Caveat: Their greenness is a kind of grief

The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

– Philip Larkin (British poet, 1922-1985)

Caveat: Wagyaan giina gha naahlingaay da aasgii gwaayaay inggut ll qinsgaayan

Gaaysta ll qayits dluu
haw ising xhitiit ahlaang tsaagudan ghan ll qaattlagan.
Ll sghunsaangan.
Gam tlagw ll naahlingaay qanggaangan,
Stluuttsadang haw suugangan.

Xhitiit ga ghan ll qiingwas
gyaan llaga ttl gwawgangan.
Wadluu llagu ll naahlingaay gaws dluu
gwii tlakkwaan·gan ll xitgwan·gangan.
Wagyaan giina gha naahlingaay da aasgii gwaayaay inggut ll qinsgaayan.

Wadluu hin Yaahl {ll} suudayan,
"Hlaxaayik gha hl xit."
Giina guunaga Hlaxaayit ttaaya gyangan
ahljiiyahlu gha lla ll suudayani.

"Haw giina gunagaay gyans hl kkudii,
dang tsin isis ahla," hin lla ll suudayan.
Wakkyanan llaga ll hlghwagayan.

Llaga ll hlwaagas ghan aa
giina guunagas unsadalan dluu,
"Hahl gwaa ttakkanaay,
dii kkuuk gha hl naa," hin lla ll suudayan.
"Wagyaan dang giidalang gam tsaghagudangghang asga."

Ahljiiyahlu wiid llagha ll naagan
lla ll tsindas ahla.

- Kingagwaaw
When he [the Raven] left that place,
here came another bird with no home of his own.
He was all by himself.
He had no place to live,
the Sapsucker said.

When he perched with other birds,
they drove him away.
And so, having no place to live,
he kept flying all the time.
And he searched the Islands for something to live in.

Then the Raven said,
"Fly to Hlaxaayik."
He said it because
something dead stood at Hlaxaayik.

"Peck the standing dead thing with your beak.
It's alright; it's your grandfather," he said to him.
Nevertheless, he was afraid of it.

When the dead thing understood
that he was afraid of it,
it said to him, "Grandson, come here.
Live in my heart,
and your children will not be left homeless."

That's where he lives even now,
because that is his grandfather.

- Kingagwaaw (Haida storyteller, early 1900s), translated by Robert Bringhurst

The above fragment appears quoted in the footnotes of Bringhurst’s translation of the Qquuna Cycle by the Haida poet Skaay, in Bringhurst’s volume Being in Being.

Caveat: 사람들은 때때로 수평선 밖으로 뛰어내린다

사람들은 때때로
수평선이 될 때가 있다

사람들은 때때로
수평선 밖으로 뛰어내릴 때가 있다

밤이 지나지 않고 새벽이 울 때
어머니를 땅에 묻고 산을 내려올 때

스스로 사랑이라고 부르던 것들이
모든 증오일 때

사람들은 때때로
수평선 밖으로 뛰어내린다

– 정호승 (한국시인 1950-)

Life

Occasionally there are times
when people turn into horizons.

Occasionally there are times
when people leap beyond the horizon.

When dawn arrives before night has passed,
when descending the hills after burying one’s mother,

When things that once called themselves love
are all of hatred,

Occasionally people
leap beyond the horizon.

– Jeong, Ho-seung (Korean poet, b 1950) (Translated by Anthony of Taizé and Susan Hwang)

Caveat: where is the man who lives out of himself?

Where is the Poet


The inky-garmented, truth-dead Cloud — woven by dumb ghost alone in
       the darkness of phantasmal mountain-mouth — kidnapped the 
       maiden Moon, silence-faced, love-mannered, mirroring her golden
       breast in silvery rivulets:
The Wind, her lover, grey-haired in one moment, crazes around the
       Universe, hunting her dewy love-letters, strewn secretly upon the
       oat-carpets of the open field.
O, drama! never performed, never gossiped, never rhymed! Behold — to
       the blind beast, ever tearless, iron-hearted, the Heaven has no
       mouth to interpret these tidings!
Ah, where is the man who lives out of himself? — the poet inspired often
       to chronicle these things?
- Yone Noguchi (Japanese poet [composing in English], 1875-1947)

Caveat: ella me llamó pa tras

What I’m listening to right now.

