L'aura del Campo

A poem from Alfred.

L'aura del campo

WINTER: 3 Mulk (9 February) 23º and cloudy.

'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos'
♣ Federico García Lorca ♣

Alfred's poem

alfred booth, wanbli ska commented about IMAGES I put in my blog a couple entries ago. Since most of us don't read old entries this is what he wrote:

Let's see:

"Scent of clove cigarettes; salt; banks of snirt; white snow; music coming from under the awning at Wink Eyewear; bare bricks; cold ears (24 degrees on the bank clock); full moon shining through thin wisps of clouds."

full moon scented with cloves
salt tinges my cheeks
my tears dotting the white snow
the bare bricks, red and blood stained
where I sit, are cold...
the bank clock chimes, I don't count them
and a passerby tells me it's 24 degrees
the music of his voice
is like thin wisps of clouds
or cigarette smoke from Wink's open doors
why do I cry today?
[2007.9.2...a]

Thank you once again Kåre for all of your inspiration. Your generosity is good for all of us; you have nothing bad to say about any of us, and I am pleased to read your musings, your poetry, your adventures, your insights, and participate in my small ways.

There is no way I can adequately express my emotions upon reading this. Alfred took the images and wove them into a poem I could never have written. Oh ... I can write, but I would've been too literal, too "That's not how it was!". It's like taking 6 words and writing a sestina. Our best poems are not fact; they seek truths far deeper than that.

Me, my friends and my family

I saw Carol Thursday. I want to write about her and her fascination with trains. I'll work in the poem 'Lipstick' I wrote for her somehow.

Saw Richard at Tea, but I didn't have a sheet of poems to pass out ... again. I'm slipping, stressing out over stuff I won't put here, but maybe next week I can get back on course. Drank China Rose and Apricot Arabesque.

Saw Susan this morning. Had her read the bad news I received. Life goes on.

IMAGES and RAMBLINGS

On Ohio near Eleventh, I stop intrigued by two windchimes joining in a melody. I turn around look down. Dog poop. As I pass by the neighbors porch a voice rings out. Someone I know bids me to 'be good'. Next house I see two young men and a rottweiler that barks at me. I laugh. I think of the poop.

At Tea, the smell of China Rose while reading Jay Play's issue dedicated to 'Sex on the Hill'. I read about strawberry flavored condoms that taste like latex, the dental dam that tastes much better. On the back I note the advertisement calendar of the restaurants and bars for their nightly drink specials. I think of how half of the students here must be under 21. I realize that that doesn't matter to most and that the taste of condoms doesn't either. I finish off my apple caramel square and go back for more tea. This time Apricot Arabesque.

WATT'S GNU!

Too much to comment on. Anna Nicole Smith died. Only 39. Not exactly a happy year for her after losing her son. I'll let the pundits argue over this one. I didn't follow her career, probably know less about her life than most people. I don't watch much t.v. and don't read the gossip rags. Still ... 39 seems a bit young.

Oswego and Mexico, New York are getting feet of snow. Perhaps as much as 100 inches (2 1/2 meters) this week. They are used to snow. I remember driving through Mexico as a child; my sister lived in Oswego for a couple years. On the eastern end of the snowbelt off Lake Ontario (that seldom freezes over) they get socked with snow every year. Syracuse to the south is not quite as snowy.

In the beat of a drum

He who once found eternity
in the joyful song of his son,

weeps at news of impending war
and the clanging beat of the drum.

For all his goodness has been in vain;
they take his only one. Now no grand-

children will ever call his name;
the end of his legacy's come.

[163.567]

The weather has been cloudy, sunny, cold but not bad for February. Not the bitter chill pill we have to swallow some years.

READING

David Kirby is an interesting read. I'm trying to figure out why I like some of his poems in "I think I'm going to call my wife Paraguay". Many are surrealistic to the point of non-sensical, but there seems to always be a point.

Read part of Esera Tuaolo's book, "Alone in the Trenches" too. Especially how his story broke out. He underestimated the impact! He did it for himself and his family, the best reasons of course.

BLOGVILLE

One of the strongest young writers I have had the pleasure of reading is right here at WDC. She is thoughtful, rational and bright. Sheherazade has written an entry "Invalid Entry"  about whether or not Wagner should be played because of his anti-semitism. Awesome entry, worthy of a read by everyone. Rivka is only 17, but her writing and thought processes are very mature.

Grumble. Finally figured out where Cappucine 's blog "Invalid Item"  is hidden. Not easy to find these things unless they are linked at the left side of the portfolio, like on mine:

Kåre Enga
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Ah, if it were only that easy ...


Quote

You are a haiku in a comic book world.

~ Nike Carli, in reference to me!

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