Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Song for the Rain

somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

-- e e cummings

Saturday, June 05, 2010

Dances on Trains

There is a trick I use to lighten work. You might want to try it.

I play a song. One-two, one-two.
In my head I begin to dance. In perfect rhythm, in perfect beat.
Then I begin to mouth the words. Silently.
The song and I become one; the song is I and I am song.

And as I dance in my head, sometimes I leave my desk, stand tippy-toed and slowly begin to move. First the feet; up and down. Then the shoulders, back and forth. Then the hips, sideways left and right, on a beat of two alternating with the shoulders. Then my arms move, jangling in misdirection, sans the grace or the discipline of my other body parts. The fingers twiddle, I make believe that I am playing the music.

Soon the room is shining. Every corner moves as does the world.
Space becomes a mere word, time immeasurable.

Then I add color. I imagine red, and jade, and gold.
And kohl-ed eyes and perfect curls.

You could take a picture. You really could.

And then the riff fades. My hands flop down, my shoulder step back and heave down, my hips settle down. I walk straight back to the desk. And here I am again.

But here’s something for you anyway.