a poem + a request

[ninasafiri.livejournal.com]

Hello all!

Looking for poems about friendship? Gaining friendship, enjoying friendship, longing for friendship, and losing friendship. Any and all poems along that line!

Some Neruda for your time!

"Waltz" by Pablo Neruda

I touch hatred like a covered breast;
I without stopping go from garment to garment,
sleeping at a distance.

I am not, I'm of no use, I do not know
anyone; I have no weapons of ocean or wood,
I do not live in this house.

My mouth is full of night and water.
The abiding moon determines
what I do not have.

What I have is in the midst of the waves,
a ray of water, a day for myself,
an iron depth.

There is no cross-tide, there is no shield, no costume,
there is no special solution too deep to be sounded,
no vicious eyelid.

I live suddenly and other times I follow.
I touch a face suddenly and it murders me.
I have no time.

Do not look for me when drawing
the usual wild thread or the
bleeding net.

Do not call me: that is my occupation.
Do not ask my name or my condition.
Leave me in the middle of my own moon
in my wounded ground.

Comments

[switchercat.livejournal.com]

Here's a poem John Hall Wheelock wrote about being with his friend, Van Wyck Brooks:

*

Sunday Evening in the Common

Look—on the topmost branches of the world
The blossoms of the myriad stars are thick;
Over the huddled rows of stone and brick,
A few, sad wisps of empty smoke are curled
Like ghosts, languid and sick.

One breathless moment now the city’s moaning
Fades, and the endless streets seem vague and dim;
There is no sound around the whole world’s rim,
Save in the distance a small band is droning
Some desolate old hymn.

Van Wyck, how often have we been together
When this same moment made all mysteries clear;
—The infinite stars that brood above us here,
And the gray city in the soft June weather,
So tawdry and so dear!

*

They wrote a book together called Verses by Two Undergraduates, which I find kind of sweet. :)

[ninasafiri.livejournal.com]

it's sweet :)

ty!

[browngirl.livejournal.com]

Because I'm a romantic creature, Kipling's "The Thousandth Man (http://www.kipling.org.uk/poems_thousandth.htm)" always gets me through the heart. Also, Urban Tapestry's "Friendship Song" is funny and darling -- if I get a chance tonight I'll transcribe the lyrics for you.

[ninasafiri.livejournal.com]

omg! I loved Kipling's poem, thank you :)

[thelichen.livejournal.com]

"About Friends"
by Brian Jones

The good thing about friends
is not having to finish sentences.

I sat a whole summer afternoon with my friend once
on a river bank, bashing heels on the baked mud
and watching the small chunks slide into the water
and listening to them—plop plop plop.
He said, 'I like the twigs when they…you know…
like that.' I said, 'There's that branch…'
We both said, 'Mmmm.' The river flowed and flowed
and there were lots of butterflies, that afternoon.

I first thought there was a sad thing about friends
when we met twenty years later.
We both talked hundreds of sentences,
taking care to finish all we said,
and explain it all very carefully,
as if we'd been discovered in places
we should not be, and were somehow ashamed.

I understood then what the river meant by flowing.

[ninasafiri.livejournal.com]

oh this is just lovely! thank you

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Beppo Schmidt, 'Sleep'' (http://war-poetry.livejournal.com/173666.html)

[duathir.livejournal.com]

To a Friend Lost in the Tibetan War

Last year you were sent to garrison Yuezhi,
Soon the whole army was destroyed below the walls.
Since then, Tibet and China have been cut off, no news;
Are you dead, or alive, wandering some distant land forever?
No one went to bring back the abandoned tents;
A few horses returned with torn flags we couldn't make out.
I would have a ceremony for you, but what if you are alive?
So, all I can do is shed a few tears for you, lost at the end of the sky.

by Zhang Ji (768-830?)

[ninasafiri.livejournal.com]

thanks for both of these

[gynaikeion.livejournal.com]

http://boppin.com/sunflower.html

[aguadora.livejournal.com]

Sometimes It Happens
Brian Patten

And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then
You are not friends,
And friendship has passed.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself.

And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then
You are not loved,
And love is past.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself into the grass.

And sometimes you want to speak to her and then
You do not want to speak,
Then the opportunity has passed.
Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.

And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then
There is somewhere to go,
Then you have bypassed.
And the years flare up and are gone,
Quicker than a minute.

So you have nothing.
You wonder if these things matter and then
As soon you begin to wonder if these things matter
They cease to matter,
And caring is past.
And a fountain empties itself into the grass.


---

Celestial Music
Louise Glück

I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God.
She thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth she's unusually competent.
Brave too, able to face unpleasantness.

We found a caterpillar dying in the dirt, greedy ants crawling over it.
I'm always moved by disaster, always eager to oppose vitality
But timid also, quick to shut my eyes.
Whereas my friend was able to watch, to let events play out
According to nature. For my sake she intervened
Brushing a few ants off the torn thing, and set it down
Across the road.

My friend says I shut my eyes to God, that nothing else explains
My aversion to reality. She says I'm like the child who
Buries her head in the pillow
So as not to see, the child who tells herself
That light causes sadness-
My friend is like the mother. Patient, urging me
To wake up an adult like herself, a courageous person-

In my dreams, my friend reproaches me. We're walking
On the same road, except it's winter now;
She's telling me that when you love the world you hear celestial music:
Look up, she says. When I look up, nothing.
Only clouds, snow, a white business in the trees
Like brides leaping to a great height-
Then I'm afraid for her; I see her
Caught in a net deliberately cast over the earth-

In reality, we sit by the side of the road, watching the sun set;
From time to time, the silence pierced by a birdcall.
It's this moment we're trying to explain, the fact
That we're at ease with death, with solitude.
My friend draws a circle in the dirt; inside, the caterpillar doesn't move.
She's always trying to make something whole, something beautiful, an image
Capable of life apart from her.
We're very quiet. It's peaceful sitting here, not speaking, The composition
Fixed, the road turning suddenly dark, the air
Going cool, here and there the rocks shining and glittering-
It's this stillness we both love.
The love of form is a love of endings.

[ninasafiri.livejournal.com]

these are breathtaking! especially the second one.

thanks so much.