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THE WORD,
A Lover’s Exhortation,
Rewrite
Well! Was sagst du?
I believe I say it right.
Still it is only God, Who knows,
The one dimensionality -- the real tragedy --
The empty when we call upon the soul.
But, sweetheart, Hey! I tell you now.
Forget it! Fly straight!
Think of the Frick with its fabulous El Greco,
Small though the painting is, it amply captures the fury,
When Jesus castigates the money changers.
Das wort ist klar!
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 may clothe 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,
And priests and magistrates know not the Lord
When He stands before them?
Monday, November 29, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
RATNA, You May Laugh At Me, Rewrite, November 2010
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RATNA,
You May Laugh At Me, Rewrite,
An Adaptation of a Poem by T. Wijaya,
November 2010
Ratna, you may have left me,
But the blanket on our bed remains.
Sometimes from out in the street
I hear chatter; I run to the window,
Open the drapes,
Look from our second-story flat,
And I see children.
Because the event more or less reoccurs daily,
At intervals, fifteen minutes before the ninth hour,
I imagine the youngsters are students,
Who hurry, hasten, not to be late for school.
The sound runs major then quiets,
But before too long it returns, again, to loudness.
Beneath its ebb and upward flow,
Within the clamors' swirling expansion and contraction,
Underneath it all, I swear to it, darling, I swear,
I very clearly perceive,
Throughout the commotion, a young, collective voice.
In my mind the cacophony
Amounts to no mere happenstance of noisy play,
But is itself poetry,
It seems to capture a lyrical composition.
It is as if the youngsters have gained access,
Know the words and meter of my heart’s declaration.
I feel the children have taken my verse
And boldly recite it for the public.
Their voice expresses every splendid feeling and thought,
I hear my love for you said aloud with excellence,
A match, as though the poet himself read the lines.
2.
Ratna, think how strange it seems, paradoxical when,
These self-same students learn in classroom,
Study the language of science,
Yet my own textbook teaches at odds
Against current curriculum, revealing solely
Great passion and affection, a knowledge that
No everyday, timely attendance might bring to reason.
No matter the hours, whatever time devoted to lessons,
No amount of homework or study reduces my soul,
Its lyric, to easy, algebraic, chalk–board formulation.
I am reminded of how hapless the task, trying to reason
All the marvelous abundance God bestows,
Although we may not merit, no way deserve
His grace, the bounty which freely befalls us.
Ratna, you may laugh at me, but when I awaken
I pretend to percolate coffee for you,
Or I imagine that I receive your telephone call,
Your voice at the other end, you,
No longer at business, far away, but here now,
The distance between us breached,
The gap closed, and that you have called to tell me
You are safe and have arrived home.
My emotions flutter when I hear your timbre.
Ratna, my dreams of you are constant,
And possess warmth and overall good feeling.
3.
Consider it. Once I recount my story,
The story about you,
You the woman, who has abandoned me,
Would anyone accept this tale,
(Suppose we search the whole wide world)
Would we find one, one single person,
Who concludes, who believes,
If even for a moment, that I am a happy man?
Ratna, I do not regret a single day.
My thoughts of you, our life together, remain indelible.
And when you promised heaven and earth to me,
Those moments in which you had sworn
And ardently acclaimed your love for me,
My remembrance of them, carry me to joy,
To boundless fervor and contentment,
They fire within my mind’s eye, and propel my being.
Ratna, a big smile inhabits my face.
4.
Remember the tree I planted in our garden?
Its fruit has become property of another,
And each and every time I think it over,
Our life, the every instance we spent together,
I find myself sitting at the desk to write,
As if enthralled some faery power driven,
Hoping to explain how I trust every word you said,
Wishing to relate the splendid images,
The visceral weight, and the deep compulsion,
To relive the time, our hand was in hand, and
We were held together, our fingers interlocked.
Ratna, in endless run of sentence after sentence,
My life returns to the great day, the glory chapters,
Which comprise the big book of our love,
Oh, how thrilled I am to have been at your side.
Ratna, in your heart my love for you may be dead.
But each day I rise again in that blue room,
That blue bedroom, where we started the day,
Each day I wake to the same blue sky,
Which houses our Lord, to Him I pray.
I ask for nothing, only His Will for you, for me, today.
Ratna, my lovely light, you, the dream which floods
Across this room, down upon the key board,
And drives my fingers to write the length,
-- Oh, the grand expanse over which my bosom races --
No mere chimera, no flight of fancy,
But real as is the space between earth’s continents,
My ardency covers distance,
Real as the miles, which total our globe’s circumference.
