Quotes about sill, page 16
Montage Triste
The hyacinths intoxicate upon the window-sill
and I think of you
Intellectual montage –
Eisenstein was the first to spell it out
and use it memorably;
a quick clip of one scene,
then another; the agile mind
in each of us, connects the two;
it’s routine now.
The candle on the bath-tub flickers
and I think of you
One close shot of fires reflected on a window;
then a long shot of the beach below, the tents, the fires;
then the sky and fatal stars; seen before Eisenstein –
read Pope’s Iliad, the night before
the fall of Troy; it reads like
a shooting-script, a hundred years before film…
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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Craft
When, having finished, I shall move my armchair,
The page will gasp, awakened from the strain.
Delirious, she is half asleep at present,
Obedient to suspense and to the rain.
The heaviness of burnt-out ships has numbed her,
Prostrated, weighted down her senseless form;
You cannot dupe this one by false pretences-
It is the poet who will keep her warm.
I told her at an hour (its secret shudder
Vouchsafed by fancy) when the winter will
Light up green screeching ice, fed up with waiting
Behind an office worker's window sill,
And clocks in banks and other public places,
While drinking in the snow and outside's dark,
Will suddenly jump up and strike-their faces
Crossed by the clockhands at the 'seven' mark-
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poem by Boris Pasternak
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The Snake Charmer and the Hamadryad
Piccolo and been-throated pibroch
Dilating dimpled hood
Spreading photometric darkroom eyes
Waxing waxing matching
Venomous lip to music's piping lip
O Queen of stung dragon-mouthed Po
Dancing girl of nuanceless ancient reliefs
The apotheosis Brahman curling on the neck
Must you now sink sink
Dread watched
Spineless
Into the winding womb wickerwork
Watching watching pipe-eyed watching
Until you slip
Over the sill of the pipe and the lip
Anathema!
Amorphous piteous anathema!
Amulet of Siva!
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poem by T. Wignesan
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Christmas Snow
There are those who feel
Christmas day is not complete
without a white blanket of snow
beneath their booted feet
I've heard of requests from
the young with hopeful dreams
waiting for jiggling sleigh bells…
Snow would certainly enhance the scene
Today, I heard of ways to invite
the snow to the streets of town
First of all, put a white crayon
on a window sill; gently set it down
Next, pour an ample amount of ice cubes
in the toilet bowl… weird, but go ahead
Thirdly, wear your pajamas inside out
Last of all place a spoon under the bed
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poem by Theresa Ann Moore
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I wish I could remember the first night we met
I wish I could remember the first night we met
First hour, first moments of stolen glances
Your silhouette in my arms as we lead our first dances
If I only knew back then the ordeal has a life spread
If bright or dim with summer haze that night might be
It was summer at the sill of autumn not winter for aught I can say
Yet so unrecorded the night slipped away
So blind was I to see and fore see
One cannot make the budding of his tree
That would blossom for many Mays
If I could only recollect that night of our love to be
Such a night of all nights amaze
If I only could collect back that show
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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A Fruit Piece
The afternoon of summer folds
Its warm arms round the marigolds,
And with its gleaming fingers, pets
The watered pinks and violets
That from the casement vases spill,
Over the cottage window-sill,
Their fragrance down the garden walks
Where droop the dry-mouthed hollyhocks.
How vividly the sunshine scrawls
The grape-vine shadows on the walls!
How like a truant swings the breeze
In high boughs of the apple-trees!
The slender 'free-stone' lifts aloof,
Full languidly above the roof,
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Poor Cock Robin
My garden robin in the Spring
Was rapturous with glee,
And followed me with wistful wing
From pear to apple tree;
His melodies the summer long
He carolled with delight,
As if he could with jewelled song
Find favour in my sight.
And now that Autumn's in the air
He's singing singing still,
And yet somehow I cannot bear
The frenzy of his bill;
The keen wind ruffs his ruddy breast
As to bare boughs he clings;
The sun is sullen in the West
Yet still he sings and sings.
Soon, soon the legions of the snow
Will pitch their tents again,
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poem by Robert William Service
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Ice Climbing
Send shivers to my loneliness.
Look at me with starving eyes,
The places where isolation roams
And imprints startling tracks in
The permafrost—
Show me your breath so that
I might find you
Outstretched like Prometheus’
Lover on a glacial step,
Your blooms the frigid
Chrysanthemums upon
Winter’s open sill.
There your soul is an ice sculpture,
Carved and held captive by
The Northern deities insured
No men will come and find you,
Hidden in the declivities,
Beneath the freeze framed falls
Of great longing, in the crystalline azure
Monoliths that rise up beneath
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poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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In A Vale
When I was young, we dwelt in a vale
By a misty fen that rang all night,
And thus it was the maidens pale
I knew so well, whose garments trail
Across the reeds to a window light.
The fen had every kind of bloom,
And for every kind there was a face,
And a voice that has sounded in my room
Across the sill from the outer gloom.
Each came singly unto her place,
But all came every night with the mist;
And often they brought so much to say
Of things of moment to which, they wist,
One so lonely was fain to list,
That the stars were almost faded away
Before the last went, heavy with dew,
Back to the place from which she came-
Where the bird was before it flew,
Where the flower was before it grew,
Where bird and flower were one and the same.
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poem by Robert Frost
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A Picture Of Our Little Garden
The sand mound on the left,
And the colourful Zinnias edging it;
With profuse Asters adjacent,
And the triangular red bricks bordering it;
The wide windows artistic grille,
Below are the bright Cannas to the right;
The pale blue curtain over the window sill,
Over looking the blooming Hollyhocks bright;
The dense green leaves of the Radish,
With intermittent Balsams red and white;
The long stalked nodding Cosmos' swish,
All enchant and cheer the mind and sight.
The smooth and slender butterflies,
Both diurnal and crepuscular;
Of various hues fly, sit and rise,
Flit from flower to another flower.
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poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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