Quotes about himalayas, page 7
A Gypsy Cab Author Caught In A Texas Milky Way, A Letter Poem To M. Meursault
for Bob. M.
Mark the first page of the book with a red marker.
For, in the beginning, the wound is invisible. - Edmund Jabes
And so it was I entered the broken world to trace the visionary company of love.
- Hart Crane
'A man of many false starts...'
- Opening line from the manuscript spoken about below.
Mon Cher Marcel Meursault, homo viator **,
tumbleweed rumor, post-war roamer,
son of Cain, Biblical stain in from desert storms,
Petrochemical companies flare just cross the highway, multi-lane signals of Mammon Cathedral in the Wasteland, it's neon void promises a Velvet Jesus, a Velvet Elvis to a desert kingdom of the far flung, you being one of them, now home from the war in exile before and after, returning to the beat up but beloved truck that also tells a story and leaves a stain. Black puddles beneath write the names of God:
Jake, his slow breakdown while breaking into those stately mansions of the godly rich; hard lessons of earnest Private Dodge wanting approval and love ill sought from the gold-toothed, refugee Drill Sergeant Tomaso, late of Liberia, a wannabee Jehovah with too much power over America's young game boys shipwrecked onto military shores.
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poem by Warren Falcon
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I Discover The World In India
red vermillion streaked hair
a red wattled lapwing
orange, same time each day, sunrises and sunsets
yellow and black taxi colours, yellow temple flags, bright yellow confectionery shops, yellow bright fragrant perfume shops
green lush city pot plants, green lush country side
light blue warm skies, light blue cool cabs
indigo blue dupattas, turbans
navy blue trains, absence of starchy navy blue suits
sexy, pink, curved, massive majestic palaces, pink film posters
gold and glass chhum chhummy bangles
one purple TV happily watched by hundreds of labourers, purple crow sounds
gold chhum chhummy payals
white nehru jackets, pyjamas and kurtas, white cracking paint on grand old victorian buildings, white floor seating
_______
I discover
white clear eyes, white teeth behind white greetings
gold namastes
purple glee at fairs, purple glee when trying new technology and at receiving smallest of gifts
gold helping hands
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poem by Bhupen Thakker
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What Chains We Rattle
WHAT CHAINS WE RATTLE
What chains we rattle in our own emptiness.
The void gnashes its teeth to dust. Is there love
Anywhere that I'm worthy of?
I want to scream in this straitjacket of anti-matter
but you are not here; your person is absent;
so I scream into this paper ear;
I abandon my own blood, turn red white
in my fear of losing you, witnessing your anger,
the small glaciers that inch through my heart
like ice-ages. Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I'm old,
maybe I'm burnt out, maybe all these words
I throw at you mean absolutely nothing to you
or to anyone else, or even me, but there you have it.
I'm sloughing my old skin like a star-riddled universe
and I don't know what I'm turning into.
When I want to know who I am I look at your face.
Lately I've felt like some kind of eclipse, some darkness
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poem by Patrick White
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The Young Poets Tell Me I'm Old
The young poets tell me I'm old.
The old poets tell me I'm young.
Is it done, then, the work, time to let the sun go down?
Evaporate? Scatter my ashes among the stars
and out wait the eras to shine again?
Or is there still enough within me to immolate,
Take a firefly like the heater of a cigarette
and kiss the fuses of the supernovas, the wicks
of the unlit candles? I don't feel dead
though I try my extinction on several times a day
to see if it fits yet, if I've grown my way into it.
What the river gives up in speed, in flashing
down the heights of its sharp-edged peaks,
its supple effervescence, it more than makes up for
in the mass and the depth of its movement.
Yesterday, a snowflake on a furnace. Today
an encyclopedic glacier greased by its own melting
all the way to the sea. Yesterday, bright vacancy.
Today, dark abundance. And the days and the nights,
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poem by Patrick White
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140 Fragments
1-14
I could say anything, and you wouldn’t know.
There is no one else.
Stand me on a chair, and call me Hope.
Loving is easy when you breathe God.
So many lives: I want to live them all.
Everyday with you holds an exquisite unoriginality.
Think: rational milk without guile.
A macaw squawks in my throat.
I’ve pilfered someone else’s passion.
He’s singin’ in Swahili & strummin’ a guitar.
A jar of ice jade melted.
You’re not welcome here.
