WE BROKE FREE,
thank god the gold is mine
Tuesday
Saturday
Friday
wool becomes a carpet, earth becomes a palace
is not the darkness of letters but the whiteness of a pure heart
Thursday
just like mine
The mirrors getting old, but its changing what I see
I know I am in love because lovers are internal
each one grips, marking a little threshold - tug at my heart string
there is a little peasant girl who is shooing the flies away from her eyes,
my eyes, the ones that show me so little.
Thumping around down there, in the depts of my confusion, are little mice consolidating my arguments.
A man is putting his chin to my head and I rest a little while, until I realise I have two chins
Rest is my possession now, and I sleep on the little arm of my love
I kiss her on the cheek and tell her little riddles to keep her awake,
her temperament always accommodating, just like mine
I know I am in love because lovers are internal
each one grips, marking a little threshold - tug at my heart string
there is a little peasant girl who is shooing the flies away from her eyes,
my eyes, the ones that show me so little.
Thumping around down there, in the depts of my confusion, are little mice consolidating my arguments.
A man is putting his chin to my head and I rest a little while, until I realise I have two chins
Rest is my possession now, and I sleep on the little arm of my love
I kiss her on the cheek and tell her little riddles to keep her awake,
her temperament always accommodating, just like mine
From Poem 2 of the Tarjuman al-Ashwaq, translated by R.A. Nicholson.
Wild is she, none can make her his friend
When she kills with her glances, her speech restores to life, as tho she, in giving life thereby, were Jesus.
The smooth surface of her legs is (like) the Tora in brightness, and I follow it and tread in its footsteps as tho' I were Moses.
She is a bishopess, one of the daughters of Rome, unadorned: thou seest in her a radiant Goodness.
Wild is she, none can make her his friend; she has gotten in her solitary chamber a mausoleum for remembrance.
She has baffled everyone who is learned in our religion, every student of the Psalms of David, every Jewish doctor, and every Christian priest.
If with a gesture she demands the Gospel, thou wouldst deem us to be priests and patriarchs and deacons.
The day when they departed on the road, I prepared for war the armies of my patience, host after host.
The smooth surface of her legs is (like) the Tora in brightness, and I follow it and tread in its footsteps as tho' I were Moses.
She is a bishopess, one of the daughters of Rome, unadorned: thou seest in her a radiant Goodness.
Wild is she, none can make her his friend; she has gotten in her solitary chamber a mausoleum for remembrance.
She has baffled everyone who is learned in our religion, every student of the Psalms of David, every Jewish doctor, and every Christian priest.
If with a gesture she demands the Gospel, thou wouldst deem us to be priests and patriarchs and deacons.
The day when they departed on the road, I prepared for war the armies of my patience, host after host.
Wednesday
col quote let
I refuse to contemplate the most beautiful countries of the earth, shrunken in the amorous mirror of your gaze
Colette
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