5.
Do not fear me; do not fear this verse.
Ratna, listen not to friends,
Those who claim misgivings,
Who believe I have taken leave of my senses,
That my ultimate design may want best for you.
You know that is not the case.
Ratna, I write in the moment, and, as you already know,
This instance sums all a human may possess,
We own but this one day, alone,
Still I mean every word I say for the ages,
I want world and posterity to learn.
Oh what a lucky man I have been.
My good fortune, the gratitude I feel for having
Loved you and having made your acquaintance!
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory
http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://www.stanleypacion.com/home.html/
RATNA,
You May Laugh At Me, Rewrite,
An Adaptation of a Poem by T. Wijaya,
November 2010
Ratna, you may have left me,
But the blanket on our bed remains.
Sometimes from out in the street
I hear chatter; I run to the window,
Open the drapes,
Look from our second-story flat,
And I see children.
Because the event more or less reoccurs daily,
At intervals, fifteen minutes before the ninth hour,
I imagine the youngsters are students,
Who hurry, hasten, not to be late for school.
The sound runs major then quiets,
But before too long it returns, again, to loudness.
Beneath its ebb and upward flow,
Within the clamors' swirling expansion and contraction,
Underneath it all, I swear to it, darling, I swear,
I very clearly perceive,
Throughout the commotion, a young, collective voice.
In my mind the cacophony
Amounts to no mere happenstance of noisy play,
But is itself poetry,
It seems to capture a lyrical composition.
It is as if the youngsters have gained access,
Know the words and meter of my heart’s declaration.
I feel the children have taken my verse
And boldly recite it for the public.
Their voice expresses every splendid feeling and thought,
I hear my love for you said aloud with excellence,
A match, as though the poet himself read the lines.
2.
Ratna, think how strange it seems, paradoxical when,
These self-same students learn in classroom,
Study the language of science,
Yet my own textbook teaches at odds
Against current curriculum, revealing solely
Great passion and affection, a knowledge that
No everyday, timely attendance might bring to reason.
No matter the hours, whatever time devoted to lessons,
No amount of homework or study reduces my soul,
Its lyric, to easy, algebraic, chalk–board formulation.
I am reminded of how hapless the task, trying to reason
All the marvelous abundance God bestows,
Although we may not merit, no way deserve
His grace, the bounty which freely befalls us.
Ratna, you may laugh at me, but when I awaken
I pretend to percolate coffee for you,
Or I imagine that I receive your telephone call,
Your voice at the other end, you,
No longer at business, far away, but here now,
The distance between us breached,
The gap closed, and that you have called to tell me
You are safe and have arrived home.
My emotions flutter when I hear your timbre.
Ratna, my dreams of you are constant,
And possess warmth and overall good feeling.
3.
Consider it. Once I recount my story,
The story about you,
You the woman, who has abandoned me,
Would anyone accept this tale,
(Suppose we search the whole wide world)
Would we find one, one single person,
Who concludes, who believes,
If even for a moment, that I am a happy man?
Ratna, I do not regret a single day.
My thoughts of you, our life together, remain indelible.
And when you promised heaven and earth to me,
Those moments in which you had sworn
And ardently acclaimed your love for me,
My remembrance of them, carry me to joy,
To boundless fervor and contentment,
They fire within my mind’s eye, and propel my being.
Ratna, a big smile inhabits my face.
4.
Remember the tree I planted in our garden?
Its fruit has become property of another,
And each and every time I think it over,
Our life, the every instance we spent together,
I find myself sitting at the desk to write,
As if enthralled some faery power driven,
Hoping to explain how I trust every word you said,
Wishing to relate the splendid images,
The visceral weight, and the deep compulsion,
To relive the time, our hand was in hand, and
We were held together, our fingers interlocked.
Ratna, in endless run of sentence after sentence,
My life returns to the great day, the glory chapters,
Which comprise the big book of our love,
Oh, how thrilled I am to have been at your side.
Ratna, in your heart my love for you may be dead.
But each day I rise again in that blue room,
That blue bedroom, where we started the day,
Each day I wake to the same blue sky,
Which houses our Lord, to Him I pray.
I ask for nothing, only His Will for you, for me, today.
Ratna, my lovely light, you, the dream which floods
Across this room, down upon the key board,
And drives my fingers to write the length,
-- Oh, the grand expanse over which my bosom races --
No mere chimera, no flight of fancy,
But real as is the space between earth’s continents,
My ardency covers distance,
Real as the miles, which total our globe’s circumference.
