poetry

how wonderful

How wonderful to be understood,
to just sit here while some kind person
relieves you of the awful burden
of having to explain yourself, of having
to find other words to say what you meant,
or what you think you thought you meant,
and of the worse burden of finding no words,
of being struck dumb . . . because some bright person
has found just the right words for you—and you
have only to sit here and be grateful
for words so quiet so discerning they seem
not words but literate light, in which
your merely lucid blossomiong grows lustrous.
How wonderful that is!

And how altogether wonderful it is
not to be understood, not at all, to, well,
just sit here while someone not unkindly
is saying those impossibly wrong things,
or quite possbily they’re the right things
if you are, which you’re not, that somone
—a difference, finally, so indifferent
it would be conceit not to let it pass,
unkindness, really, to spoil someone’s fun.
And so you don’t mind, you welcome the umbrage
of those high murmurings over your head,
having found, after all, you are grateful
—and you understand this, how wonderful!—
that you’ve been led to be quietly yourself,
like a root growing wise in darkness
under the light litter, the falling words.

– irving feldman

 

 

Standard
music, poetry

5 moments*

 

 

  • “Hi Liz, not sure if I mentioned this classic song which is relatively & slightly dated. (1991)

    The Field Mice (UK) song title “5 Moments” Easily available on YT of course.

    But still fantastic for 2017???
    A new & better (even EDM/dream-pop version) or an exact cover. I think it could work for you as a b-side for your 1st single?
    I hope you are having a good weekend. I’m going back to camp in the Palisaides to wait out the heatwave.
    Hope to see you next week.
    =bob”
Standard
poetry

Natalia F.

oh Natalia
you are so lovely
I have to try
hard 
not to stare

I want to run
my fingers
over your face and
photograph your skin
in dappled
sunlight

If I were a boat
on stormy waters I
would reach my oars
out to you and
offer you my
rest

would you let me
wild haired lady?

or would the distant
calls of Michael Jackson
and whispers from
your telephone
beckon you out of
my safety net

I don’t think
I could ever
bottle up
your beauty

or

hold back
the force
of your current
with my noble
intent

until we are free
though
to walk on dry land
I just ask that
you let me touch
the hem of your garments
and breathe in
the space you
occupy
so gracefully

and pretend
that I’ve
pulled back the curtain
in your mind and
understood
what’s
inside

somehow

Standard