Posts Tagged ‘ silence ’

Matsui Chiyokichi | Entry No. 1


The snow accumulates
Secrets like noh masks
Quietly kept in the heart


The snow piles up
Secrets kept
Silent as noh masks


Snow accumulates
Secrets noh-mask-silent
Held in the heart

–Yasui Emiko

Matsui Chiyokichi | Entry No. 1.

John Berger in conversation with Hans Ulrich Obrist | Vimeo

John Berger /~ and our faces, my heart, brief as photos ~ (English Version) #208


NeverEnding Story: Cool Announcement: Environmentally Conscious Poems for the Peoples Climate March

seeks the center
of every tree and rock,
that thing we hold closest –
the end of songs
– Michael McClintock

NeverEnding Story: Cool Announcement: Environmentally Conscious Poems for the Peoples Climate March.

noto bene: 310,000 people participated in the Climate March in New York City on Sunday, Sept 21, 2014 !

Transgender Violence Is a #YesAllWomen Issue | The Nation


Transgender Violence Is a #YesAllWomen Issue | The Nation.

October by Louise Glück| FSG Poetry Month / Daily PoemWork in Progress


October | Work in Progress.

Ticking In the Silence, a haibun by Donna Fleischer / cattails, premier issue January 2014

Ticking In The Silence
Donna Fleischer, USA

neighbor elm
first friend the child
leaves behind

At 84, Ann my favorite aunt succumbed to dementia, swept away dust panned off to assisted living, healthy as an oak angry as hell. Her last civilian request—bring home a real burger! devoured it in gulps, no pinky finger full sail.

icy eaves
unable to land     the blue jay

With a port-wine stain on her left cheek and eyelid, independence seemed Ann’s refuge. At 20 she took her first train, Hartford to New York City, a modeling job audition. All that way for an assistant who would blurt out in a packed waiting room “And who do you think you are, coming here with a face like that?”

She’d pay for my mother and I to ride the train with her into Grand Central, go on expedition through the American Museum of Natural History, get lost in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and float all the way up the Empire State Building drop a nickel in the viewer, the sound of time ticking in the silence at the top of the world.

At 94, toward her days ending Ann loved for me to read aloud from of all things Joe Brainard’s I Remember, lighting up at each brass ring of a prose poem caught in a midair moment

nameless painting
on the ancient wall
. . . cold sun


Donna Fleischer
cattails, Premier issue
January 2014


Winter Pond by Jang Seok-Nam


I walk across a frozen pond.
Here is where the water-lilies were.
Under here was the black rock where the catfish would hide.
Occasionally a cracking sound as if it is splitting
as love grows deeper.

All the irises are bent over.
My shoulders, knees, feet, that all summer long I saw reflected, sitting on this rock, have frozen like the irises.
They too show no sign of having watched the reflection of something before this.
Although the fourteenth-day moon comes in its course, icily
all remain silent.

Suppose someone comes along,
loud steps treading on the pond,
and addresses me anxiously, saying:
“This is where I used to be.”
“This is where that star used to come.”

Jang Seok-Nam
(translated from Korean by Brother Anthony of Taize)

Of Strangeness That Wakes Us On mother tongues, fatherlands, and Paul Celan. BY ILYA KAMINSKY / Poetry Foundation

402px-Celan_passphoto_1938Paul Celan  1938 passport photo (Wikimedia Commons)

Of Strangeness That Wakes Us

Silence, by Gregory Orr / Fiera Lingue


The way the word sinks
into the deep snow of the page.

The deer lying dead
in the clearing,
its head and antlers

The black
seed in its brain
parachuting toward earth.

– Gregory Orr
Burning the Empty Nests

Fiera Lingue