Chasing the Muse

Music rots when it gets too far from the dance. Poetry atrophies when it gets too far from music.

~Ezra Pound

Swing Noir

Tree, tree
dry and green.

The girl with the pretty face
is out picking olives.
The wind, playboy of towers,
grabs her around the waist.

Four riders passed by
on Andalusian ponies,
with blue and green jackets
and big, dark capes.
'Come to Cordoba, muchacha.'
The girl won't listen to them.

Three young bullfighters passed,
slender in the waist,
with jackets the color of oranges
and swords of ancient silver.
'Come to Sevilla, muchacha.'
The girl won't listen to them.

When the afternoon had turned
dark brown, with scattered light,
a young man passed by, wearing
roses and myrtle of the moon.
'Come to Granada, inuchacha.'
And the girl won't listen to him.

The girl with the pretty face
keeps on picking olives
with the grey arm of the wind
wrapped around her waist.

Tree, tree
dry and green.

- Federico García Lorca

Go On!

Sandbagging

If starry space no limit knows
And sun succeeds to sun,
There is no reason to suppose
Our earth the only one.
'Mid countless constellations cast
A million worlds may be,
With each a God to bless or blast
And steer to destiny.

Just think! A million gods or so
To guide each vital stream,
With over all to boss the show
A Deity supreme.
Such magnitudes oppress my mind;
From cosmic space it swings;
So ultimately glad to find
Relief in little things.

For look! Within my hollow hand,
While round the earth careens,
I hold a single grain of sand
And wonder what it means.
Ah! If I had the eyes to see,
And brain to understand,
I think Life's mystery might be
Solved in this grain of sand.

Robert William Service

Within the Wave

It mounts at sea, a concave wall
Down-ribbed with shine,
And pushes forward, building tall
Its steep incline.

Then from their hiding rise to sight
Black shapes on boards
Bearing before the fringe of white
It mottles towards.

Their pale feet curl, they poise their weight
With a learn’d skill.
It is the wave they imitate
Keeps them so still.

The marbling bodies have become
Half wave, half men,
Grafted it seems by feet of foam
Some seconds, then,

Late as they can, they slice the face
In timed procession:
Balance is triumph in this place,
Triumph possession.

The mindless heave of which they rode
A fluid shelf
Breaks as they leave it, falls and, slowed,
Loses itself.

Clear, the sheathed bodies slick as seals
Loosen and tingle;
And by the board the bare foot feels
The suck of shingle.

They paddle in the shallows still;
Two splash each other;
Then all swim out to wait until
The right waves gather.

- Thom Gunn, "From the Wave"

Sucker for Cranes

On King Tammany

Weminitis tamenend sakimanep nekohatami
Eluwiwulit matemenend wemi linapi nitis payat
Wtenk wulitma maskansisil sakimanep w'tamaganat.

All being friendly, the Affable was chief, the first of that name.
He was very good, this Affable, and came as a friend to all the Lenape.
After this good one, Strong-Buffalo was chief and pipe-bearer.

---

Lappi tamenend sakimanepit wemi langundit.
Wemi nitis wemi takwicken sakima kichwon.

Again an Affable was chief, and made peace with all,
All were friends, all were united under this great chief.

Kwanio Che Keeteru!