Proyecto Uno, “Te dejaron flat.” I like this song so much. I’ve posted it before (about 7 years ago, here). It’s not that I like it in thematic terms, per se – it’s pretty typical of a certain genre of Dominican-American music, called merengue-house. Rather, I like it because of what’s going on in it linguistically. Constant code-switching, not just between Spanish and English, but between different registers and dialects within each language, too, including all kinds of non-standard calques going on, such as in the title of this blog post. It’s the sort of revelatory text that can reveal how new languages suddenly emerge out of the interaction of existing ones.

Letra.

Primera noche, recibí una llamada, aha
Fue mi exnovia, sorpresa en mi cara, aha
Ella me llamó pa decirme, negrito me haces falta, aha
Yo la quiero sacar a bailar pero yo no tengo plata, a.

So what’s up baby, echa pa acá y yo cocino, aha
Es una mentira, sin embargo es mi estilo, aha
Ella dijo sí, en una hora estoy ahí, aha
Me quedé esperando hasta que me dormí (you tell me)

Uh, ya tú sae, oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he, plantao
Say word, (word…) oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he, bajo ya

Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube

Segunda noche, ella me llamó pa tras, aha
Pero como Robelto Durán, yo dije no más, aha
Ella lloró y me dijo discúlpame por favor, aha
Si vienes a casa te demostraré amor, aha.

Me tardé pero arranqué y yo llegué, aha
Pa la casa de la chama, le toque y timbré, aha
Ella contestó con una cara asustada, aha
Dijo que su novio vino sin decirle nada (damn!)

Uh, ya tú sae, oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he, plantao
Say word, (word…) oh te dejaron flat
Uh, ya tú sae, hey
(Alrigh’, y’all sing wi’ me now)
Eo, eo, eeo, eeo, eieio, eieio
Eo, eo, eeo, eeo, eiooo, eiooo

Sigue

Think you gonna play me out this time? (this time)
Think you gonna leave me stinkin?
Think you gonna hurt me?
Think I had what you been drinkin?

Hey mami no te cruces porque no soy tu jueguito
No me llames por teléfono si tú no quieres dar
Con mala fama y yo te lo confirmo
No quiero problema, tú así conmigo
No vale la pena, ay negra, ay negra
(ay negra, ay negra)
Por qué me trata así, no me digas que me quieres
Si yo sé que tú no tienes tiempo para mí (you tell me)

Mami menéalo, mami menea, nea
Mami menéalo, mami menea, nea
(Break it down)
Dale pa bajo baby, dale pa bajo así
Dale pa bajo baby (pick it up, pick it up, pick it up)

… con Proyecto… Uno!

Y la gente dice

Uh, ya tú sae, oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he, plantao
Say word, (word…) oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he… (break it down)

Así, así, así, así, así, así
Así, así, así

Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube

Caveat: your legacy, written in blood and dead magic

What I’m listening to right now.

Xiuhtezcatl, “Magic”

Lyrics.

ISA:
Magic and song and the sound of a drum
From the sea to the sky to the land
Feel the sun on my skin
I'm at one with the wind
Elements in the palm of my hand (x2)

Xiuhtezcatl:
I feel this change, where has the magic gone
I feel it less and less with each breath I draw
No longer taste it in the water, or hear it in the wind
It's fading like the music as the record stops spinning
It's no longer in your eyes, hoping it's only in disguise
Replaced by hunger for everything I despise
Tipping the scales, we losing balance, we moving mountains
Drillin the shale we're choosing profit we soak the canvas
Taste the poison whenever the wind blows
Wage war people suffering while we kill the planet
I lost my innocence sooner than most
Watching our world die something I couldn't control
And I couldn't have known, that I'd never turn back
Now what I carry is something that no one could understand
My generation's losing sight of the magic I feel
Plagued by insecurities, slit wrists, bottles of pills
Forgot the beauty of life, tell yourselves you'd rather die
Then use every time you fell as a step towards the sky
I took all of my tears, I took all of my pain
Turned it into poetry and lyrics that gave me my name
With Every battle I fight
And every song that I write
Every time my ego collides with the passion inside
Every star on the canvas every word every line
Is in hope to restore magic I can no longer find

ISA:
Magic and song and the sound of a drum
From the sea to the sky to the land
Feel the sun on my skin
I'm at one with the wind
Elements in the palm of my hand (x2)

