ashes in the Grave.- e. dickinson, aprés Claire Malroux, transl : cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-22096723874644923682009-06-08T05:07:00.000-07:002009-06-08T05:09:06.314-07:00And so his Breast did Swelland he threw forth such a NoteThat the Universe was Dazzled -By Such Sweet Sound Smote.- e. dickinson, aprés Claire Malroux, transl : cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-21880107216910076742009-06-08T05:06:00.000-07:002009-06-12T15:48:52.134-07:00To Marry one's self to VirtueMay be a Discrete and Pleasant UnionBut Nature relishes her RosesAs she continues to Consume them.- e. dickinson, aprés Claire Malroux, transl : cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-40758004185298923182009-06-08T05:05:00.000-07:002009-06-08T05:06:48.628-07:00The Geneology of her HoneyMatters little to the Bee -A Clover suddenly for Sheis Aristocracy- e. dickinson, aprés Claire Malroux, transl : cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-16025958545865457342009-06-08T05:04:00.001-07:002009-06-08T05:05:23.517-07:00To a friendly Tomb I take youIt will not hold your HandNor enfold you in its armsNor offer a thing you'll Understand.- e. dickinson, aprés Claire Malroux, transl : cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-37720172069602273552009-06-08T05:03:00.001-07:002009-06-08T05:04:05.617-07:00The Flower is no BotherSo tiny is its footand lo, compare its tip-toeto yours, the finest Boot- e. dickinson, aprés Claire Malroux, transl : cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-37851393795201491452009-06-08T05:01:00.000-07:002009-06-12T15:57:22.768-07:00Not knowing when the Dawn will ComeI Open every Door,Will she be feathered like a Bird or strike like a Wave upon the Shore ?- e. dickinson, aprés Claire Malroux, transl : cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-1194174054214253322009-06-08T04:59:00.000-07:002009-06-12T15:31:55.609-07:00This morning comes just OnceBut imagines coming twiceTwo Dawns for a Single MorningGives Life a Sudden Price- e. dickinson, aprés Claire Malroux, transl : cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-13328094574524311072009-06-04T23:34:00.000-07:002009-06-04T23:39:07.813-07:00How good it is - this Lava Bed,For this hard-working Boy -Who must awake to wake the WorldAnd Dress this Drowsy Day.- e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux, transl by cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-637301601214198632009-06-04T23:31:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:03:39.578-07:00By fevered Days - Driven to ForestOr to the Running Water - cool among mosses -and nothing - save shadows - Ravage the Silence.Sometimes it seems - that's all there is.- e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux, transl by cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-37910597031382740712009-06-04T23:29:00.002-07:002009-06-12T16:06:22.080-07:00The fruit defends its flavour which the Orchard's rule malignsHow succulent within the Pod -The Pea to its Work Resigned.- e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux, transl by cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-42395735065056494832009-06-04T23:29:00.001-07:002009-06-04T23:29:33.370-07:00See the Summer Sky - Poems ought not within books lie - Real Poems Fly. - e. dickinson, aprés claire malroux, transl by cjwm with an assist from m.l.Colin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-69466240230977727902009-05-10T02:08:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:08:33.280-07:00To meet the very air -Nature Bore us sweet guitarsNo doubt the birds were fashionedTo be precocious Bards.- e.dickinson aprés claire malroux, aprés moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-70030313519706867672009-05-10T02:07:00.001-07:002009-05-10T02:08:36.656-07:00Summer placed her BonnetUpon a giant shelfUnseen, a ribbon slipped from itAnd you took it for yourself.- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux, aprés moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-9273644426538677622009-05-10T02:05:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:12:10.482-07:00Away In her wooden drawerthe Summer laid her Supple gloveOf all the Places to Forget -She forgot the Awe of Love.- e.dickinson aprés claire malroux, aprés moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-52257602167736283482009-05-10T02:02:00.000-07:002009-05-10T02:12:28.078-07:00They do not need me, but You Never Know,So I leave my Heart for All to See -My little smile, might best be servedPrecisely as Needs Be.- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux, aprés moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-37166330635373308002009-05-10T02:00:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:13:46.449-07:00Decline without Dishonour,Beneath a fickle colourfield -Which will not let the Eye decide :To yield or not to yield.- e.dickinson, aprés claire malroux, aprés moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-61503337847446654352009-04-30T00:32:00.000-07:002009-04-30T00:33:56.549-07:00Nature Appoints the Sunand there is Astronomybut Nature cannot make Loveand there is Astrology.- e. dickinson aprés Claire Malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-46056538782440553742009-04-30T00:31:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:15:13.383-07:00It seems to me the Grass is happyTo grow during Intermissionbut summarily dismissed it isat Summer's discretion.- e. dickinson aprés Claire Malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-41703525505130296722009-04-30T00:28:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:16:08.383-07:00Take away everything but that thing worth thievery -Immortality- e. dickinson aprés Claire Malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-89695716403313169942009-04-30T00:22:00.000-07:002009-04-30T00:28:21.151-07:00A certain Ray I saveof an Extraordinary Light -To aid me in my Questand Clarify my Sight.