sy.think/tell

Thursday, 25 February 2010

Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands


Somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
E. E. Cummings

Wednesday, 17 February 2010

When you say it's gonna happen "now" well, when exactly do you mean?

Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someone’s hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted—wanting to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don’t look at me. If you don’t, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me. The history of love, Nicole Krauss

Friday, 12 February 2010

Driving in your car I never never want to go home because I haven't got one anymore


They can’t believe
that the loveless people
the streets
the loneliness
the walls
are mine too.
And when I hang up the phone
they think I have held back my secret.
I don’t write out of knowledge.
When the phone rings
I too would like to hear words
that might ease
some of this.
Charles Bukowski

Tuesday, 9 February 2010

Where do we go from here, the words are coming out all weird where are you now, when I need you

Ο Ρεμπώ είδε και σώπασε. Πηγαίνοντας πολύ βαθιά μες στη γλώσσα, μες στην καρδιά, μες στο σώμα συνάντησε ''εκείνο που δεν λέγεται''. Κι όταν κατόρθωσε -'έστω και στο ελάχιστο'- να το καταγράψει, προτίμησε να σωπάσει για πάντα. Αφού η ποίηση είναι μόνο αυτή η πολύτιμη στιγμή, κι όλα τα άλλα μάταια λόγια.

Sunday, 7 February 2010

Your hands they move like waves over me beneath the moon, tonight, we're the sea

Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behaviour. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.
The Catcher In The Rye