Blurred Photo on a Wall

 

 

 

As if the old in all of us

On a rainy August morning

Walked away from the window

Which looked over to a brick wall

Held together

By the courtesy

Of frigid

Time

 

And left unturned the single bed where every spring

Still recalls the dreams and lonesome turns

Framed by walls where black and white moments remain

On warped paper, hanging on nails

To look over

Of the old in us

Listening

To the

Springs

 

A Meerschaum pipe and a bottle of Grappa

Next to the bed

Glow in the morning rays

That bounces upon the brick wall

For a short while, to start each day

For the old of us to leaf  

Through a poetry book

And recite

Aloud

Ja ma armastan Sind, sest

Or

Ho bisogno di poesia,

Questa magia che brucia la

Pesantezza delle parole

 

And

End in a murmur

With lines once whispered alone

Under a bridge

C’est la grâce

tremblante

à la force

appuyée,

C’est ta main

dans ma main

doucement

oubliée

June 25, 2023

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2023

Growing Roses in a Garbage Pan

 

May was Lily of the Valley month. It is a flowering plant I like as it is very hardy and can be found in various environments, including the harsh ecosystem of deserts.

I also like the lily because of many references in the literature about its unassuming yet inviting flowers compared to the more flamboyant rose, which has captured the imagination of every poet who used a flower as a metonym for a feeling, such a passion, love, sorrow or dependency.  My favorite descriptions of the lily of the valley flowers come from Germanic legend and mythology. Indeed in Christian legend, Eve's tears are said to have turned into lilies of the valley as she and Adam were expelled from the Garden of Eden. And in Old Norse mythology, these flowers have symbolised the purity and humility of the virgin goddess Ostara, who transformed a  bird whose wings were frozen into a hare, so a bird that cannot fly can still live by hopping.

Among many uses of the rose and lily comparison in poetry, I have often returned to the rather simple words of Victorian poet Christina Rossetti (1830-1894).

The lily has a smooth stalk,

Will never hurt your hand;

But the rose upon her brier

is lady of the land.

Yet, the “lady of the land” is dangerous through her thorns. Perhaps Rossetti reminds us that sweetness and passion, when concomitant, have to be handled with care.

But almost a century before Rossetti, another famous English poet, William Blake, used the rose and the lily to tackle dimensions of love such as passion, loyalty, strength and purity.

In 1794 Blake included the poem “The Lily” in his collection of Songs of Experience. Here is one stanza reminding us of Rossetti’s poem:

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,

The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:

While the Lily white shall in love delight,

Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

So, using flowers to personify human (animal?) feelings and behaviour is a lovely strategy to convey both visual and philosophical guidance.

Growing up, one of the metaphors my father used was

                         “The best flowers grow next to the outhouse door”

to prepare me for optimism regarding the challenges of life.

 

… So May is Lily of the Valley month, reminding us of humility, resilience and beauty.

 

June 15, 2023

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2023

“Every Man Has his Folly, But the Greatest Folly Of all Is Not to Have One.” Kazantzakis/Zorba

 

If I show you the steps would you watch me dance?

I did not like to watch steps, but just let the dance guide me. And often, the serpentine path I found ahead of me, I did not follow. Perhaps I knew where it ended. Where all paths eventually get out of breath, a place with no foot prints.

 

If I whistle would you hear the summer rain?

Watching the window glass run tears reminds me, still, of August rains. And also of the exhale from asphalt roads, dirt paths, and angry seas. To listen again how quiet those tears once were; and how a lonely walk in narrow streets ended under balconies to shelter from hearing the whistle.

 

 If I give you the steps, would you dance?

Steps make a dance predictable. A dance should be a reflection of the moment, not a prescription. Kazantzakis best described it for all the inner Zorbas in us when Basil asked Zorba “Teach me to dance” – he was actually asking "Teach me how to find myself." “Teach me to live.”

The dance on that Greek island beach had nothing to do with dancing. It was a Sufi moment of exploration.

 

If I watch you dance, would you remember to stay still?

If I dance, I will hear the music. But when I stay still, I only hear myself.  It is like sitting atop a wall to hear the ocean. Eventually, one forgets the waves.

 

And if I change the steps, would you gently get up and dance alone when you hear the summer rain, again? 

All dances are lonely; all dancing is to end up alone. They repeat themselves softly to become one with rain, wind and memories.

All dancing shapes our steps to become a personal search.  And then, we remember a summer rain and we forget the steps. We just improvise.

 

June 6, 2023

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2023