Tagged poems

“Because I love you”

I was translating a Pablo Neruda poem yesterday, said Pablo, and I made a song out of my translation. I think you’ll like it. Give me a 4/4 rhythm with a syncopated beat…

blurtso3085

I love you because I love you, then I don’t love you,
and I go from love to hate and to fire from cold,
and when one day my heart stops loving you,
then you’ll know I love you even more,
then you’ll know I love you even more.

I love you because I love you, then I still love you,
then I hate, but can’t hate what I adore,
and I love you when I’m not seeing you,
and when I see you then I love you even more,
and when I see you then I love you even more.

Maybe your fire will consume me,
and take this pain of love away,
and maybe one day I’ll finally find peace,
and never find any peace again,
and never find any peace again.

In this story I’m the only one who dies,
and I go from life to death and back once more,
but I hope you won’t forget to remember me,
the one who died of love and loved you even more,
the one who died of love and loved you even more.

Maybe this fire will consume me,
and take this pain of love away,
but I hope you won’t forget to remember me,
the one who died of love and loved you even more,
the one who died of love and loved you even more.

listen to “Because I love you”

“Blurtso sings the donkey electric”

blurtso5aa

“Blurtso sings the donkey electric”

I sing the donkey electric!
A song of asses I sing, near and far!
Asses on hills, asses in fields, asses in herds,
more bountiful than the once-bountiful buffalo,
asses on land and asses at sea, asses short, skinny, fat and tall!
Multitudes of asses, spanning these star-spangled states!

I have perceived that to be an ass
is to be enough.

The ears of the ass are sacred, delicate,
twitching receptacles of sound,
assiduous antennae registering, recording all,
the hooves of the ass are no less
than the slippers of sultans
striding silken alfombras and seraglio stone,
the snout of the ass and his nostrils—a dual lamp
of Aladdin—inhaling flowery fragrance,
leading to wished-for fiestas of pumpkin pleasure,
the ass’s tail, though stumpy or small, and swatting flies,
is a palm fanning reclining Cleopatra,
his teeth, precious jade, are greened and polished
by the grass of a thousand fields,
his attentive eyes and friendly balance of features,
—courtly countenance and caryatid composure—
no less perfect than the visage of Helen.

Such asses I see, to the north and to the south!
From blistering bivouacs of winter
to blazing battalions of summer,
Patagonia to Peloponnese, Malibu to Manhattan,
Concord to Cambridge, every here
and every there, asses I see! Brown, grey,
yellow, red, purple, orange, azure asses!
Asses in other climes, asses in other times,
French, British, Australian, Arabian, Asian asses!

Eating every blade of grass, an ass!
Trampling every leaf that falls, a hoof!
Wading every stream that sings,
a snout, a snort, and a bray!
Hee-haw goes the jack!
Hee-haw goes the jenny!
Hee-haw go the judge and jury and judged!
Hee-haw from the dell! Hee-haw from the glen!
Hee-haw at mid-day! Hee-haw at the moon!

I see the resigned ass, bearing a load,
obeying the coax of his lord,
I see the boisterous ass braying,
in the barn, his bonny bray,
I see the amorous ass (of these there are many),
expressing exigencies by day and by night,
I see farms, fields, freeways and burgs,
each in their way, replete with asininities,
I see the asinine politician, professor, and poet,
each one leaving a brand on the asses of asses.
And the asses of yore, you ask, where are they
with their clip and clop on the stones of the street?
Les ânes voici! I say! Les ânes voici!
Heeding the whinny and neigh,
and ass-bray of the future!

What song do I sing? (you ask and I reply),
I sing the song of asses!
Certain, and stoic, and strong!
From each face an ass!
From each office, family, and farm!
Asses I sing! Avalanches of asses!
I sing! I sing a song of asses!
I sing the donkey electric!

“Graham Cracker Crumbs” (XIV)

blurtso2010

“In an instant”

Easily,
in an instant,
you could have not been born.

You could have had nothing.

You could have lost
the sun, the sky,
the slow moon ascending,
and the harmony
and flicker of leaves.

You could have lost
the rain’s splash
exciting the soil,
the blue beyond,
and the light
and absence of light.

You could have lost everything.

And I could have lost the same,
never knowing the cure
for thirst in a world without you.

“Graham Cracker Crumbs” (XI)

blurtso2009

“Too many words”

Oh Lizzy,
too many words and too much motion
to describe the branch’s sway
and the afternoon of your eyes!

Buzz, hum, and flutter are slower words.
City whisper heard from the hills,
and voices’ splash crossing the canyon.

Seep in, stillness,
settle the swell of the sea!

Too many words, too much motion
to feel the feel of the earth,
its grass beneath the hooves,
its spray upon the cheek.

With so little wisdom,
with circles and struggles and haste,
how can I hope to catch the ripple
of your breath on the glass of my soul?

“Graham Cracker Crumbs” (X)

blurtso3056

“The moon found you”

Caught in the discarded straw
on the floor of the loft,
the broken rays reached toward you.
Like timid fingers they touched lightly,
then relaxed embracing your ankles.

Slowly, like a child entering water,
you were immersed in the light.
It moved like a gentle river
illuminating your cool flesh,
it flowed to the eddy of your knees
and grew in two rich currents
to meet at the top of your thighs.
Pausing, rising and falling with your breath,
tender waves rolled to your neck,
caressing your forelegs and breast.

As the light reached your eyes
I feared it might wake you,
so I blocked it with my hoof
and let you go on sleeping.