Tram 11, a poem by Herman de Coninck

TRAM 11

Tram comes. Tram goes. Going: a young Zairean
humming huskily with baby, plenty of time,
intimate with each other, in public
yet still alone. The tram looks on.

Tram comes: a Moroccan woman tries to quiet
her whining little tatty boy. The more she shakes him,
the more syllables fall from him.
Until an Antwerp woman's ta-ta-ta

brings him to himself. And to all of us.
Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling through the town.
Public transport civilizes us, makes us festive,
maintains our confusion.
Herman de Coninck
Translated to English by Cedric Barfoot and Sonny Williams.

Way back in 2007, that was me reading Herman de Coninck's poem on stage in front of more than a few people. 

Amy Turn Sharp

Amy Turn Sharp writes poems I adore. 

On a day like today, when that UK storm is passing over us here in Belgium.  When the sun comes and goes.  When I am waiting on all kinds of things, unable to concentrate, I wander on over to 'Amy's Place' and find treasure like this.

I found Anna Sun over there once. 

Amy's poems are like this ...

Reading her website feels like going on a roadtrip, with good music and truly excellent stories.

Belly laughter and red wine, without hangovers.

I found the quote on the photograph below ... over on Amy's website, of course.

Dorianne Laux, Antilamentation

Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering any of it.
Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.

Dorianne Laux, an extract from her poem, Antilamentation .

It has been a truly insane week ... involving 5 intense hours with a camera crew filming me, a corporate photo-shoot and life.

Blog post to follow soon.


Love After Love, Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

'It Rained So Hard', Karen Bowles

It rained so hard

I was carrying around

word droplets in my shoes,

shaking them from my hair

and jacket,

watching them

gather in

shallow pools

of speech

all around my feet.

I can dip my toe

and come back

with a sentence

sliding down my

skin

with moisturizing

conversation.

If I open my mouth

to the sky

and stretch my wings,

hands upraised,

I will gather the

letters into a

little pile

and knit them into

a distinctive hat

you can wear

in the falling

words

to remind you

 

 

I am a sound upon
your lips
and a full-length novel
in your heart

I found this exquisite poem, by Karen Bowles, and just had to share.  There is more coming but for the moment, I’m letting the poem stand mostly on its own. 

For those who wish to know more, the poem comes from the website Luciole Press ...La Luciole is French for “The Firefly.”

“This multi-purpose arts publication, with a blog which is updated daily, is an effort to bring light and dark together in the same field. It seeks to cover many subjects, focusing especially on anything related to the arts, poetry, travel, commentary, ideas, and celebration of all cultures.