Wednesday, October 26, 2016

The Gift

You've asked me what the lobster is weaving there with
his golden feet?
I reply, the ocean knows this.

You say, what is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent
bell? What is it waiting for?
I tell you it is waiting for time, like you.

You ask me whom the Macrocystis alga hugs in its arms?
Study, study it, at a certain hour, in a certain sea I know.

You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhal,
and I reply by describing
how the sea unicorn with the harpoon in it dies.

You enquire about the kingfisher's feathers,
which tremble in the pure springs of the southern tides?
Or you've found in the cards a new question touching on
the crystal architecture
of the sea anemone, and you'll deal that to me now?
You want to understand the electric nature of the ocean
The armored stalactite that breaks as it walks?
The hook of the angler fish, the music stretched out
in the deep places like a thread in the water?

I want to tell you the ocean knows this, that life in its
jewel boxes
is endless as the sand, impossible to count, pure,
and among the blood-colored grapes time has made the
hard and shiny, made the jellyfish full of light
and untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall
from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother-of-pearl.

I am nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead
of human eyes, dead in those darknesses,
of fingers accustomed to the triangle, longitudes
on the timid globe of an orange.

I walked around as you do, investigating
the endless star,
and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked,
the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.
- Pablo Neruda, "Enigmas"


FreeThinke said...

A marvelous succession of exquisitely poignant images!

If that is a translation, it's a damned good one.

FreeThinke said...

_________ Picking Berries _________

Parked beside a lane with lilies lined
Instinct drives us to the fragrant fields
Carrying buckets to our task resigned.
Keeping up with Nature’s bounty yields

In summer morning’s warm, earth-scented mist
Nostalgic sweet refreshment from the soil.
Gleefully we gather berries kissed
By sunshine, plump with rain before they spoil.

Edible, these gems that fill our pails
Remain, once tasted, as a lifelong treat.
Remembrance fond at “Realism” rails.
It knows behind our stated urge to eat,

Each one of us who picks collects delights
Stored to ease the future’s endless nights.

~ FreeThinke

FreeThinke said...

___ SNOW HAIKU ___

Fresh snow at sunset
Trees glistening quietly
In pink and copper tones.

Snow covered branches
Thaw, then turn to crystal lace
Gleaming in sun light.

Melting on the ground
As snow deserts the branches
Black twigs claw the sky.

~ FreeThinke

FreeThinke said...

_____ COLLOQUY at SEA _____

Aboard a ship in dark of night
A form veiled darkly shed no light

Approached me on the vessel's prow
'Twas but a slimy old Sea Cow

Who took me without my consent
Her grasping claws would not relent

Down a dark companionway
'Twas there her spell led me astray

"You don't know who I am," she cried
Appalled I saw I'd been belied

“Thou art the arch fiend HILLARLIE!"
Said I as terror filled my sigh.

She shrieked, "It truly saddens me
“You cannot ever leave the sea.

“All who've smelt my rancid breath
Are doomed, Alas! to certain death.”

~ FreeThinke

FreeThinke said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
FreeThinke said...

___________ Banquet _____________

Generously spread with gracious living

The table beckons. Lace and candlelight

Mingle with fine china. I am diving

Into the tureen, which is a sight

All white and warm while guarding snowy chowder.

Savory is a casserole of brains.

Sparkling wine has made our talk much louder ––

Louder than the voices of our pains.

Drink has numbed our virtues and our faults.

Now food will warm our anxious, craving hearts.

Later, we will step into a waltz

Whose cycle whirls till every fear departs

Leaving us quite buoyant –– out of breath ––

Saddened that this night must end in death.

~ FreeThinke

FreeThinke said...

___________ Non Sequiturium __________

Kale, kohlrabi, Swiss Chard, Brussels sprouts -
Asters, mums, tea roses, baby’s breath -
Tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, onions, doubts -
Heliotrope, petunias, laurel wreath -

Yarrow, carrots, parsnips, turnips, bloodwart -
Salvia, canna, birds of paradise -
Azalea, rhododendron, plantar wart -
Nandina, lilac, dogwood, aphids, lice -

Dates, raisins, nutmeats, citrus peel -
Elms, poplar, maple, pin oak, beech -
Ragweed, Joe Pyeweed, goldenrod, piglet’s squeal -
Sweet pea, bittersweet, a ragged urchin’s screech -

Orange blossoms, tender river reeds -
Nasturtium, deadly nightshade –– widow’s weeds.

