11/07/2007

Circe

HYPNOSE1
Inspired by a photo by Hans Jørgen Rasmussen

CIRCE

She's dangerous, pretending nothing's happening,
Flirting with the camera and the man behind it.
She bares herself, close up, on a background of mystery
And will tell you nothing. You guess
The unreal, unsafe darkness of her depths.
She lures you with her Circean song
Holds you captive, suspended on her serpent gaze,
And fascinated, you hesitate, you falter ...
As defeated, eyes closed, you take a willing
Step on the slippery edge of temptation.

© C.W. 1998

 

07:44 Écrit par Chris47 dans Poems in English | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) |  Facebook |

 Anima

Flute1 resized 25pct

Photo: Hans Jørgen Rasmussen

anima

To hold the dream,
Capture the instant
Frozen in a single frame of mind.
Breathing becomes an art,
A genesis of rhythm,
A blend of sighs
Searching for a mode of expression,
Suspended in time,
Revealing the depth of silence
Between each breath.
Just one step, and I'm gone,
Dissolving in a cascade of pure sounds.

© C.W. 1998

 

07:31 Écrit par Chris47 dans Poems in English | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) |  Facebook |

Solo

Bass3

Photo Hans Jørgen Rasmussen

SOLO

 

Absorbed, intent, all alone in the night,

He is his instrument, melting, diminuendo,

And his muffled solo is unmistakably

A soul display.

A soft hand plays, caresses strings,

Slides lovingly, self-involved, con amore.

Listen: he is alone — al-one

ALL ONE!

 

© C.W. 1998

04:25 Écrit par Chris47 dans Poems in English | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) |  Facebook |

 Enchanted

FLUTE1-T

Photo Hans Jørgen Rasmussen

enchanted

She plays safe, present
In her absence of clarity,
Missing the focal point
Without fading entirely.
A half-secret revealed
Holds her mystery complete.
You can almost hear her,
Magical, crystalline.
Then she slides out of reach,
An imperfect Doppler effect
Leaving elusive traces
Of half-attempted flight,
The undefinable coincidence
Of sound and light.

© C.W. 1998

 

04:15 Écrit par Chris47 dans Poems in English | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) |  Facebook |

Thorleif

 

THORLEIF

 

Inspired by "Thorleif", photo by Hans Jørgen Rasmussen

Thorleif

 

Drifting beyond silence

Disappearing inwards

Falling into myself

Taking leave of the world

Just for a moment

Floating on new sensations

Awakening emotions

Or just sliding

On the slopes to nowhere.

Introspection -

Tentative introduction

To a new kind of peace.

 

© C.W. 1998           

04:10 Écrit par Chris47 dans Poems in English | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) |  Facebook |

10/07/2007

 Lucy

Lucyorg resized 70 pct

Inspired by "Lucy" - Photo by  Hans Jørgen Rasmussen

LuCY 
 
Music has taken over; music plays me.
Notes escape, rise, lighter than air,
Dance in the light, dance in my head.
I close my eyes. The music plays itself.
The light strikes a note on my bow,
Plays on us, plays with us,
Creates its own concert
Light as an angel's wing,
Outside, inside, uncertain,
Searching, ready, willing.
A symphony of rays and notes,
Dance like the sound of angels,
Softly - in my head.

(April 18, 1998)
(c) C.W. 1998

 

 

23:46 Écrit par Chris47 dans Poems in English | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) |  Facebook |

Patient Judas

Abbaye de Vaux le Cernay AUF

Patient Judas

There is always a professional listener

Somewhere

Who leans back and folds

His arms across his chest,

Nods quietly, approvingly,

Because you have just said

What he expected

Or he is falling asleep,

Eyes wide on you.

The tape runs – yours faithfully.

In his one-way silence, the Master

Teaches the art of soul-striptease.

He could anticipate your new skin

And might see it fig-leaved, Freudian,

Unisex, please!

Roomy enough for your beliefs.

But he leans back and indulges

In the past tense of your tales:

The youthful sins

And the hours you spent looking

For four-leaved clovers in the unfit

Carpet of marriage.

He drinks in your life like a sponge

To be squeezed to the last sob into Lethe

At the end of the tape.

The appointment card feels in your hand

Doubtful as a passport to a state of grace

Reached via self-treason.

You renew it each week,

Unloving yourself,

Betraying your pain to the liberal ear.

And he nods patiently,

Rhythmic as an articulated toy,

Eyes right through you,

Weighing his next case already –

Also worth, to a sin,

Thirty pieces of silver.

 

12.05.82

 

© C.W. 1982

23:37 Écrit par Chris47 dans Poems in English | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) |  Facebook |