. . . . .
I don't know am I in love with oranges or his lips or the fragments of ah
some hour too swift where the memory of the first sun is painted
by the fragments of another a color where the sea a little translucent darkens
the new depths and the luck of his eyes new from nowhere aquamarine
shot green with a blindness long longed for, a winter thinned by the difficult
spring of dreams its pure demands its fast jealousies its reckless hopes
across the waves all birds all lyres all beckonings
the bare trysts of light and want like flower and boat I don't know
. . . . .
THE WALL PAINTING
"Having fallen in love and resided centuries in the sea I learned writing and reading
So that now I am able . . . to see to a great depth behind me succeeding generations
the way a mountain begins before
The other ends . . . And in front again the same:
Young Armed Helen . . . with her side against the whitwash . . . fills with wine
of the Virgin
The deep dark bottle . . . half of her body already fled to Asia opposite
And her embroidery all . . . transposed into the sky . . . with the forked birds
the buttercups . . . and the suns."
. . . . .
3 comments:
have you just given me another new infatuation? elytis and his wall painting...
oranges, they are the scent of winter here in the desert.
do you believe that when he wrote, "half of her body already fled to asia opposite"
it makes me tingle inside?
Miguelito! Mirate! You are amazing. Just barely started reading you here, but I mean to catch up. You are a feast for the eyes, in word and in photo. I hope all is well. I can't believe I never saw you when I was living in LA. Now I'm in Hawaii. Boo. Escribeme!
Great stuff. Take a look at my poetry; it is filled with the ashes from the sun and mouths of marmalade.
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