- e. dickinson aprés Claire Malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-23967117594216671432009-04-30T00:20:00.000-07:002009-04-30T00:21:57.094-07:00The sorry "why" of loveis all that love can speakbut with that single syllablethe biggest hearts it breaks- e. dickinson aprés Claire Malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-79772007556984584372009-04-30T00:04:00.000-07:002009-04-30T00:06:17.255-07:00The Vanity of all that is EarthlyIs the Refrain that Nature Singsfor She Blesses with her Beauty -yet undoes Every Thing.- e. dickinson aprés Claire Malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-47151189249266461712009-04-30T00:02:00.000-07:002009-04-30T00:04:22.096-07:00Dark was his heart - as a night without starsthough She possessed a Morning in her Eyes -But in that Black ContainerNo Dawn could arise.- e. dickinson aprés Claire Malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-64552451284780228132009-04-24T03:16:00.000-07:002009-04-24T03:23:26.955-07:00From His tiny Palace of Dustthe King surveys his RealmMore loyal to his SubjectsThan they will be to Him.- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-71781748087896646572009-04-24T03:15:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:25:11.905-07:00You own your Lifeand you take from it, of course.But You Will Never Never touch its Source.- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-65470111888176840292009-04-24T03:14:00.000-07:002009-04-24T03:24:29.314-07:00Surprise is like a pepper - strongIn a dish that Tastes of Nothing.Alone, it Burns, but Blended in,Makes a Dish fit for a King.- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-11067394243321357162009-04-24T03:12:00.000-07:002009-04-24T03:13:16.393-07:00To break so Vast a HeartStrike with a Blow as Vast.No wind ever dealt the CedarsSo cruel a Blast.- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-80337560442121464042009-04-24T03:08:00.000-07:002009-04-24T03:12:03.555-07:00Warm were the hands of the loverWhile faithful and awayMy Grace, debased by a love of hersubmitted to one day- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-59570369702073026232009-04-24T03:07:00.000-07:002009-04-24T03:08:44.041-07:00The Butterfly in glorious DustRests without a Doubtbut there is Nothing in the catacombAs Mortified as the Fly- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-72921694960174218862009-04-24T03:05:00.000-07:002009-04-24T03:07:27.216-07:00All analysts are comfortedby a Correct diagnosis.What eloquence there is in the Heart Once it has found its Voice.- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-45706735965483394652009-04-24T03:04:00.001-07:002009-04-24T03:05:27.777-07:00When the Memory is Fullwe put the Lid on tightThe most beautiful Syllable of the Morning 'presumptuous' said the Night.- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-83865243781340685162009-04-24T03:02:00.000-07:002009-04-24T03:26:00.563-07:00Silence is our only DreadHostage is its VoiceBut Silence is Infinityand does not have a Face- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-91841129789590349232009-04-24T03:01:00.000-07:002009-04-24T03:02:24.147-07:00For this brief Life - lasts but an hourall things - so few - are in our power.- e. dickinson, claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-57660917049718657532009-04-23T05:04:00.000-07:002009-04-23T05:05:08.138-07:00menagerie -my next identity- e. dickinson aprés claire malroux par cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-83858901875860219752009-04-23T05:02:00.000-07:002009-04-23T05:04:39.326-07:00My first certitude was youIn morning's Warm ClarityMy first worry was that Mystery Would swallow you up in the Night- e. dickinson aprés claire malroux par cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-54396262632113819422009-04-23T05:01:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:34:09.717-07:00From Loss DivineWe take what we GainConsolation for our SolitudeOnce Bliss has been and gone again- e. dickinson aprés claire malroux par cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-683557272036083552009-04-23T05:00:00.000-07:002009-04-23T05:01:30.691-07:00Society torments mesince the Gift of Thee.- e. dickinson aprés claire malroux par cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-53959316848969022352009-04-23T04:56:00.000-07:002009-06-12T16:35:12.949-07:00White as the Indian paintbrushRed as a CardinalFabulous as the Mid-Day Moon -February Hour.- e. dickinson aprés claire malroux par cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-66117970359766240542009-04-23T04:55:00.001-07:002009-04-23T04:55:56.297-07:00Cast upon Time an indulgent eye - It is no doubt doing its best - With such sweet shadows the sun trembles Towards the Human West. - e. dickinson aprés claire malroux et cjwmColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-40600704653562912472009-04-22T01:51:00.000-07:002009-04-22T01:54:03.908-07:00The Lord didn't make Action without Causenor Hearts, without Promiseour Deductions should give us Pausefor False is our Premise.- e. dickinson aprés claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-38384307359876432212009-04-22T01:49:00.000-07:002009-04-22T01:51:00.240-07:00I made a bet with the wind that blowsWhich Nature did buffoon -She broke Her Laws to punish meand scuttled my balloon.- e. dickinson aprés claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-42938548531985161862009-04-22T01:48:00.000-07:002009-04-22T01:49:47.693-07:00Too happily, Time dissolves itselfand leaves us no remainsIt has no Feathers, weighs too muchTo fly in the face of our Pain.- e. dickinson aprés claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3025842.post-63987966236262043992009-04-22T01:47:00.000-07:002009-04-22T01:48:18.890-07:00Experience escorts us to our last -It's stubborn company Does not leave us a Windowof Possibility.- e. dickinson aprés claire malroux et moiColin Joseph Wolfgang Maharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03405334716339663771noreply@blogger.com