~ FreeThinke

FreeThinke said...

_____ Emily's House _____

Creamy quiet rooms
filled with light ––
white and cream ––
Sparsely furnished rooms 
filled with light ––
almost black
An island here and there ––
polished wood ––
darkly gleams.

Beeswax and bureau scarves ––
echoes of lavender from Before ––
captured in a drawer.

A solitary bee
for company.

A dainty Windsor chair ––
a skeleton in black
against the light ––
A churchyard framed in white ––
crisp unspotted white.

A stillness so pure
one could hear
the waltzing whir
of moth wings ––
in the attic.

~ FreeThinke

-FJ said...


Me habéis preguntado qué hila el crustáceo entre sus patas de oro
y os respondo: El mar lo sabe.
Me decís qué espera la ascidia en su campana transparente? Qué espera?
Yo os digo, espera como vosotros el tiempo.
Me preguntáis a quién alcanza el abrazo del alga Macrocustis?
Indagadlo, indagadlo a cierta hora, en cierto mar que conozco.
Sin duda me preguntaréis por el marfil maldito del narwhal, para que yo os conteste
de qué modo el unicornio marino agoniza arponeado.
Me preguntáis tal vez por las plumas alcionarias que tiemblan
en los puros orígenes de la marea austral?
Y sobre la construcción cristalina del pólipo habéis barajado, sin duda,
una pregunta más, desgranándola ahora?
Queréis saber la eléctrica materia de las púas del fondo?
La armada estalactita que camina quebrándose?
El anzuelo del pez pescador, la música extendida
en la profundidad como un hilo en el agua?

Yo os quiero decir que esto lo sabe el mar, que la vida en sus arcas
es ancha como la arena, innumerable y pura
y entre las uvas sanguinarias el tiempo ha pulido
la dureza de un pétalo, la luz de la medusa
y ha desgranado el ramo de sus hebras corales
desde una cornucopia de nácar infinito.

Yo no soy sino la red vacía que adelanta
ojos humanos, muertos en aquellas tinieblas,
dedos acostumbrados al triángulo, medidas
de un tímido hemisferio de naranja.

Anduve como vosotros escarbando
la estrella interminable,
y en mi red, en la noche, me desperté desnudo,
única presa, pez encerrado en el viento.

Pable Neruda, 'Canto general' (1950)

Unknown said...

FT has real talent, doesn't he? I wonder who he really is? Must have beem published somewhere I would think. A shame to waste all that on the blogging world. Casting pearls before swine never has been a winning strategy. Oh well, nothing matters anymore, I suppose. No one listens to anyone anymore, except the perverts and the demons. Too bad.But it's happened many times before and will again no doubt. As soon as we start to build ourselves back up, we start to tear ourselves down again. We never learn anything from the past.

-FJ said...

Trevor, FT does have serious talent that he shares with his friends. I truly appreciate this talent and FTs willingness to share it with me, as I consider him a friend. I may not always have the time in the moment to express my appreciation and or offer a critique, but I do revisit these pages, often. Sometimes the significance of what is shared in the moment doesn't resonate with me until long afterwards, but it is nice to be able to return and reminisce and later capture its' significance.

Besides, artists need practice and the blogosphere is a workshop, not normally a place to display finished masterpieces. Every artist has his "circle" and I am honored that FT includes me within his.

FreeThinke said...

Thank you, FJ. I love you too.

Now don't you take that the wrong way. };^)>

By the way, mMay I quote you? §;-D=

Thank you, too, Trevor. You know the ignoble Quackster from Beantown thinks YOU are ME! But don't let it go to your head. The Beantown Quackster thinks everybody he hasn't known for a long time is me. He seems obsessed with me for some ungodly reason.

Perhaps it's because I refuse to be polite to my ideological enemies? I long ago decided they don't deserve to be given the time of day let alone the benefit of the doubt. All they deserve in my never humble opinion is to be given The Boot –– a knee in the groin, a swift kick in the shins, or the gluteous max –– as they're tossed out into the alley to lie broken and bleeding behind the ash cans.

I used to want to convert them. Now, I just want them DEAD. Time is running out. I'll be seventy-six on my next birthday, and have no time left for bullshit.