(no subject)

[agata.livejournal.com]

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
by e. e. cummings

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 colour 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

(no subject)

[gl-oriana.livejournal.com]

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

Robert Frost

Each Age Has Its Sun . . . by Amina Said

[executeddream.livejournal.com]

(translated from French)


Each Age Has Its Sun . . .
By : Amina Said


Each age has its sun
a unique fragment
a single word
a cloud that invents the eye in the hollow of a wound

plunged there
are the hands which decipher the body
a pale incest
words that caused the lips that uttered them
to return to their source

tattoos of blue phrases
welts of words sculpted by old stonings

from the night river to the flowing dawn
a wild woman of the inner god
I spell out the dream from top to bottom
the alphabet branches out like coral in our eyes

rolls the water like bitter life on the eternity of the stone

this gentle but terrible specter
haunting
our mental back rooms
an invisible brightness
which brightens things to the bone
dazzles

until nightfall I have refused to write
the weight of my heart's images

and in the glance the talon of words
heavy words
that become marbled

and in the brain the blade
honed to a sharp edge

and thus the balance
is precarious
and the question deferred
to the farthest edge of twilight
near liquescent rims
but I remain constant
to my certitude
which I squeeze till it bleeds

from my shore
the journey becomes incrusted in itself
so torrid that one's gaze melts there
that the heart is violated there
yet clings to it
consents to it