5.
Do not fear me; do not fear this verse.
Ratna, listen not to friends,
Those who claim misgivings,
Who believe I have taken leave of my senses,
That my ultimate design may want best for you.
You know that is not the case.
Ratna, I write in the moment, and, as you already know,
This instance sums all a human may possess,
We own but this one day, alone,
Still I mean every word I say for the ages,
I want world and posterity to learn.
Oh what a lucky man I have been.
My good fortune, the gratitude I feel for having
Loved you and having made your acquaintance!
TERMS OF ENDEARMENT, Sweet Talk
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TERMS OF ENDEARMENT,
Sweet Talk
Out in Arizona my Dad,
He grew roses.
He embraced the great merit,
Loved to say,
How he enjoyed cultivating his own garden.
That spot he tended along side the house,
It was the love of his retirement.
I saw those roses disporting,
Performing and they were real pretty,
But I must say aloud,
They never flowered, like you.
They never looked the way
You looked tonight, darling.
Though this verse be trivia,
Fitting definition, thing of small importance,
It swears truth,
The whole truth and nothing but the truth,
You may count it among my terms of endearment.
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http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://www.stanleypacion.com/home.html/
TERMS OF ENDEARMENT,
Sweet Talk
Out in Arizona my Dad,
He grew roses.
He embraced the great merit,
Loved to say,
How he enjoyed cultivating his own garden.
That spot he tended along side the house,
It was the love of his retirement.
I saw those roses disporting,
Performing and they were real pretty,
But I must say aloud,
They never flowered, like you.
They never looked the way
You looked tonight, darling.
Though this verse be trivia,
Fitting definition, thing of small importance,
It swears truth,
The whole truth and nothing but the truth,
You may count it among my terms of endearment.
LINES WRITTEN IN OCTOBER
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LINES WRITTEN IN OCTOBER
Oh where are you, my lovely?
How is it you stay away?
What strangeness drives you,
Turns love into disappointment and woe?
I imagine, you might very well understand.
Yet do not suppose a simple story.
Do not figure you, role playing the subject,
And, me, the writer, who recounts a conventional,
Everyday tale about love won and lost,
The drama which accompanies its marvelous heights
And then the drop to low-bottom sorrow.
There is no script with a beginning and an end.
The story stays; it remains the same.
Unlike all sublunary it does not change.
You shine, darling, you shine.
Tonight you are bright and eternal.
And every morning you arise steadfast;
Your light makes the seasons of my heart.
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http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://www.stanleypacion.com/home.html/
LINES WRITTEN IN OCTOBER
Oh where are you, my lovely?
How is it you stay away?
What strangeness drives you,
Turns love into disappointment and woe?
I imagine, you might very well understand.
Yet do not suppose a simple story.
Do not figure you, role playing the subject,
And, me, the writer, who recounts a conventional,
Everyday tale about love won and lost,
The drama which accompanies its marvelous heights
And then the drop to low-bottom sorrow.
There is no script with a beginning and an end.
The story stays; it remains the same.
Unlike all sublunary it does not change.
You shine, darling, you shine.
Tonight you are bright and eternal.
And every morning you arise steadfast;
Your light makes the seasons of my heart.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
POEM WRITTEN IN A COOKING MAGAZINE, Rewrite
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POEM WRITTEN IN A COOKING MAGAZINE,
Rewrite
The man was quite mad.
He enjoyed writing in code.
He invented a special kind of shorthand
And kept business records in a language,
Comprehensible only to himself and those
To whom he had revealed the secrets of his ciphers.
Cryptic labels marked the boxes,
The boxes of all the things he possessed.
But when it came to life's basics,
Though, technically speaking,
He bordered yet on insanity,
Some have said he was quite mad,
Yet his manner of speech was straightforward.
He wrote in the King's English.
He said, ‘I love you’.
And he proclaimed for all that care to hear,
‘I worship the ground upon which you walk’.
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory
http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://www.stanleypacion.com/home.html/
POEM WRITTEN IN A COOKING MAGAZINE,
Rewrite
The man was quite mad.
He enjoyed writing in code.
He invented a special kind of shorthand
And kept business records in a language,
Comprehensible only to himself and those
To whom he had revealed the secrets of his ciphers.
Cryptic labels marked the boxes,
The boxes of all the things he possessed.
