Posts Tagged ‘ eyes ’

Dustin Wong & Takako Minekawa – Pastel Ice Date (Official Music Video)

Dustin Wong & Takako Minekawa | BOMB

~ the eyes have it

Cat Stevens – Moon Shadow (1970)

Muriel Rukeyser’s “Looking at Each Other”

Looking at Each Other

by Muriel Rukeyser


Yes, we were looking at each other
Yes, we knew each other very well
Yes, we had made love with each other many times
Yes, we had heard music together
Yes, we had gone to the sea together
Yes, we had cooked and eaten together
Yes, we had laughed often day and night
Yes, we fought violence and knew violence
Yes, we hated the inner and outer oppression
Yes, that day we were looking at each other
Yes, we saw the sunlight pouring down
Yes, the corner of the table was between us
Yes, our eyes saw each other’s eyes
Yes, our mouths saw each other’s mouths,
Yes, our breasts saw each other’s breasts
Yes, our bodies entire saw each other
Yes, it was beginning in each
Yes, it threw waves across our lives
Yes, the pulses were becoming very strong
Yes, the beating became very delicate
Yes, the calling the arousal
Yes, the arriving the coming
Yes, there it was for both entire
Yes, we were looking at each other


O Little Root of a Dream by Paul Celan |

O Little Root of a Dream

  by Paul Celan
translated by Heather McHugh and Nikolai Popov

O little root of a dream 
you hold me here 
undermined by blood, 
no longer visible to anyone, 
property of death.

Curve a face
that there may be speech, of earth, 
of ardor, of
things with eyes, even
here, where you read me blind,

where you 
refute me, 
to the letter.


O Little Root of a Dream by Paul Celan

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird by Wallace Stevens

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

  by Wallace Stevens


Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.


I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.


The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.


A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.


I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.


Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.


O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?


I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.


When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.


At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.


He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.


The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.


It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.


from  The Academy of American Poets

Amy King reading “Lidija Dimkovska Has Made a Bomb of My Eyes”

“Lidija Dimkovska Has Made a Bomb of My Eyes” / Poets & Writers

Amy King’s reading of her poem, Lidija Dimkovska Has Made a Bomb of My Eyes, begins with the title words incanted eastward across the Atlantic’s waters, as if calling up Dimkovska and the poems. The reading ends within those waters sounds and the line “little sexy bleeding lambs”, repeats with the wind in the waves. One poet calls to another across time and space, breathing into chasms across which women continue “speaking” to one another despite wars, violences, the subjugation and re-commodifications of the female, their almost eternal suffering.

Amy King begins by repeating the title three times as in a ritual sacrifice, an offering, a purgation. The poem continues. We hear “coos” yet, the historical verberates as “coup”; conversely, “bomb” is also “balm”. King reads “karoake” a negation, a song mime, and midway, a cat cries. The poet says: “language speaks our very tender selves into birth . . . .” Our breath resumes, song resumes. Energies transept,  spiral up from, out of, ocean, wind, poets’ words, turbulent, steady, and new. ~ DF

John Berger /and our faces, my heart, brief as photos (English Version #157)


John Berger #157