IN FLIGHT

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IN FLIGHT 


I saw clouds beneath me.

Above me stars shinned. 
They had an intensity ten times the brightness
Of any star I have ever seen from earth.

I was fifteeen leagues from the moon.
And my swans began to slow.
They were panting and blowing,
Grasping for breath. 

ONSLAUGHT

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ONSLAUGHT


Too much history,
Decade after decade, year after year,
With me subject to the merciless attack of the clock.

Last night and into the dawn, wide-awake,
Sleepless, watching the walls record the extending bright,
Feeling that I have begun to crack all over, like an antique jar.

Then at noon at last a nap,
I arise again as the magnified voice of a late-day
Call to prayer increasingly pours over the open window sill
And fills the room.

“We all owe death a life.”

JOHN'S TALK

JOHN’S TALK


Bogged down now,
I am unable to picture the heavens as anything more
Than some old textbook,
Flat-line drawing of a sun-centred universe.

My hands are dirty; I have been on the floor.
The hurt which had exploded upon my shoulders and head was
A whole lot greater than I had been led to expect.

I refused to step forward and cross their glossy white line.
I would not declare Caesar is Lord,
No pinch of incense from me.

Later I discovered that I had spent a month in the prison-hospital.

OK I survived the physical assault,
Plus then the five years I spent in jail.
I have learned to pray and give thanks.
But across my heart there is a very bad scar.

Darling, things for us will never be same.
Were Mar’s worship not so fiercely organized,
How far we might have traveled in each other’s company.

A distant childhood memory persists.
Now whenever I shut my eyes
I see the bodies of robins brought down flat upon their backs,
Done in by a thin, white layer of a late-April snow.
Out from icey orange/red breasts their feet stick straight up.

What silence envelopes me, not a whisper of wind;
How might my heart stir, 
when not one other thing before me moves?

BLUES, Deep and Bad

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BLUES,
Deep and Bad




I got the blues, tonight, honey.
I got the blues, deep and bad.
You have gone and soon I leave,
I go abroad for a long, long stay.
I doubt we see each other ever again.


I sit at the end of the bed.
The bedroom couch is gone,
Much of the art is removed and sold.
The furniture arrangement, I must report,
No longer resembles anything that you once knew.
The whole apartment looks different,
Not at all the same, nothing is the same,
Since the time you dwelled and laughed with me here.


Now living in a dream world
I need not close my eyes,
I picture you as you stand in your white hotel slippers,
And wash grapes under the faucet in the kitchen sink.


And my loving you, it frequently comes to mind.
That we had fallen and broken apart,
No words reach the depth of my regret.


Listen to the music coming over the TV.
Oh, sweet momma, daddy,
Daddy has caught himself a wicked case of the blues.
Horns worry a lower pitch, run semitone in a six note scale.
The drum loops hit my entire bodily frame,
And when I fall, drop within myself, my soul clamors,
'A middle note is missing.’
My heart’s down, the shuffle strokes are down,
The rhythm accompanies the lyrics, all of it is down.
How did it all go wrong?


How did it all go wrong?


I doubt we see each other ever again.
I go abroad for a long, long stay.


I got the blues, tonight, honey.

I got the blues deep and bad.

ADAPTED FROM GURU NANAK*

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ADAPTED FROM GURU NANAK*

Do not for a moment think that

I show disrespect should you find me

Having fallen asleep with my feet pointed to the East.

Do not be angry, instead please turn them

In some other compass direction

Where our Creator does not dwell.

And if you see me in the holy Ganga

And I throw water opposite to the rising sun,

Know that I mean to show love for all my neighbors,

Wish to water the fields of my western home.

*The founder of the Sikh religion, he was born in Lahore province, the Punjab, 1469.  Although he was a great teacher, he considered himself an ordinary mortal, and wrote, "I came in the course of nature, and according to God's order I shall depart.” d. 1539.

WHAT HOPE MIRCALE!

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WHAT HOPE OF MIRACLE!

Darling, can it really be true?

Had we been so wanton in our disorder?

All I remember –  it was a Tuesday,

And very warm for the end of January.

In our house we smashed all the crystal goblets

And then proceeded to break each and every bottle,

The vintage spilled out on the floor;

It stained and then sunk into the old wooden boards.  

And at this point how does it matter?

Remember the story when Jesus at the wedding feast in Cana 

Honored His mother’s request and turned water into wine.

The party had run out of the most important beverage.

Six great jars filled to the brim (more than a hundred gallons),

Then He told the servants, ‘Now draw some out...” 

He had them take the draft to the chief steward for tasting.

And lo and behold now the new question  

Instead of first, why had the best been served last?

Would such miracle do us any good?  

Look around. Shards of glass surround us, 

Just shattered cups, and bottles whose necks are broken.

All bounty meaningless,

When nothing left, no vessel remains to contain it,

Yet Mercy attends and announces His ministry.

