late summer in Bologna

and for those of you who die to see the colours :-)

still summer

despite what you say, it is still summer, i need summer still, i cling to it and most of all to that gesture of yours when you slowly raised your hand, the fingers stained by the red of berries, the dress all sparkling under the sun, and made as if to touch me, through the thicket of little white flowers swaying in the wind. 

instead, you picked a flower and turned away, walking away from me with its thin stalk between your teeth.

ah, the summer fields (2)

.

of all the hearts

of all the hearts i've held inside this cage

this one is by far the fiercest. it wants love

to conquer death, and will settle for nothing

less, will do anything to get what it desires.

you can move closer, you will be safe.

to you it will seem a beehive and a gate.

and you will not have to do the work -

harvest the honey, pound at the gate;

honey will pour forth like a flood, and the gate

will pound like a fist to get you to enter.

poem by Andreas at Untitled

 

abundance of being

It is only that this warmth and movement are like
The warmth and movement of a woman.

It is not that there is any image in the air
Nor the beginning nor end of a form:

It is empty. But a woman in threadless gold
Burns us with brushings of her dress

And a dissociated abundance of being,
More definite for what she is—

Because she is disembodied,
Bearing the odors of the summer fields,

Confessing the taciturn and yet indifferent,
Invisibly clear, the only love.

Wallace Stevens, 

The Woman in Sunshine

(for James, thanking him for introducing me to this wonderful poem)

summer-blue-lit

My songs were lit with summer-blue

And grew dark on their return.

Meine Lieder trugen des Sommers Bläue
Und kehrten düster heim.

Else Lakser-Schüler, tr. by Felix de Villiers

however sullied

go to: however series

ah, the summer fields (1)

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Mary Oliver 

(from The Summer Day)

my floating films

this is just to let you know that i set up a new blog for my videos. my previous host, the Exposure Room site, was shut down and my films aren't available any longer, the older links on the Bridge don't work now. i have decided to upload them again (gradually!) to the new site, so if you are interested, please check there from time to time.  

my video blog

this heart of mine

Coming and going
I feel neither
beginning nor end…
what a strange thing
this heart of mine!
 

 

Ōtagaki Rengetsu

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

last night a flower blossomed and the world became fragrant

When one flower opens, all forms are fresh, equally knowing the spring wind for ten thousand miles.

Without any sounds in the branches, the breeze carries the spring color.

Wind whistles through the branches; rain breaks up the clumps of earth. Toads croak and earthworms cry out. Simply see that peach blossoms open by the mountain huts. A thousand gates and ten thousand doors face the valley streams in spring.

The blossoms of the world open, and this is a heavenly realm.

Who would complain that spring radiance does not seek after anything?

In spring, beyond our own efforts, a withered tree returns to life and flowers.

A single plum flower in the cold,
with fragrant heart blossoming,
Calls for the arising of spring in the emptiness of the pot of ages.

We must cherish this time, as our paths will soon part.
For many months, the days and nights have quickly passed.
The spring wind stirs, and clouds come and go.
A thousand showers of evening rain fill the lake.

* all quotes from Zen master Dōgen's teachings (Dogen's Extensive Record).