Passing window after window bleeding tungsten
When the night is thick I drive
deeper in the tree lines trailing an
orange like parking lots
We chase our own light and exhale
tirelessly in our wake
asphalt still picking my knees from its
I keep walking trying to find new memories before
this place forgets them
I picked its mind and found under mud, inside trees bowing lower to
Houses calling closer
Watching the sunset on the field until the trucks came in
What they left unburied gets unearthed
Poured full with concrete
Stepping on urchins in my dreams
Picking shards from the soles
of my feet
In memory the fall sky forms
Deeper than anything I’ve seen lately
Weaving different smoke into my clothes
And a waning moon whose face
I hope to still recognize in a crowd
The slip into anaphora
when I say ‘house’ instead of ‘homeland’
The Voice and the Peak
(a dream from 12/21/13)
A mountain’s ridge and peak close,
the winds endless throw snow into the air like
the smoke from a candle blown out
you store trees up there, tied up.
The ocean, i see it between treetops, suddenly, it almost
seems like a wave stopping just short of flooding your home.
it stands deep and tall remembering Egypt
you defy distance and dive in-
In colors together, you say something of me.
As the mountains should be, blue, settled by treetops.
Standing distance and you’ll never
know me, unfolding into patterns of life so neatly hidden and
large. I see you every year, in passing.
I stare into your eyes, during morning-in nights, never close.
If I call your name, the fog will not stir, the sky
descending into your profiles after sunrise
will not alter its course to any other heartbeat.
How many cold mornings, lace curtained moments do you remember, I-
have slept beside you, spoken often as a way of breathing inside you,
as echoes of lost and a prodigal wind moving close to the ground
between the trees. i waited in parking lots as if repeated far-offs never shivered or turned their head.
You are my distances
and nearness, my remind-me-of and never-yets
The unbroken frost blooming in my throat
I remember making paintings, which were trying to describe the illusion of light coming in through a window. I realized I was much more interested in the real light coming through the real window and that I needed to work with the real thing, the real materiality, not create an illusion with paint. That is when I realized I was a sculptor.
The difficulties of translation and having sufficient means of expression and which words are culturally necessary;
Czech – Milan Kundera, author of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, remarked that “As for the meaning of this word, I have looked in vain in other languages for an equivalent, though I find it difficult to imagine how anyone can understand the human soul without it.” The closest definition is a state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.
German – Translated literally, this word means “gate-closing panic,” but its contextual meaning refers to “the fear of diminishing opportunities as one ages.”
Japanese – Much has been written on this Japanese concept, but in a sentence, one might be able to understand it as “a way of living that focuses on finding beauty within the imperfections of life and accepting peacefully the natural cycle of growth and decay.”
L’appel du vide
French – “The call of the void” is this French expression’s literal translation, but more significantly it’s used to describe the instinctive urge to jump from high places.
Arabic – Both morbid and beautiful at once, this incantatory word means “You bury me,” a declaration of one’s hope that they’ll die before another person because of how difficult it would be to live without them.
Norwegian- The euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love
Greek- Doing something with soul, creativity, or love. It’s when you put something of yourself into what you’re doing
Tatemae and Honne
Japanese- What you pretend to believe and what you actually believe, respectively
German- The feeling of being alone in the woods