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Sitting in the North-oval, facing towards the BoydThe bells are ringing, and the sun is drifting away.
I wish everyday was a sunny day,
Every tree was a fruit tree,
Every seed an elixir; panacea of all ailments.
Then I wish I was a Daylily born in a sunny day,
Woken up by the gentle hands of the sun,
Boozed by the most limpid dews before the sun was up!
My day, my only day, is the pollination day;
Dispersing love freely, unknowingly, unceasingly!
But then the bells start to ring again:
Not just once, but twice, thrice, many times
And the nightingales begin to sing their favorite song:
The Daylily Lullaby!
OU--
5/17/2007
6 comments:
For once I really felt jealous of the freely living plants and birds; their unity and absolute harmony with nature. Of course I hear birds singing, but I do not know if they are lamenting their fate or singing out loud their joy. The nature as we know through the eyes of evolution is brutal and merciless. But, how bad can it get for the Daylily? It’s only a day; her birthday!
A Poem by Billy Collins:
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
Sitting by the Charles, watching nightingale's waltz
http://www.iranica.com/articles/v11f1/v11f1034.html
Sitting by the Charles,
sailors heading towards the bay,
The bells are ringing, and the sun is drifting away ...
Odes
1.
Of the gardens of Adonis, Lydia, I love
Most of all those fugitive roses
That on the day they are born,
That very day, must also die.
Eternal, for them, the light of day:
They're born when the sun is already high
And die before Apollo's course
Across the visible sky is run.
We too, of our lives, must make one day:
We never know, my Lydia, nor want
To know of nights before or after
The little while that we may last.
2.
To be great, be whole: nothing that's you
Should you exaggerate or exclude.
In each thing, be all. Give all you are
In the least you ever do.
The whole moon, because it rides so high,
Is reflected in each pool.
--Ricardo Reis 1888–1935
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