Erich Fried ....

"But" can be such a negative word, but not in this poem ...

At first I fell in love
with the brightness of your eyes
with your laugh
with your joy in life

Now I love your weeping too
and your fear of life
and the helplessness
in your eyes

But I will help you
with your fear
for my joy in life
is still the brightness of your eyes


"Without You" is a quite common title, but this poem captures the ambiguity we feel about someone so beautifully ...

Not nothing
without you
but not the same

Not nothing
without you
but perhaps less

Not nothing
but less
and less

Perhaps not nothing
without you
but not much more


"Cancellation" is what I encourage my patients to do ...

Being able to breathe out
one's unhappiness

breathe out deeply
so that one can
breathe in again

And perhaps also being able to speak
one's unhappiness
in words
in real words
which are coherent
and make sense
and which one can
understand oneself
and which perhaps
someone else can understand
or could understand

And being able to try

That again would
almost be
happiness

But "Perhaps" is their way to cope ...

Remembering
that is
perhaps
the most painful way
of forgetting
and perhaps
the kindest way
of easing
this pain

I have often been asked why I love poetry so much, and "One Hour" does explain it all ...

I have spent one hour
correcting
a poem that I have written

One hour
That means: In this time
1400 small children died of starvation
because every 2½ seconds
one child under five starves to death
in our world

Also for one hour
the arms race continued
and 62 million eight hundred thousand dollars
were spent in this one hour
for the protection of various powers
from each other
for the military spendings of the world
at the moment amount to
550 billion dollars per year
Our country also
contributes its mite

The question arises
if it still makes sense
to write poems
with the way things are
It maybe true
that some poems are about
military spendings and war
and starving children
But others are about
love and aging and
meadows and trees and mountains
and also about poems and pictures

If it wasn't also for
all these other things
then nobody really cares
about children and peace either anymore.

What it is

It is nonsense
says Reason
It is what it is
says Love

It is unhappiness
says Caution
It is nothing but pain
says Fear
It is hopeless
says Insight
It is what it is
says Love

It is ridiculous
says Pride
It is careless
says Caution
It is impossible
says Experience
It is what it is
says Love
~ by Erich Fried

I love the reply from Love "It is what it is", as it pretty much sums up everything in life ...

The night is fine and dry ...

The night is fine and dry. It falls and spreads
the cold sky with a million opposites
that, for a moment, seem like a million souls
and soon, none, and then, for what seems a long time,
one. Then of course it spins. What is better to do
than string out over the infinite dead spaces
the ancient beasts and spearmen of the human
mind, and, if not the real ones, new ones?

But, try making them clear to one you love —
whoever is standing by you is one you love
when pinioned by the stars — you will find it quite
impossible, but like her more for thinking
she sees that constellation.

After the wave of pain, you will turn to her
and, in an instant, change the universe
to a sky you were glad you came outside to see.

This is the act of all the descended gods
of every age and creed: to weary of all
that never ends, to take a human hand,
and go back into the house.

~ "Stargazing" by Glyn Maxwell reminds of the sky in Morocco desert ...

Easter Wings ...

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store.
Though foolishly he lost the same,
Decaying more and more,
Till he became
Most poore:
With thee
O let me rise
As larks, harmoniously
And sing this day thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne:
And still with sickness and shame
Thou didst so punish sinne,
That I became
Most thinne.
With thee
Let me combine
And feel this day thy victorie:
For, if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

~ George Herbert
An utterly incomprehensibly beautiful poem, which encapsulates the meaning of the Cross ...

Robert Frost ...

... said "Happiness makes up in Height for what it lacks in Length" ...

An interesting quote, but I suppose your definition of happiness depends on how readily you go from "what ifs" to "this is it", as acceptance is part of life. Yet, does accepting the knocks in life allow you to be happy or is it contentment?

Sophie Hannah ...

is definitely one of my favourite poets at the moment ... I love the simplicity of her language in linking our emotions to everyday life ...

Something Coming

The pavement shone with news of something coming,
or just with rain. She took it as a warning,
identical to last time - first the humming,
then thunder, then his letter in the morning.

She did her best to see some sort of sense
in all these things, to make them fit together.
At the same time, she laughed at the pretence
that love could be connected to the weather,

which can’t be true, or life would be too frightening
to live. Next time, she swore she’d go to bed
and not stay up to study trends of lightning,
and wonder what, if anything, they said.

Limited

Blank spaces count as characters. It's true.

