poem of the day and tribute to Amelia Earhart: Voices of the Air by Katherine Mansfield

Voices of the Air

Katherine Mansfield (link)

(Happy 115th, Amelia Earhart [link])

Voices of the Air

But then there comes that moment rare
When, for no cause that I can find,
The little voices of the air
Sound above all the sea and wind.
*
The sea and wind do then obey
And sighing, sighing double notes
Of double basses, content to play
A droning chord for the little throats—
*
The little throats that sing and rise
Up into the light with lovely ease
And a kind of magical, sweet surprise
To hear and know themselves for these—
*
For these little voices: the bee, the fly,
The leaf that taps, the pod that breaks,
The breeze on the grass-tops bending by,
The shrill quick sound that the insect makes.
*

poem of the day: Hours by Vicente Huidobro

Hours

Vicente Huidobro

A small town
A train stopped on the plain

Deaf stars sleep
in every puddle
And the water trembles
Curtains to the wind

                   Night hangs in the grove

A lively drizzle
From the flower-covered steeple
Bleeds the stars

         Now and then
Ripe hours

                   Drop on life

Lonely Town [Explored]

Huidobro on Creationism

Nothing anecdotic or descriptive. The emotion has to be born out of creativity only.

Make a poem as nature makes a tree.

One must create. This is the sign of our time.

poem of the day: Human Cylinders by Mina Loy (Billy Corgan as bonus)

Human Cylinders

Mina Loy

The human cylinders
Revolving in the enervating dusk
That wraps each closer in the mystery
Of singularity
Among the litter of a sunless afternoon
Having eaten without tasting
Talked without communion
And at least two of us
Loved a very little
Without seeking
To know if our two miseries
In the lucid rush-together of automatons
Could form one opulent wellbeing

*
Simplifications of men
In the enervating dusk
Your indistinctness
Serves me the core of the kernel of you
When in the frenzied reaching out of intellect to intellect
Leaning brow to brow communicative
Over the abyss of the potential
Concordance of respiration
Shames
Absence of corresponding between the verbal sensory
And reciprocity
Of conception
And expression
Where each extrudes beyond the tangible
One thin pale trail of speculation
From among us we have sent out
Into the enervating dusk
One little whining beast
Whose longing
Is to slink back to antediluvian burrow
And one elastic tentacle of intuition
To quiver among the stars

*

The impartiality of the absolute
Routs the polemic
Or which of us
Would not
Receiving the holy-ghost
Catch it and caging
Lose it

(poem of the day) Evening by HD

Evening

H.D.

The light passes
from ridge to ridge,
from flower to flower—
the hepaticas, wide-spread
under the light
grow faint—
the petals reach inward,
the blue tips bend
toward the bluer heart
and the flowers are lost.

The cornel-buds are still white,
but shadows dart
from the cornel-roots—
black creeps from root to root,
each leaf
cuts another leaf on the grass,
shadow seeks shadow,
then both leaf
and leaf-shadow are lost.

mock orange hugs lily