There is something inside love

There is something inside love
by Juan Antonio Gonzalez-Iglesias
translated by Curtis Bauer

There is something inside love that belongs
to this world. In the multiple
instances in which everything
makes sense since you arrived,
in all the material suddenly converted
to gift, the meadow we walk through,
the terrace overlooking or wall that protects,
also in the sweetness of days,
in the humble routine of having you
beside me,
I notice it.

But something inside love isn't of this world.
Something that isn't abstract.
I try it, for example, in the warmth
of your skin, every time we fall asleep
together, and every morning
that I hope for nothing more than your first
kiss, when you recover
your place in my arms blindly.
Then we anticipate what one day we will have
definitively.
In order to name it
the notion of solstice seems necessary to me.
I won't reason this over any more. It is a kind
of first fruit.

three short poems

From a friend via Facebook.

three short poems
by Emily Remillard

1.

submerged in your deep gladness
your maple syrup joy
suspended like a slow-floating bubble
in your golden liquid presence

i marvel.

you have changed the whole conversation of my life.

2.

having just tossed something heavy and sacred into the river,
i find myself giggling.
you teach me how to make my feet light.

3.

when i wasn't looking
you replaced my rule book with our family photo album
you're telling me i looked like you all along
and didn't even know it.


(written October 2009)

Barter

Back to Sara Teasdale: flowery language on the surface, deeper underneath. I love the title and last lines of this poem. I know what it's like to barter necessities--sleep, food--for things that become more important in the moment.

Barter
by Sara Teasdale

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And childrens's faces looking up
Holding wonder in a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstacy
Give all you have been, or could be.

What Was Told, That

From wherever spring arrives to heal the ground
From wherever searching comes, the look itself
A trace of what we're looking for
So be quiet now, and wait

And what was said to the rose to make it unfold
Was said to me here in my chest
So be quiet now, and rest
--David Crowder

What Was Told, That
by Jalalu'l-din Rumi
translated by Coleman Barks

What was said to the rose that made it open was said
to me here in my chest.

What was told the cypress that made it strong
and straight, what was

whispered the jasmine so it is what it is, whatever made
sugarcane sweet, whatever

was said to the inhabitants of the town of Chigil in
Turkestan that makes them

so handsome, whatever lets the pomegranate flower blush
like a human face, that is

being said to me now. I blush. Whatever put eloquence in
language, that's happening here.

The great warehouse doors open; I fill with gratitude,
chewing a piece of sugarcane,

in love with the one to whom every that belongs!

You Are The Absence

You Are The Absence

All this time I thought you’d be presence of mind,
a shocking electrical presence of mass
encroaching on my space.

I thought you’d be presence of feeling all this time,
a beating percussive presence of shape
invading my rhythm.

But you finally came,
and you are not so much a presence.

You are the quieting of my doubts,
the silence to my noise,
and the departure of the empty space at my side.

Everything good remains,
and I feel the exit of fear.
Even uncertainty whispers goodbye,
you don’t need me anymore.

To my surprise,
I lie down to sleep and realize:

you are the absence.

10.12.09
c.l.l.

The Suitor

The Suitor
by Jane Kenyon

We lie back to back. Curtains
lift and fall,
like the chest of someone sleeping.
Wind moves the leaves of the box elder;
they show their light undersides,
turning all at once
like a school of fish.
Suddenly I understand that I am happy.
For months this feeling
has been coming closer, stopping
for short visits, like a timid suitor.

A Blessing

I think I've forgotten to post this poem in the past, even though I love it and think its last three lines are some of the best I've ever read.



A Blessing
by James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.