I wish I could feel sincere.
The world is flat and I am a garden.
15-28
Sir, addressing the floor in such a manner is inappropriate.
Sulk—now there’s a mood in which to sink.
Too often I dwell atop a brink of petulance.
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poem by Indigo Hawkins
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Living On A Planet That Kills More People Than It Heals
Living on a planet that kills more people than it heals.
And the most dangerous of predators, our own ideals
turning on us like ingrown hairs, solar flares the wind
blew in our faces without any of the veils or auroral graces
that used to adorn our amazement at what our eyes
in creative collaboration with victimized ions, could do
with the last breath of an expiring sun god to make it
mystically beautiful and awe-inspiring. Just
to be a witness to it was enough to keep your mouth
shut for the next ten thousand years, the silence
before the sublimity of being in the presence
as convincing to the farmer as it was to the astronomer.
As civilization progresses into an improved savagery
and people grow more bovine in their living rooms
as the one-eyed liar at the nadir of the third eye
entrances them into believing they're still
grazing in the starfields of genetically modified astroturf
they were raised on, slowly, from a moon cow's point of view
it's beginning to dawn on people that civilization
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poem by Patrick White
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The Cloud Messenger - Part 02
Your naturally beautiful reflection will gain entry into the clear waters of the
Gambhira River, as into a clear mind. Therefore it is not fitting that you, out
of obstinancy, should render futile her glances which are the darting leaps of
little fish, as white as night-lotus flowers.
Removing her blue garment which is her water, exposing her hips which are
her banks, it is clutched by cane-branches as if grasped by her hands.
Departure will inevitably be difficult for you who tarries, O friend. Who,
having experienced enjoyment, is able to forsake another whose loins are laid
bare?
A cool breeze, grown pleasant through contact with the scent of the earth
refreshed by your showers, which is inhaled by elephants with a pleasing
sound at their nostrils, and which is the ripener of wild figs in the forest,
gently fans you who desire to proceed to Devagiri.
There, you, taking the form of a cloud of flowers, should bathe Skanda, who
always resides there, with a shower of flowers, wet with the water of the
heavenly Ganges. For he is the energy surpassing the sun, that was born into
the mouth of the fire by the bearer of the crescent moon6 for the purpose of
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poem by Kalidasa
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Floundering
(carly simon)
First she sees her hypnotist
When she rushes to her psychiatrist
She sees her acupuncturist
Shes got to got to get fixed
Then she sees her scientologist
Gets fed by her nutritionist
She can not seem to resist
Seeking cosmic consciousness
Chorus:
Looks like shes floundering again
Seems to be floundering again
Looks like shes floundering again
Seems to be floundering again
She swears by jack la lanne
Then she throws the I ching again
She searches in the himalayas
For someone to ease the pain
Chorus
Shes looking for a cure
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song performed by Carly Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
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Put Your Big Toe In The Milk Of Human Kindness
Put your big toe in the milk of human kindness
Have you ever seen the like of this mankind?
If a boy or girl is cute, we simply shoot to starry heights
Any maybe, any might
But always so capricious, in the face of wonder were suspicious
And though we came from frogs and fishes
Our taste is far from fine
Put your big toe in the milk of human kindness
Put your big toe in the milk of human kindness
Have you ever seen the like of this mankind?
You take the himalayas, youll take manhattans finest mountain top
He wouldnt change his whiskey sour for any bitter crop
But always so contrary, from father christmas to the virgin mary
And though the moments of belief
Fly by before you find if youd just unhand your mind
Put your big toe in the milk of human kindness
But always so contrary, from father christmas to the virgin mary
And though the moments of belief
Fly by before you find if youd just unhand your mind
Put your big toe in the milk of human kindness
song performed by Elvis Costello
Added by Lucian Velea
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Who Dares To Take This Life From Me, Knows No Better
I
An important thing in living
Is to know when to go;
He who does not know this
Has not far to go,
Though death may come and go
When you do not know.
Come, give me your hand,
Together shoulder and cheek to shoulder
We'll go, sour kana in cheeks
And in the mornings cherry sticks
To gum: the infectious chilli smiles
Over touch-me-not thorns, crushing snails
From banana leaves, past
Clawing outstretched arms of the bougainvillea
To stone the salt-bite mangoes.
Tread carefully through this durian kampong
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poem by T. Wignesan
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