Railings

I’m leaning against the railings
I did not count how many butterflies
My inner thought is flowing
like the sap of the rubber tree
the climb is slow, steady and sometimes tiring
even a sequences of sentences
can be counted in my left hand
the Japanese movie Afterlife gives me
an angelic vision of what a new life
can be. Not to start all over again
with new diction or language
but of awareness, continuity.
Where are you?IMG_0695

note: I pass these railings half way in my walk. I stop for a few moments, wipe sweat on my forehead, look at the hills and rest my mind then resume my walk home.

What’s real?

Why unreal?
It rattles cymbals,trumpets
Are dragged out of the attic.
Cats stand in awe.

The rain disturbs the leaves
The leaves swarm the river
The fisherman complains
Trouts have sharp teeth.

I’m having coffee with a friend
We stop our conversation
We allow the ambulance to pass.
My phone is dead,does not hear your text.

Note: from the Friends of Library book sale I picked up Collected Poems of WallaceStevens, 10:04 by Ben Lerner & Elena Ferrante’s The Story of the Lost Child. And from the library’s rack of new books I borrowed Tess Gerritsen’s Playing with Fire.

I’m not sick anymore.

 

when future doesn’t coincide with the present

Yesterday I took a shower,groomed,drove down to the library to browse at the book sale.
I stayed a little more than half hour. The room felt like it was moving. My throat felt like ivies were crawling. My cough rattled still the chandelier.

I could not see the red planet.The sky was cloudy with the impending rain. It did not rain.

I listened to a few songs by the four Holbrook sisters:SHEL

 

Today my appetite returned. The chandelier still shuddered and the ivy,still an ivy. I might see the red planet tonight.

Note:I finished Arcadia,a multilayered science fiction fantasy,by Iain Pears.

Finding the time

The weather changed for me on Wednesday. I’m hot, cold, achy, tired,and have no appetite even for cold water.

I’m lying down on a sofa and resume reading Proust’s In Search of Lost Time.I finished Swann’s Way and half of Within a Budding Groove.I listened to the fictional Vinteuil sonata. “The moment when night is falling among the trees,when the arpeggios of the violin call down a cooling dew upon the earth.”

And I’m reading, Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, again. I alternate reading them for variety.

Music is mixed with the reading. Mendelssohn’s violin concerto and Beethoven’s sonatas.

 

Still life

The art teacher dug up
shallot from the student’s garden.
She placed it on top of a table.
The students were learning
how to paint still life

You picked it up
started stroking the leaves
like an angel playing a harp,
a choir of angels singing:
feed the hungry,
bring them to the table of the Lord.