TRU:
It's all in the trees
All in the wind
Reaching the seas
Washing my sins away
Change within
I feel
I know myself
But now these days are strange and nights are cold
And people afraid to move forward
Deliver the truth in your word
When you grab the moment
Grab the mic, they all gon' listen, homie
Seeing the vision
Slowly with consistence things prevail
A Shovel and pail, I'm digging a well
If you couldn't tell, I'm talking for real
I know you feel, that's never a fail
Only the pen
You just need the peace
It's all in-your G
Just focus your Chi
If we can just focus then we can control it
Don't come from the lotus than I won't condone it
Magic is secret, and mine's on the lowest
My keys are sacred so I cannot show ‘em
I'm growin'
I'm glowin'
I'm all the way (all the way)
Up in the atmosphere far away (far away)
Land that I walk on a part of me
Master had once ripped my ancestor's hearts away
So I love properly
Magic in the motherland, I been havin' fun with then
Elevating with my friends: Legacy
I just hope that all these pages make it through the phases
All these changes coming got me going crazy (crazy)
Got to hold on to my magic that's what made me (x2)
Can't you see that this is magic in the making
Got to hold on to my magic that's what made me

ISA:
Magic and song and the sound of a drum
From the sea to the sky to the land
Feel the sun on my skin
I'm at one with the wind
Elements in the palm of my hand (x2)

Xiuhtezcatl:
This is your legacy, written in blood and dead magic
You want it all, but you know that you can't have it
All that you have was stolen from someone else
From a future generation that's inheriting hell
This is your legacy, written in tears and lost magic
In pursuit of knowledge we've lost understanding
You see great cities I see empires falling
Our hearts encased in glass caskets of concrete
We build machines that explore what the stars mean
But nothing digital will ever match a heartbeat
We take it back
Repair a broken legacy
Return this magic determine our own destiny

Caveat: So glad I’m not in school

I like this song, sorta, but mostly I like the video. It’s cute and well-done and matches the song well.

What I’m listening to right now.

Nizlopi, “JCB Song.”

Lyrics.

Well, I'm rumblin' in this JCB
I'm 5 years old and my dad's giant sitting beside me
And the engine rattles my bum like berserk
While we're singin, "Don't forget your shovel if you want to go to work!"
My dad's totally had a bloody hard day
But he's been good fun and bubblin and jokin' away
And the procession of cars stuck behind
Are gettin all impatient and angry, but we dont mind
An' we're holdin up the bypass
Oh
Me and my dad havin a top laugh
Oh woah
Sittin on the toolbox
Oh
And I'm so glad I'm not in school, boss
So glad I'm not in school
Oh no...
And we pull over to let the cars pass
And pull off again, speedin by the summer green grass
And we're like giants up here in our big yellow digger
Like zoids, or transformers, or maybe even bigger
And I wanna transform into a Tyrannosaurus Rex!
And eat up all the bullies and the teachers and their pets
And I'll tell em I'm 8, my dad's ba barakas
Only with a JCB and Bruce Lee's nunchuckas
And we're holdin up the bypass
Oh
Me and my dad havin' a top laugh
Oh woah
Sittin' on the toolbox
Oh
And I'm so glad I'm not in school, boss
So glad I'm not in school
And we're holdin' up the bypass
Oh oh
Me and my dad havin' a top laugh
Oh woah
I'm sittin on the toolbox
Oh oh
And I'm so glad I'm not in school box
So glad I'm not in school
-
Said I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round
And we're holdin' up the bypass
Woah
Me and my dad havin' a top laugh
Oh woah
And I'm sittin' on the toolbox
Oh
And I'm so glad I'm not in school box
So glad I'm not in school
Aw, said
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his
Aw, I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.

Caveat: 배치기

I had forgotten about this song. But it came around on a random play on my music player.

I blogged it a few years ago (um, 7?). However, the video there has disappeared – “link rot.”  I couldn’t find an official version, but here’s a performance of the song from the Korean TV show “쇼미더머니” which is a musical competition for amateurs where they  perform famous musical bits. I decided to do a rare “re-posting” of some music rather than go back and repair the old blog entry.

배치기, “콩깍지.”

가사.

B.A.E.C.H.I.G.I 이제 나왔으니
모두 친구들에게 전하기
하던 일들 전부 stop 모두 집중 여기 spot
들어볼까 기묘한 그 이야기

뭉탁!