PSALM 51: 10-12, Freely Adapted

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PSALM 51: 10-12, Freely Adapted



Clean my heart, my Lord Almighty,
And renew right spirit within me.
Allow me to known the immediancy of Your presence,
How Your light brightens the way.
In You alone is the triumph over the darkness.
Restore for me what joy of Your creation
That I might give thanks for every breath I take. 

LET IT BE*

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LET IT BE*


Let it be the warmth of some tropical night,
Or have the winter continue its icy hold.
Whether rage or quiet possesses the heart,
Lord as You may choose.
Yet though Your every munificence was withdrawn,
You Yourself we could not lose.

*After Mary Elizabeth Coleridge


“After St. Augustine”

Sunshine let it be or frost,
Storm or calm, as Thou shalt choose;
Though Thine every gift were lost,
Thee Thyself we could not lose.

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

THE OLD KING'S LAMENT

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THE OLD KING’S LAMENT 
[ZAFAR’S LAMENT]




When we first had met
Time had brought me into my later years.
I was a man of a “certain age.”


Now, older still, it matters not
How much longer my life extends.
The moments remaining are way too few.
Soon I die and with me go the memory of those days,
When you were with me in the sun,
And I could have you within my reach throughout the night.


You meant more to me than all the prize
Which once was mine and mine alone in the treasury.


Bitter my fate then that
I am not allowed to cry at greater length.


Never shall I have the hours enough
To write all the poems of my lament,
My having lost your love,
What woe my life has been without you.


This lease of breath,
Though well beyond the count of years
That any man, even a king, might expect,
Now I know too short, indeed!




*The lines above represent an original love poem. Shah Zafar was properly know as Bahadur Shah II. His pen name was Zafar. He was the last Mughal Emperor. For both his Urdu and his English verse translation from which I have adopted some sentiments and lines see,

http://8ate.blogspot.in/2007/11/lines-penned-by-bahadur-shah-zafar.html

THE WORD, A Lover's Exhortation

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THE WORD, A Lover’s Exhortation


Well!  What do you say, honey?
I believe that I say it right. 
It is God alone Who knows
The one dimensionality -- the real tragedy --
The empty when we call upon the soul.

Only He can quell the hunger, quench the thirst.

But, sweetheart, hey! I tell you now. 
Forget it! Fly straight! 
Think of the Frick with its fabulous El Greco, 
Small though that one painting is, it amply captures the fury,
When Jesus castigates the money changers.

The Word is clear.

No man may serve two masters.
God loves the prisoner, the downcast, the lame.
He loves the lilies of the field.
Grass need not care how it clothes itself.

Though great it may be to be King, what profit in it,
When the first shall be last and those with least,
Most, and beggars shall inherit the earth,
And children be fountains of wisdom?



We have seen the sorry example, 
What terrible breach of precept!
Celebrated priests and magistrates have not known the Lord,
Yet once He had stood right there before them.

DIE FOR YOU, Crossroad

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DIE FOR YOU,
Crossroad


Let me take this moment, or two,
And publish, 'You are the best thing
That has ever happened in my life!'

May God forgive;
I have no wish to disdain His great gift.
Yet were fate to bring us to terrible juncture,
A crossroad whereat all choice reduces
To either my earthly existence, or yours,
Gladly would I give up mine.

I would die for you.

I express this simple interlude,
Mean it as a paean to the experience
The joy of having had the splendid fortune,
How wonderful the time I spend with you!

WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY

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WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY


The seabirds cry out across the harbor.
I hear from them a high lonesome song.

And in the distance a fog horn,
It, too, sounds a plaintive note,                                                   Repeatedly reviving my sorrow.

The damp, hard, winter wind frightens me.
I have a bad shiver.

The nights remain very long.
I no longer seem able to recall how
Once a summer sun had warmed the days.

Even though I use both my hands
And pull down hard upon my stocking cap,
Its edges fall short of cover for my ears.

I know that I might never kiss her again.

)                                        

 Mercy, please Mercy!

What hope have I for life,
When Heart has packed her clothes and left me!

RED ROOF INN

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RED ROOF INN,
Love a Few Miles North of Trenton, New Jersey


Darling, darling, girl,
Much between us remains unsaid.
Remember that first overnight date at the Red Roof Inn?
I am in search of this lost time.

An impossibly large bed stretched out across the room.
Opposite from the bed frame’s feet,
A long chest of drawers rested flat against the wall.
A narrow aisle traveled from the suite’s front door
Running between the furniture to the rear of the room.

And you, there, in your bikini briefs,
At the end of the aisle, you were in an alcove,
An enclosure directly opposite the bathroom.
The area occupied half the suite’s entire width.

Your back to me,

You stood up against a cantilever table.
It was a wall-to-wall vanity with a big mirror.
The mirror, you recall, was as long as the table’s surface,
And it covered the entire back wall up to the ceiling.

Recessed lamps provided light from overhead.

While standing before the table’s edge your face to the mirror
You brushed your hair. 
With each stroke I witnessed the sinews beneath your skin,
Your bones, how your shoulder blades flexed.

