|Shame is the shawl of Pink|
In which we wrap the Soul
To keep it from infesting Eyes] -
The elemental Veil
Which helpless Nature drops
When pushed upon a scene
Repugnant to her probity -
Shame is the tint divine
Emily Dickinson, "Shame is the Shawl of Pink"
David Romero, Portrait of Joshas
|I want you to know|
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Pablo Neruda, "If You Forget Me"
Dans le Lit, 1893.
|The moon hangs low tonight over the city|
the colour of a blood orange
a portent of hate,
the same colour as the flames
enveloping a man on his knees,
reaching out to the masses
around him – onlookers
who do not see him,
denying him his future in this
city over which the orange moon rises
Yuri Nieman "Blood Orange Moon"
|My bed is covered yellow - Oh Sun, I sit on you|
Oh golden field I lay on you
Oh money I dream of you
More, More, cried the bed - talk to me more -
Oh bed that taked the weight of the world -
all the lost dreams laid on you
- from "My Bed is Covered Yellow" by Peter Orlovsky
Two Men Contemplating the Moon 1819
|Suddenly, from all the green around you,|
something-you don't know what-has disappeared;
you feel it creeping closer to the window,
from "Before Summer Rain," by “Rainer Maria Rilke”
|And the wheel that broke as the cart went by.|
It is not a voice that is under the eaves.
It is not speech, the sound we hear
In this conversation, but the sound
Of things and their motion: the other man,
A turquoise monster moving round.
From Wallace Stevens, "Continual Conversations with a Silent Man
Bedroom in Arles, c.1888
|So sweep away your fallen echoes of yesterday|
let go of your past
and fly into indigo.
Let out your hate like a banshee's song
heart crushed and impaled like never before
ignore the bruises and fall into the indigo.
Wander no more through figurative mazes
come home to me weary traveler
and follow me into the indigo.
Into the indigo,
we'll run through fields of dreamers lies
dip our feet in the devils water
and transcend what we once knew.
We'll transcend the hate
and the love
We will become fire, water, wind, earth
and burn down those mazes,
and sleep in those dreaming lies
And this is what could happen should you fall.
Elizabeth Willatt, "Into Indigo"
|The eyes that mock me sign the way|
Whereto I pass at eve of day.
Grey way whose violet signals are
The trysting and the twining star.
Ah star of evil! star of pain!
Highhearted youth comes not again
Nor old heart's wisdom yet to know
The signs that mock me as I go.
James Joyce, "Bahnhofstrasse" .