탁>
그 꼬라지로 나와 너네가 얼마나 버티겠냐고
그냥 하던 대로 가라고
가만히 서서 중간이라도 가는 게
두말하면 입 아프다라고 말하는데
배치기 배엔 기름이 꼈네
믿음 따윈 져버리고 지네끼리 건배
그리고 나선 도망가네 조만간에 절망감이란
포만감으로 휩싸여야 정신 차리겠네

무웅>
어떤 인간들은 내게 말하겠지
너 얼마나 잘되나 두고 보자고
완전히 Reset 된 배치기
이제 누가 아냐고 물어보라고
그나마 누렸던 인기의 맛만
본걸로 만족해 알잖아 만만
치 않은 이곳에 이미 한물간
니들이 발 붙일 곳 없을 거라고

무웅>
이거 정말 난리나 버렸지
아무런 생각 없이 전부 내쳐 버렸지
모든 게 다 뒤바뀌어 버렸지
배치기 인생살이 제 눈에 낀 콩깍지

무웅>
뜻대로 되지만은 않을 거다
그러다가 망한 애들 여럿 봤다
새로운 변화에 신이 났겠지만
장담하건대 넌 예전이 낫다
제풀에 꺽일 네 모습이 선해
반전은 기대마 알잖아 뻔해
더 신 나게 떠들어라 웃고는 있지만
초조함 숨기려 내 맘은 탄다

탁>
겁을 먹었냐고 천만의 말씀
거품 빼고 우리만의 길을 가고픈 것뿐
당차게 박차고 나와서
난 바로 이 네 박자에 몸을 실었음
내 길에 내기를 걸어봐라
내 미래엔 배짱부리며 배 내미네 째봐라 그래
내가 쓰러지나 봐라 부러지나 봐라
날이 지나 봐라 끝내 누가 남았나

이거 정말 난리나 버렸지
아무런 생각 없이 전부 내쳐 버렸지
모든 게 다 뒤바뀌어 버렸지
배치기 인생살이 제 눈에 낀 콩깍지

B.A.E.C.H.I.G.I 이제 나왔으니
모두 친구들에게 전하기
하던 일들 전부 stop 모두 집중 여기 spot
들어볼까 기묘한 그 이야기

탁>
서로 머리 맞대면서 많은 날을 고민했지
배부르면 봄날이냐고
까놓고 말해보자 우리들의 전성기는
언제부터 언제였냐고
몇 번의 박수로 우쭐거리며
살아나간 지난날의 우릴 반성하자고
죽이 되든 밥이 되든 피래미 시절
기억하며 아둥바둥 살아보자고

이거 정말 난리나 버렸지
아무런 생각 없이 전부 내쳐 버렸지
모든 게 다 뒤바뀌어 버렸지
배치기 인생살이 제 눈에 낀 콩깍지 예

B.A.E.C.H.I.G.I
B.A.E.C.H.I.G.I 예

Caveat: There, in the calm of some Platonic dream

This poem, below, was not written by a human being, as best I understand. It was written by one of those new “learning algorithm” AIs (Artificial Intelligences), where you give the AI a large pile of “training data” (i.e. in this case, a vast corpus of human-written poetry) and then say, more or less, “OK, give me a new one like that.” It works similarly to the way google-translate manages to make sense out of changing one language to another, without actually understanding a damn thing. It’s statistics, writ large.

Methinks I see her in her blissful dreams:
Or, fancy-like, in some mirage she lies,
Majestic yet majestic, and of seems
The image of the unconquerable skies.

Methinks I see her in her blissful dreams:
—Or, fancy-like, in some majestic cell,
Where lordly seraphs strew their balmy dreams
On the still night, or in their golden shell.

There, in the calm of some Platonic dream,
Sits she, and views the unclouded moon arise
Like a fair lady full of realms divine;

And, all at once, a stony face and bright
Glittering in moonlight, like the noon-tints of a night.

I found it, and other AI-generated poetry, on the slatestarcodex blog.

All very interesting.

 

Caveat: Art should be arcane

Two musical threads of my life have finally been knit together in an unexpected way. I found this entertaining, two ways to Tuesday.

What I’m listening to right now.

Merle Hazard, “Ol’ Atonal Music.”

Lyrics.

I dedicate this song to my father.

My dad was a composer,
Modern was his style.
His music always made you think,
It never made you smile.
He wrote for chamber orchestra,
Now and then, for voice
Tonality, in Daddy’s world, was just another choice.
Yeah, Poppa’s compositions came in rigid, twelve-tone rows,
There was no tonal center to the music he’d compose.
He was a lover of complexity;
Some have said pretense.
His music wasn’t joyful,
It was just abstract and dense.

Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music.
It lingers in my ears!
Schoenberg and Alban Berg were the genre’s pioneers.
You can keep yoru Bach and Chopin,
They’re melodic and passe.
Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music,
Like Daddy used to play.