I rose up from the bed,
Took a few steps,
And then, still from behind you,
I remained behind you,
I bent my torso forward at the waist.
I was squatting on my haunches,
When I extended my arms between your legs.

Each one of my hands was wrapped around one of your ankles.
My fingers held you just above your feet;
My thumbs pressed upon your Achilles tendons.

Head-down, I pulled myself close to you.
My left shoulder went to the center,
It rested within a spot between your buttocks and legs.
The left side of my chin found a niche,
It touched the back of your right knee.

That was my posture when I had at first embraced you.

Once I stood up,
Regained some sense of my equanimity,
I told you that
I had never personally encountered a woman,
Who looked so much the better naked than clothed.

“Wow!” Burst out. And you said,
“You sure know how to compliment a girl.”

I was dumbfounded. I thought for a moment;
Then I took a moral attitude, yet my tongue was tied.
Though I spoke these words, they were only to myself.


‘Woman! Trust my veracity.
‘Do not confuse my honest praise with flattery.’

Then, pretending to further my defense,
I more or less recalled the poet’s immortal words,
Those lines about truth and beauty being one,
And is not response to beauty, truth?

I ran the maxim in my mind. I remained speechless.
‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty.’

I dwelled in total awe of you.

And when old age our generation shall waste,
And time brings world to more and other woes,
We have had this moment and its sentiment remains –
‘Darling, that is all,’ I quoted the lines to myself,
I had not uttered a word aloud,

‘You know on earth, and all you need to know.’

TIME FLIES, 21:59

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TIME FLIES; 21:59


Darling, Tempus fugit, right?
That’s how the Latin goes.
Virgil, wasn’t it?
But who cares anyways,
I  must say, hey Virgil, this is stupid stuff,
Because for me at home alone
The clock has stopped.


Then, when I take another glance,
I realize from the timepiece's face
That I had been mistaken, my impression wrong.
The clock’s hands have apparently moved.


Yet far from time fleeting,
The hours drag, even the second hand --
Its motion becomes imperceptibly slow,
When you are gone and
Day and night must be faced alone.


And you write to me and say that before long
You will return home. You declare that
Less than three weeks remain,
Soon, you add, your absence today turns to memory,


And confidently profess, “time really does fly!”


But for me, no matter how you try to comfort,
Your words are empty; they do nothing to hasten the hours!
When I hear the clock, note the spaces
Between its regular tick-to-tock, those intervals,
They appear as if they were eternity, and your absence
-- Your face no longer upon your pillow,
Your body missing from your side of the bed --
You, you seem now to have been gone forever.




2.


I know. I know. You suppose that I exaggerate!
Still I am not acclimated to them,
These phenomena of your leaving,
Your terrible disappearances for the sake of business,
These separations, how may I ever become used to them!


You were reared differently from me.


When you were still a girl,
Your father was a frequent traveler;
From childhood on you grew accustomed
To experience longing, and you learned to practice
A ruse which had told your inner self that
He will be home before you know it.


I can hear you and your mother rehearsing the phrase,
When dad was gone and you two sat at home alone,
“Oh the days go by so fast!”


The electronic image of time before me
(to the bottom-right on the computer screen)
Its numbers read 21:59.


It sits. It waits.
Woman! Can't you see what you have done to me?
What it means to be without you?
Now before me looms the terror,
The nightmare forecast, have you heard
What new science tells us
About the desolation to which all things row?




3.


The universe endlessly expanding,
With its boundary beacons actually accelerating,
Points of light at outermost fabric of space/time,
Increasing speed, faster and faster, and distancing apart,
Separately hastening from one star-light point to another,
All of them at once unimaginably gaining velocity
Now farther and farther, becoming
Less and less visible one to the other,
Each spot, with its incredible luminosity,
All the great-big burns of atomic power
Endlessly hurling at quicking pace, hurrying and hurrying,
Ever picking up speed at the edge of empty space,
Scurrying to extend, stretching the cosmos,
Until ultimately everything that exists anywhere
Has no one object in sight of any other.


Might I ever hope to expect the bright of your eyes
To bridge the black night,
Where time slips into nothingness,
And the law of gravity no longer applies,
Every principle of attraction confounded.


Me having seen your face in every flower,
That once at summer's dusk we still felt warmth,
And at dawn when we awoke we felt it again.
My longing here, my each and every thought of you
Mean nothing when all spheres turn to final ice,
And all hope of perennial bloom becomes forlorn,


There is no sunshine when you’re gone.


Time at a halt, no more even the instant, and in the abyss
No star glimmers, no light shines out of the darkness,


I wish you were in my arms tonight.


The elctronic numbers on my computer clock read 21:59.

TODAY'S SCENERY

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TODAY’S SCENERY


See the features of the landscape before you.
Delight in the moment.  
Honor all things as fresh and new.
One thing certain, 
No matter how far and long you may travel,
Or if for years you just remain 
Within the walls of your home and garden,
You will never pass by today’s scenery again.