I wasn't sure. And then I thought of you.

~ is commissioned by the O2, and it is about texting ... Just because a text is not being written, it does not mean that you are not being thought of constantly ...

Missy Higgins ...

... is a singer who I have been listening to a lot recently ...

"The special two" made me hope ...
I've hardly been outside my room in days,
'cause I don't feel that I deserve the sunshine's rays.
The darkness helped until the whiskey wore away,
And it was then I realize the conscience never fades.
When you're young you have this image of your life:
That you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife.
And you make boundaries you'd never dream to cross,
And if you happen to you wake completely lost.
But I will fight for you, be sure that
I will fight until we're the special two once again.

And we will only need each other, we'll bleed together,
Our hands will not be taught to hold another's,
When we're the special two.
And we could only see each other, we'll bleed together,
These arms will not be taught to need another,
'Cause we were the special two.

I remember someone old once said to me:
"That lies will lock you up with truth the only key."
But I was comfortable and warm inside my shell,
And couldn't see this place would soon become my hell.
So is it better to tell and hurt or lie to save their face?
Well I guess the answer is don't do it in the first place.
I know I'm not deserving of your trust from you right now,
But if by chance you change your mind you know I will not let you down
'cause we were the special two, and we'll be again.

And we will only need each other, we'll bleed together,
Our hands will not be taught to hold another's,
When we're the special two.
And we can only see each other we'll breathe together,
These arms will not be taught to need another...
'cause we're the special two.

I step outside my mind's eye's for a minute.
And I look over me like a doctor looking for disease,
Or something that could ease the pain.
But nothing cures the hurt you, you bring on by yourself,
Just remembering, just remembering how we were...

When we would only need each other, we'd bleed together,
Our hands would not be taught to hold another's,
We were the special two.
And we could only see each other, we'd bleed together,
These arms would not be taught to need another,
'Cause we're the special two.

... whereas "Where I stood" made me understand ...
I don't know what I've done
Or if I like what I've begun
But something told me to run
And honey you know me it's all or none

There were sounds in my head
Little voices whispering
That I should go and this should end
Oh and I found myself listening

'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood

See I thought love was black and white
That it was wrong or it was right
But you ain't leaving without a fight
And I think I am just as torn inside

'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood

And I won't be far from where you are if ever you should call
You meant more to me than anyone I ever loved at all
But you taught me how to trust myself and so I say to you
This is what I have to do

'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood
Oh, she who dares to stand where I stood

The Reassurance ...

... by Thom Gunn ...

About ten days or so
After we saw you dead
You came back in a dream.
I'm all right now you said.

And it was you, although
You were fleshed out again:
You hugged us all round then,
And gave your welcoming beam.

How like you to be kind,
Seeking to reassure.
And, yes, how like my mind
To make itself secure.

Prayer ...

... by Carol Ann Duffy ...

Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.

Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child's name as though they named their loss.

Darkness outside. Inside the radio's prayer -
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre

~ Rockall, Malin, Dogger, Finisterre refer to shipping forecast ... I absolutely adore this poem ~ the idea of something more divine being at work, when you are at a loss, not knowing where to turn, when to think, what to pray, how to dream ...

Miracles ...

... do indeed happen, if we would only believe in them and maybe, just allow our eyes to gaze into the world with a sense of wonder ... This morning, one of my patients who hasn't smiled for days and days gave me a smile on her way to ECT ... she still has a long long way to go, and lots of issues to resolve, but she is a step closer ...

Miracles

Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down--or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best--mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans--or to the soiree--or to the opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring--yet each distinct, and in its place.

To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,
and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.

To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships, with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

Asking you ...

Asking you ...
to pause,
to turn back,
to remember the touch,
to hold me once again.

Is that ...
too much,
too demanding,
too uncertain,
too catastrophic?

Leaving me ...
in pain,
in falling rain,
in an unstoppable train,
in a trance of longing.

Leaving and Leaving You ...

by Sophie Hannah

When I leave you postcode and your commuting station,
When I left undone all the things we planned to do
You may feel you have been left by association
But there is leaving and leaving you.

When I leave your town and the club that you belong to,
When I leave without much warning or much regret,
Remember, there's doing wrong and there's doing wrong to
You, which I'll never do and I haven't yet,

And when I have gone, remember that in weighing
Everything up, from love to a cheaper rent,
You were all the reasons I thought of staying,
And none of the reasons why I went

And although I leave your sight and I leave your setting,
And our separation is soon to be a fact,
Though you stand beside what I'm leaving and forgetting,
I'm not leaving you, not if motive makes the act.

