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Posts tagged “poem”

The Cats Will Know

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on August 26, 2014

girl under oversized umbrella reading a book

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”
~ C.S. Lewis

 

 

Rain will fall again

on your smooth pavement,

a light rain like

a breath or a step.

The breeze and the dawn

will flourish again

when you return,

as if beneath your step.

Between flowers and sills

the cats will know.

 

There will be other days,

there will be other voices.

You will smile alone.

The cats will know.

You will hear words

old and spent and useless

like costumes left over

from yesterday’s parties.

 

You too will make gestures.

You’ll answer with words—

face of springtime,

you too will make gestures.

 

The cats will know,

face of springtime;

and the light rain

and the hyacinth dawn

that wrench the heart of him

who hopes no more for you—

they are the sad smile

you smile by yourself.

 

There will be other days,

other voices and renewals.

Face of springtime,

we will suffer at daybreak.

 

by Cesare Pavese

translated by Geoffrey Brock

Our two souls therefore, which are one

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on July 15, 2014

dried roses, book, and scarf

 

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

by John Donne

 

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No:

 

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
‘Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

 

Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did, and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

 

Dull sublunary lovers’ love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

 

But we by a love so much refined,
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

 

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

 

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the other do.

 

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

 

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

 

 

 

*****

Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez.

Sheltered

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on April 26, 2014

Shelter

 

Creo que si … I believe

it will rain

tomorrow … I believe

the son of a bitch

 

is going into the river …

I believe All men are

created equal–By your

leave a leafy

shelter over the exposed

person–I’m  a

believer creature

of habit but without

out there a void of

pattern older

older the broken

pieces no longer

salvageable bits

but incommensurate

chips yet must

get it back together.

…

As it gets now impossible

to say, it’s your hand

I hold to, still

your hand.

 

from Creo by Robert Creeley

*****

 

Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez.

Frozen

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on March 4, 2014

Frozen Flowers

 

 

The street was white again,

all the bushes covered with heavy snow

and the trees glittering, encased with ice.

 

I lay in the dark, waiting for the night to end.

It seemed the longest night I had ever known,

longer than the night I was born.

 

I write about you all the time, I said aloud.

Every time I say “I,” it refers to you.

 

~from Visitors from Abroad by Louise Gluck, 

 

 

 

*****

 

Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez.

Book Review: Incarnadine: Poems, by Mary Szybist

td Whittle

Posted on December 21, 2013

Incarnadine: Poems by Mary Szybist Publisher: Graywolf Press, Minneapolis 2013 My rating: 5 of 5 stars   This is so beautiful, in so many ways. Szybist is a new favourite poet of mine, now that I have just finished both this book of poems and Granted, her first published collection. These are modern contemplative pieces that are well introduced by the two quotes Sybist has included at the beginning:   The mysteries of faith are degraded if they are made into an object of affirmation and negation, when in reality they should be an object of contemplation. — Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace   Repose had again incarnadined her cheeks. — Thomas Hardy, Far From The Madding Crowd   How apt those quotes are,…

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13 Ways: Waiting

td Whittle

Posted on August 29, 2013

this is memory — or this is dreams — or this is a memory of dreams. I lie (a darkly-yearning thing) waiting for you to cross the bridge, from where you come, to where you go You are lithe and fair and solitary — the keeper of my hope feel my heart like music carried on the wind run to me, trailing sunlight leap, a backwards child, into this forest womb I lie (a darkly-yearning thing) waiting to catch you in my arms.   ***** Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez. Text by td Whittle.    

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The Beginning is Happiness

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on June 23, 2012

    

Is there a sound? There is a forest.

What is the world? The word is wilderness.

What is the answer? The answer is the world.

What is the beginning? A beginning is happiness.

What is the end? No one lives there now.

What is a beginning? The beginning is light.

What makes happiness? Nothing.

What makes an ending? What does not.

What is her skin? Her skin is composed of strange clothing and clouds of butterflies,

          of events and odors, of the rose fingers of dawn, transparent suns of full

          daylight, blue loves of dusk and night fish with huge eyes.

                                                                                                     Max Walter Svanberg

 

~from Trouble Deaf Heaven by Bin Ramke 

   
Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez  

At Dawn

Sandra Peterson Ramirez

Posted on May 9, 2012

 

The spider, juiced crystal and Milky Way, drifts on his web through the night sky

And looks down, waiting for us to ascend …

At dawn he is still there, invisible, short of breath, mending his net.

 

~from Spider Crystal Ascension by Charles Wright

Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez

  

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