The Maggots (from The Descendants) - Kamala Das

[aimlesswanderer.livejournal.com]

At sunset, on the river ban, Krishna
Loved her for the last time and left...

That night in her husband's arms, Radha felt
So dead that he asked, What is wrong,
Do you mind my kisses, love? And she said,
No, not at all, but thought, What is
It to the corpse if the maggots nip?


-- Kamala Das

Shakespeare in the Summer - a given

[okapi-4evr.livejournal.com]

Hi, I just love this community so v. v. much. I learn alot and have become less stressed. This is my mantra...greatpoets, greatpoets. lol

Anyway, we cannot reflect on love in the summer without THIS greatpoet!

Sonnets

CXLI.

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.



Enjoy the rest of your summer!

"The Time Around Scars" by Michael Ondaatje

[soulquake.livejournal.com]

A girl whom I've not spoken to
or shared coffee with for several years
writes of an old scar.
On her wrist it sleeps, smooth and white,
the size of a leech.
I gave it to her
brandishing a new Italian penknife.
Look, I said turning,
and blood spat onto her shirt.

My wife has scars like spread raindrops
on knees and ankles,
she talks of broken greenhouse panes
and yet, apart from imagining red feet,
(a nymph out of Chagall)
I bring little to that scene.
We remember the time around scars,
they freeze irrelevant emotions
and divide us from present friends.
I remember this girl's face,
the widening rise of surprise.

And would she
moving with lover or husband
conceal or flaunt it,
or keep it at her wrist
a mysterious watch.
And this scar I then remember
is a medallion of no emotion.

I would meet you now
and I would wish this scar
to have been given with
all the love
that never occurred between us.

"The Fly" by William Blake & Sidney Goodman, 1993

[okapi-4evr.livejournal.com]

The Fly

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance,
And drink, & sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength & breath,
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.

(no subject)

[joseishijin.livejournal.com]

Another reason to love Must Love Dogs: they recite one of my favorite poems by Yeats.

Brown Penny

I whispered, ‘I am too young,’
And then, ‘I am old enough’;
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
‘Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.’
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

- William Butler Yeats

(no subject)

[george-london.livejournal.com]

Sleep
by Fernando Pessoa

I'm so sleepy it hurts to think.
So sleepy. Sleeping is for man
What waking is for the animals.

It's to live life unconsciously,
The way animals live on life's surface.
It's to be, unawares, my profound being.

Perhaps I'm sleepy for having touched
The spot where I feel the animal I shunned,
And sleep is a memory I found.