~ this poem is just unbearablely ambivalent and beautiful ...

Glow ...

... by Thomas Baines

I remember it by the way your look touches me.
So clear.
No words are needed in the silences that hush the world away from here.
Hold on to this memory,
keep it locked inside.

I'll wait for you if you want me to.
I want your grow in me.
Cause I need you like I used to
and I bleed inside just for you.

I will not forget as the sun rises to the red.
I've been wrong.
Cause you exude the right whitest light that shimmers over me,
come switch it on.
Come and refresh this memory,
Light me up inside.

Wait for you ... wait for you ...

Tides ...

The evening advances, then withdraws again
Leaving our cups and books like islands on the floor.
We are drifting, you and I,
As far from another as the young heroes
Of these two novels we have just laid down.
For that is happiness: to wander alone
Surrounded by the same moon, whose tides remind us of ourselves,
Our distances, and what we leave behind.
The lamp left on, the curtains letting in the light.
These things were promises. No doubt we will come back to them.

~ Hugo Williams

I am not sure about the last line ... but I do love the picture it creates ...

Lemn Sissy ...

... is a poet I came across at the National Portrait Gallery the other day, and he wrote the following poem beside his portrait ...

"You remind me,
Define me,
Incline me,
If you died
I'd."

An intensively beautiful poem for a grey-sky-but-the-sun-may-still-come-out day ...

Ludwig Wittgenstein once said ...

... The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.

I am not sure if that is true, as there is often so much in this world which cannot be described by words or sounds, but maybe if something is to be shared, then language will be the limit of that experience ...

At Night ...

...

We are apart; the city grows quiet between us,
She hushes herself, for midnight makes heavy her eyes,
The tangle of traffic is ended, the cars are empty,
Five streets divide us, and on them the moonlight lies.

Oh are you asleep, or lying awake, my lover?
Open your dreams to my love and your heart to my words.
I send you my thoughts--the air between us is laden,
My thoughts fly in at your window, a flock of wild birds.

~ by Sara Teasdale

This poem captures the sense of closeness, even when one is apart ... and "My thoughts fly in at your window, a flock of wild birds" is something which cannot be replaced by modern technology ...

Sara Teasdale ...

...does express all types of emotions in such a simple way ...

I shall bury my weary Love
Beneath a tree,
In the forest tall and black
Where none can see.

I shall put no flowers at his head,
Nor stone at his feet,
For the mouth I loved so much
Was bittersweet.

I shall go no more to his grave,
For the woods are cold.
I shall gather as much of joy
As my hands can hold.

I shall stay all day in the sun
Where the wide winds blow,
But oh, I shall weep at night
When none will know.

I'll take you there ...

Chapter 21

The way out. To show the fly the way out of the bottle was the life's hope of Ludwig Wittgenstein but the truth is that human begins don't want a way out of the bottle; we are captivated, enthralled by the interior of the bottle; its glassy sides caress and console us; its glassy sides are the perimeters of our experience and our aspiration; the bottle is our skin, our soul; we're accustomed to the visual distortions of the glass; we would not wish to see clearly, without the barrier of the glass; we could not breathe a fresher air; we could not survive outside the bottle.

Or tell ourselves, in the glassy-echoing language of the bottle, that this is so.
~ by Joyce Carol Oates

I do wonder if we all have such bottles in our lives and if it is so devastating if one does not wish to have a way out ... It all depends on what we place our Hope in ...

Sonnet XLIV

You must know that I do not love and that I love you,
because everything alive has its two sides;
a word is one wing of the silence,
fire has its cold half.

I love you in order to begin to love you,
to start infinity again
and never to stop loving you:
that's why I do not love you yet.

I love you, and I do not love you, as if I held
keys in my hand: to a future of joy -
a wretched, muddled fate -

My love has two lives, in order to love you:
that's why I love you when I do not love you,
and also why I love you when I do.

- Pablo Neruda

... a poem I read last year, and I could not understand it until this weekend ... I think part of the anguish of this weekend can be explained by this poem - the conflicts of loving someone, the joys one experiences, the pains one encounters ... and one can become so so lost ...

But I also learnt something even more amazing this weekend ... the idea of to surrender, to trust ... all that you have to God ... so that He can comprehend, ponder, plan for you ...