Tag Archives: Vers Libre

Dance, Dance, Dance, Surrender [Free Verse]

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Moving through the Great Spontaneous,
   Blender blades barely missing --
      In fact, sometimes nicking.

   The accumulation of those nicks
      Is aging.
   It takes an ever-defter dance to keep
       The damage buildup to a constant pace --
   Not letting it blitz one,
       Or pull one into the turbine:
           Like a goose through 
           The turbofans of a 787.
       A goose may kill a plane,
            But becomes dust in the process.
        When one surrenders to the choppers
            One will not have the satisfaction
             Of killing the vehicle,
             Of bringing it all down.
  The Universe will go on,
      And one's molecules will become
            Something new.

“America” by Walt Whitman

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Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
 All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,
 Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
 Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love,
 A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother,
 Chair’d in the adamant of Time.

“To a Husband” by Amy Lowell

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Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River
   Are your words in the dark, Beloved.

“Fast Rode the Knight” by Stephen Crane [w/ Audio]

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Fast rode the knight
 With spurs, hot and reeking,
 Ever waving an eager sword,
 "To save my lady!"
 Fast rode the knight,
 And leaped from saddle to war.
 Men of steel flickered and gleamed
 Like riot of silver lights,
 And the gold of the knight's good banner
 Still waved on a castle wall.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
A horse,
 Blowing, staggering, bloody thing,
 Forgotten at foot of castle wall.
 A horse
 Dead at foot of castle wall.

BOOK: “The Pocket Rumi” ed. / trans. by Kabir Helminski

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The Pocket Rumi (Shambhala Pocket Library)The Pocket Rumi by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Publisher Site – Shambhala

This is a selection of writings (mostly poetry) of Rumi (formal name: Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī.) Rumi was a mystic of Sufi Islam, and so the poems tend toward the devotional — though with more reference to the experience of intoxication than one might expect from a 13th century Islamic poet.

This selection consists of three sections organized by poetic form, each section progressively longer than the preceding one. The first section is ruba’i, the second is ghazals, and the last is from Rumi’s Mathnawi.

The “Pocket” of the book’s title and series is figurative as the paperback is too big of both format and thickness for any pocket I own, personally, but the point is that it’s a quick read at only about 200 pages of (mostly) poetry [meaning white space abounds.]

I enjoyed reading this selection. I can’t say how true to message the translations are as I have no knowledge of Persian. I can point out that the translators opted to abandon form in favor of free verse. Hopefully, this gave them the freedom of movement to approach the message and tone of the originals.

If you are interested in a short, readable English translation of Rumi’s poetry, this book offers a fine place to start.

View all my reviews

“Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock” by Wallace Stevens [w/ Audio]

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The houses are haunted   
 By white night-gowns.   
 None are green,
 Or purple with green rings,   
 Or green with yellow rings,   
 Or yellow with blue rings.   
 None of them are strange,   
 With socks of lace
 And beaded ceintures.
 People are not going
 To dream of baboons and periwinkles.   
 Only, here and there, an old sailor,   
 Drunk and asleep in his boots,   
 Catches tigers
 In red weather.

Empty Chairs [Free Verse]

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I watch the chairs
   That watch the ocean,
 Wondering whether 
   Some passerby will take 
   A seat to admire
      The turquoise water
      & crashing surf.

No one does.

Tourist and local alike
   Spill by in a rush to get
   Through paradise to
   Somewhere else --
   Probably a cruddy
       Hotel room or
       Unloved job. 

Of course, if someone 
   Did take a seat,
   They might be run off
   On the grounds that
      These are proprietary
      Chairs.

[That's just the petty world
   In which we live;
      Where a business will
      Protect its space for 
      Exclusive use by 
      Nonexistent customers.]

One might suggest that
   It's too hot to sit 
   And admire the ocean,

But by the time those chairs
   Have cooled,
   The view will be 
      Blackness.

On Tourists & Travelers [Free Verse]

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A tourist looks back fondly upon 
      A favorite destination;
 A traveler is always at it. 

A tourist loathes travel hiccups;
 A traveler calls them stories.

A tourist jumps from one
      Postcard vista to the next;
 A traveler moves through the world.

A tourist collects knicknacks & geegaws;
 A traveler collects experiences.

A tourist, between sights, seeks
      A life experience as close to 
      Their homelife as possible.
 A traveler wants a life experience
      As close to local as possible.

A tourist has a favorite meal;
 A traveler assumes he hasn't
      Crossed paths with it yet.

A tourist leaves nothing to chance;
 A traveler embraces the spontaneous.

A tourist takes comfort as a main course;
 A traveler uses it like a condiment.

Green Door [Free Verse]

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What mysteries lie behind
  That old green wooden door:
    Carved elaborately 
     In bygone days?
 
On a street that features only sights
   Both newer and more decrepit,
   It stands out as a grand entrance 
     That begs something special 
      Beyond.

I’d hate to think it’s just 
   Old paint cans —
     Half empty and congealed 
      Beyond usefulness.

I doubt it’s a brothel or speakeasy —
         Too silent…
   But a vault of lost masterpieces,
     Inhabited by a hairy-legged spider,
     Might not be too much to ask.

“The Death of a Soldier” by Wallace Stevens [w/ Audio]

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Life contracts and death is expected,
As in a season of autumn.
The soldier falls.
 
He does not become a three-days personage,
Imposing his separation,
Calling for pomp.
 
Death is absolute and without memorial,
As in a season of autumn,
When the wind stops,
 
When the wind stops and, over the heavens,
The clouds go, nevertheless,
In their direction.