But when it came to life's basics,
Though, technically speaking,
He bordered yet on insanity,
Some have said he was quite mad,
Yet his manner of speech was straightforward.
He wrote in the King's English.
He said, ‘I love you’.
And he proclaimed for all that care to hear,
‘I worship the ground upon which you walk’.
MIDNIGHT RECAP, 19 August 1976, Second Version
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MIDNIGHT RECAP,
19 August 1976,
Second Version
Gad! It's Nancy Lake of North Carolina,
“Chairman, Richard Rosenblum of the Great,
The Oh-so-Great, Delegation from the State of New York”
Representatives proclaim their diverse cultures,
Highlight separate geographies, timed to a moment,
Tied to one central theme,
Arizona, Washington, Indiana, Illinois…
Texas, Alaska…, Chinese, Blacks,
Chicanos and I-talo-Americans,
All expected to take twenty-five seconds or less:
“I am honored to second the nomination…
“The man the American people can trust!
“It is with my great pleasure…
“We are proud to place the name --
“Miss Perez has set a record -- under fifteen seconds!
“Aloha!
“The miracle of Joseph’s coat of many colors…
“A head and a heart! A living legend!
“The last line of defense…
Blrrrrwrrwrrwwwwr.
“Gerald R. Ford for President!”
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory
http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://www.stanleypacion.com/home.html/
MIDNIGHT RECAP,
19 August 1976,
Second Version
Gad! It's Nancy Lake of North Carolina,
“Chairman, Richard Rosenblum of the Great,
The Oh-so-Great, Delegation from the State of New York”
Representatives proclaim their diverse cultures,
Highlight separate geographies, timed to a moment,
Tied to one central theme,
Arizona, Washington, Indiana, Illinois…
Texas, Alaska…, Chinese, Blacks,
Chicanos and I-talo-Americans,
All expected to take twenty-five seconds or less:
“I am honored to second the nomination…
“The man the American people can trust!
“It is with my great pleasure…
“We are proud to place the name --
“Miss Perez has set a record -- under fifteen seconds!
“Aloha!
“The miracle of Joseph’s coat of many colors…
“A head and a heart! A living legend!
“The last line of defense…
Blrrrrwrrwrrwwwwr.
“Gerald R. Ford for President!”
ALPHA AND OMEGA, Yet Another Love Poem, Third Version
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ALPHA AND OMEGA,
Yet Another Love Poem,
Third Version
Etta, what do you want from me?
I fell in love with you.
What can I do?
I care for you; you’re beautiful.
No explanation, it’s not rational.
I’m older, you’re younger.
I’m an American, you’re European.
I was raised on the Great Plains.
You grew up on the thin soil of a limestone island.
The matter reduces itself to the basic.
Try as hard as I can, I can not end my love for you.
To me, this love continues as though it folds onto itself,
Looking more like one of those new images,
Drawn from highest theoretic of current cosmology,
Space-time systems overlapped, bestraddled,
Universes within multiple universes,
Dimension upon dimension,
Inexplicable, unimaginable paradox,
Beginning and ending all at once,
At one point, all to one point, no sides, no dimensions,
Alpha and omega, and ultimately
Sine qua non of my existence.
What else do you want me to say?
I’m at a loss. Right this moment,
No one else, no one else but you!
Darling, I want only the best for you.
Would you, would you, please forgive,
Condone my presumption, since yet,
It seems, the same holds true for you, too.
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory
http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
http://www.stanleypacion.com/home.html/
ALPHA AND OMEGA,
Yet Another Love Poem,
Third Version
Etta, what do you want from me?
I fell in love with you.
What can I do?
I care for you; you’re beautiful.
No explanation, it’s not rational.
I’m older, you’re younger.
I’m an American, you’re European.
I was raised on the Great Plains.
You grew up on the thin soil of a limestone island.
The matter reduces itself to the basic.
Try as hard as I can, I can not end my love for you.
To me, this love continues as though it folds onto itself,
Looking more like one of those new images,
Drawn from highest theoretic of current cosmology,
Space-time systems overlapped, bestraddled,
Universes within multiple universes,
Dimension upon dimension,
Inexplicable, unimaginable paradox,
Beginning and ending all at once,
At one point, all to one point, no sides, no dimensions,
Alpha and omega, and ultimately
Sine qua non of my existence.
What else do you want me to say?
I’m at a loss. Right this moment,
No one else, no one else but you!
Darling, I want only the best for you.
Would you, would you, please forgive,
Condone my presumption, since yet,
It seems, the same holds true for you, too.
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