Give ’em some, Alison!

[Banjo solo]

Aha!
That’s right.

Since dear ol’ Daddy left us,
Life has been so hard.
There aren’t enough musicians
Who embrace the avant-garde.
No one plays atonally at their home or on the stage.
I miss Igor Stravinsky, my Dad, and ol’ John Cage.

[“Piano solo”]

Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music.
Like my Daddy used to write.
It was hard sing if you rehearsed,
Impossible by sight.
Emotion is for simple folk.
Art should be arcane.
Some compositions feed the heart;
My Daddy’s fed the brain.

Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music.
How I love those random hops!
I’ve tried to write that way myself,
But I’m not as skilled as Pops.
You can keep your Brahms and Chopin,
They’re melodic and passe
Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music,
Like Daddy used to play.
Like Daddy used to play.
Like Daddy used to play.

I miss you, Daddy!

Caveat: a human snow

Occupation

The soldiers are
hard at work,
building a house.
They hammer
bodies into the earth
like nails,
they paint the walls
with blood.
Inside, the doors
are locked, shut
like eyes of stone.
And the stairs
are icy, all flights
go down.
There is no floor,
only a roof,
where ash is falling —
dark snow,
a human snow,
thickly, blackly
falling.
Come, they say.
This house will
last forever.
You shall occupy it.
And you, and you —
Come, they say.
There is room
for everyone.

– Suji Kwock Kim (American poet, b 1969)

[daily log: walking, 4km; driving, 500km]

Caveat: después de muchos años

EL INVENTOR DE LAS METÁFORAS…

El inventor de las metáforas
se parece al duende de los gatos
metiéndose a media noche
por la boca abierta de los niños
para fabricar sus sueños con pesadillas.

El inventor de las metáforas
saborea con su lengua pegajosa
cada llanto infantil
arañando las sábanas.
Y los niños sudorosos
se abrazan a la almohada
e intentan descifrar
la forma de su angustia.

El inventor de las metáforas
siembra una semilla venenosa
que germina en poema
o agoniza en locura después de muchos años.

– Ana Merino (poeta española, n. 1971)

[daily log: walking, 2.5km]

Caveat: 보았던 거니까 like dejavu

지금 듣고있는 것.

보이콜드, “Youth!” This song is the most completely, fully bilingual bit of Khiphop (Korean hip hop) that I’ve run across. Completely at ease in both languages, with constant code-switching.

가사.

Yeah, alright, I’ll go…

I’m trynna keep it fresh like
헤엄치는 lil fish life
바다엔 없지 no finish line
구르다가 이제야 나 쉬는 time

그림을 그리려 해
어두운 도화지 위에
when I draw some milky way
아른대지 이리저리
어지러운 팔레트 위에

봐 무슨 일이 벌어지는지
따라 하진 말아 거울 보듯이
사랑하면 사랑을 줘야지
다 너인 듯이 대해줘 please

왜냐 finally 만물이
너와 같다는 걸 알게 될 터이니
we livin’ livin’ but ain’t dead fool
보았던 거니까 like dejavu

삶이란 건 쩔어 있기 너무 쉬워
눈 풀어 버리고 다시 함
swerve
썼던 거 꺼내서 다시 써
다시금 씹어 줬으면 해서

성원이 형처럼
boy and cold
내 목 풀어야해 또
on and on
큼큼 아아 음음 음음
let’s get it on

alright 몰라
that’s fine 정말
good life good life
높아 진짜
livin my life we’ll be so fine
tv sofa on my life

얼마 안남았지
전국에 발자국 마킹
옆엔 섭이 파피
toys-r-us 쓸어 담지
내 인생 life so flip

탈출했지 찐찌
rich kid like i’m franky
ocean
눈치보던 나를 모셔
이젠 보여 내 몸 보석

내 친구들 모여 light it up
hive so high 내 사비로
다 쏠게 있는 일 다 미뤄
질투 시샘들은 다 뒤로

이젠 살지 않아 간 보며
living good times like 팔로형
좋은 일밖에 난 안보여
계속 난 달리지 만보 yuh

imma go do that right
바뀌지 switching side
imma go do that right
바뀌지 switching side

여전해 한 손에는 글라스에
만드네 좋은 track
boycold가 callin 해
공을 채워 통장에
계속 ballin 해

alright 몰라
that’s fine 정말
good life good life
높아 진짜
livin my life we’ll be so fine
tv sofa on my life

boy cold boycold on a beat
쩌는게 들리는데 넌 어디
내 인천 동생 성원이와
퍼즐 히트 칠 땐 넘 어렸지

친구들과 다른 길을 걸었지
보란 듯이 증명해 버렸지
목표에 닿긴 아직 멀었지
헛되 보이는 꿈을 꾸자 철없이

꿈은 이뤄져
근데 왜 친구는 잃어져
요즘은 이런 일이 잦고 잘 지내냐는
질문은 싫어졌다가도
다시 듣고 싶어져
뻔한 물음이어도

구름이 어둡게 해도
그저 어린 내가 나는 좋대도
오늘이 내 남은 날의 첫day고
부디 넌 내 목소릴 기억해줘

삶이란 건 너무 엄청나
허나 고생은 다 거쳐가
그래서 축복이 넘쳐나지 우린
하늘이 될 거야 거처가

that’s right goes
around comes around
축복하며 살자 하온아 성원아
성원하자 모두 서로가 서로와
잊어버려 지나가버린
summer night

alright 몰라
that’s fine 정말
good life good life
높아 진짜
livin my life we’ll be so fine
tv sofa on my life

[daily log: walking, 4km]

Caveat: Slow advancing, halting, creeping

She Walketh Veiled and Sleeping

She walketh veiled and sleeping,
For she knoweth not her power;
She obeyeth but the pleading
Of her heart, and the high leading
Of her soul, unto this hour.
Slow advancing, halting, creeping,
Comes the Woman to the hour!—
She walketh veiled and sleeping,
For she knoweth not her power.

– Charlotte Perkins Gilman (American poet, 1860-1935)

[daily log: walking, 4km]

Caveat: thy greatness and thy coldness too

A Hymn to the Moon

Thou silver deity of secret night,
Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;
Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,
The Lover’s guardian, and the Muse’s aid!
By thy pale beams I solitary rove,
To thee my tender grief confide;
Serenely sweet you gild the silent grove,
My friend, my goddess, and my guide.
E’en thee, fair queen, from thy amazing height,
The charms of young Endymion drew;
Veil’d with the mantle of concealing night;
With all thy greatness and thy coldness too.

– Mary Wortley Montagu (English poet, 1689-1762)

[daily log: walking, ]

Caveat: blind, we follow / rain slant

Coda

A strong song tows
us, long earsick.
Blind, we follow
rain slant, spray flick
to fields we do not know.

Night, float us.
Offshore wind, shout,
ask the sea
what’s lost, what’s left,
what horn sunk,
what crown adrift.

Where we are who knows
of kings who sup
while day fails? Who,
swinging his axe
to fell kings, guesses
where we go?

– Basil Bunting (British poet, 1900-1985)

[daily log: walking, 2km]

Caveat: Finaliza septiembre

Hora de la ceniza

Finaliza septiembre. Es hora de decirte
lo difícil que ha sido no morir.

Por ejemplo, esta tarde
tengo en las manos grises
libros hermosos que no entiendo,
no podría cantar aunque ha cesado ya la lluvia
y me cae sin motivo el recuerdo
del primer perro a quien amé cuando niño.

Desde ayer que te fuiste
hay humedad y frío hasta en la música.
Cuando yo muera,
sólo recordarán mi júbilo matutino y palpable,
mi bandera sin derecho a cansarse,
la concreta verdad que repartí desde el fuego,
el puño que hice unánime
con el clamor de piedra que exigió la esperanza.

Hace frío sin ti. Cuando yo muera,
cuando yo muera
dirán con buenas intenciones
que no supe llorar.
Ahora llueve de nuevo.
Nunca ha sido tan tarde a las siete menos cuarto
como hoy.

Siento deseos de reír
o de matarme.

– Roque Dalton (poeta salvadoreño, 1935-1975)

[daily log: walking, 4km; tromping, 300m]

Caveat: me queda la palabra

EN EL PRINCIPIO

Si he perdido la vida, el tiempo, todo
lo que tiré, como un anillo, al agua,
si he perdido la voz en la maleza,
me queda la palabra.

Si he sufrido la sed, el hambre, todo
lo que era mío y resultó ser nada,
si he segado las sombras en silencio,
me queda la palabra.

Si abrí los labios para ver el rostro
puro y terrible de mi patria,
si abrí los labios hasta desgarrármelos,
me queda la palabra.

– Blas de Otero Muñoz (poeta español, 1916-1979)

[daily log: walking, 3km; tromping, 300m]