Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Jay's LiveJournal:

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Sunday, June 10th, 2007
7:55 am	Poem by Faiz I came across this poem by Faiz, while listening to an audiobook I'd purchased from Audible many years ago: Last night your faded memory filled my heart Like spring's calm and advent in the wilderness, Like the soft desert footfalls of the breeze, Like peace somehow coming to one in sickness. by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, translated by Victor Gordon Kiernan On this quiet Sunday morning, these words moved me. Oh, the great power of memories - sometimes blessings, sometimes curses. Current Mood: contemplative (Comment on this)
Sunday, August 13th, 2006
8:23 pm	Summer's Neverend I know that moment far, and reaching back within a part of me that was once lost Nineteen, living in Florina's living room Barefoot, living on the couch books of chess and poetry by my side, rollerblades in the corner I slipped them on and let the wheels glide me around town Brown leaves scattered themselves across grassy quadrangles that lay empty in the summer I awoke each morning, bright light of a new day in my eyes My heart steady to the rhythm of a sleepy summer I spent days hauling milk crates in the cafeteria so visiting ballerinas could refill their dainty stomachs after hours of standing and moving on tiptoe There were quiet summer nights a handful of evening lights went on Flickering, flickering in the summer stillness I did not notice them, I did not notice them I was lost in summer's neverend in its slow, stretching time (Comment on this)
8:21 pm	Friday Reverie Lost in a Friday reverie drifting, drifting I see a single leaf fall Hearts slowly rise and fall beating, beating Glance through the window, tangle of New York crowds Raging taxis, bicyclists, helmetless and courting death with every push of the pedal through relentless afternoon traffic Lights of Times Square beckon so many lights, bright and blaring, blaring The air conditioner hums steadily It cares not for the weekend What does it know of days spent gliding through tree-lined brownstone streets, of the orange-pink setting sun, of children standing on the pier, laughing, laughing? They don't see the vanishing sun, the slipping Friday evening, Staten Island's lights twinkling, beyond the rippling tide A folding bicycle, a marvel, a sudden joy for little hearts Their joyous cries know not silence, nor slipping time Current Mood: calm (Comment on this)
Thursday, April 6th, 2006
10:40 pm	Winter's Last Reprise Yesterday I wrote this poem, as strange weather came over Brooklyn. First the day turned dark and yellow, then it snowed. It was spring, yet it felt like winter had made a final guest appearance. Well, here it is: Winter's Last Reprise Yellow sunlight of April dark-hued, with pallid color a rush of phlegm from the dark mouth of winter's last sigh It's winter's last reprise Snow falling, falling now in spring This is December's last sigh Its final F-You to the birth of spring Its brighter hues pierce winter's veil of darkness They meet its baleful stare Winter's eyes are now large and open They stare, with that dying stare seen in things whose times have past Current Mood: pensive (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 18th, 2005
10:04 pm	Mr. Tambourine Man This week, I have often begun my subway ride to work listening to 'Mr. Tambourine Man' by Bob Dylan. Each time, I got lost in the song, and then in the rest of Bob Dylan's greatest hits CD. Both the melody and the words are compelling, and as I sat there, still dazed from the morning light, and from all the morning thoughts that cloud my head, I was lost in his song. I was sleepy, and had a place to go to, but at that moment I just sat and listened. The other subway goers swirled around me, and more than once I almost missed my transfer stop, dashing out at the last moment, with 'it's all over now, baby blue' blaring in my ears. When I changed to the F line, I kept listening. When I got off at the final stop, the last song 'I want you, I want you ... so bad' played on. A couple of women looked at me with (imagined?) yearning, and I smiled. Mr. Tambourine Man by Bob Dylan Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you. Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand, Vanished from my hand, Left me blindly here to stand, but still not sleeping. My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet, I have no one to meet And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you. Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship, My senses have been stripped, My hands can't feel to grip, My toes too numb to step, Wait only for my boot heels To be wanderin'. I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade Into my own parade, Cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you. Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' Madly across the sun, It's not aimed at anyone, It's just escapin' on the run And but for the sky there are no fences facin'. And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme To your tambourine in time, It's just a ragged clown behind, I wouldn't pay it any mind, It's just a shadow you're Seein' that he's chasing. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you. Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind, Down the foggy ruins of time, Far past the frozen leaves, The haunted, frightened trees, Out to the windy beach, Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow. Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free, Silhouetted by the sea, Circled by the circus sands, With all memory and fate Driven deep beneath the waves, Let me forget about today until tomorrow. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 16th, 2005
11:02 pm	Lilies by Mary Oliver Lilies by Mary Oliver I have been thinking about living like the lilies that blow in the fields. They rise and fall in the wedge of the wind, and have no shelter from the tongues of the cattle, and have no closets or cupboards, and have no legs. Still I would like to be as wonderful as that old idea. But if I were a lily I think I would wait all day for the green face of the hummingbird to touch me. What I mean is, could I forget myself even in those feathery fields? When van Gogh preached to the poor of course he wanted to save someone-- most of all himself. He wasn't a lily, and wandering through the bright fields only gave him more ideas it would take his life to solve. I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river where the ravishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues-- where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss just rises and floats away. (Comment on this)
10:50 pm	Plea When I have no strength lend me Yours When my spirit flags do not let me falter When I see no path show me one I did not see When I can walk no more let me find peace within When I can speak no more let Your words comfort me When my eyes are too heavy fly me on Your wings of sleep to those white shores, Lift me with beating wings - raise me up so I may falter no more so I may speak with faith so I may laugh and sing so I have peace within (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, August 8th, 2005
10:11 pm	Psalm and Lament Here's another beautifully sad poem by Donald Justice. This poem nearly brought me to tears with its sad, sad beauty. How can a poet capture life's beauty, especially after its loss, so eloquently? Psalm and Lament by Donald Justice In memory of my mother (1897-1974) Hialeah, Florida The clocks are sorry, the clocks are very sad. One stops, one goes on striking the wrong hours. And the grass burns terribly in the sun, The grass turns yellow secretly at the roots. Now suddenly the yard chairs look empty, the sky looks empty, The sky looks vast and empty. Out on Red Road the traffic continues; everything continues. Nor does memory sleep; it goes on. Out spring the butterflies of recollection, And I think that for the first time I understand The beautiful ordinary light of this patio And even perhaps the dark rich earth of a heart. (The bedclothes, they say, had been pulled down. I will not describe it. I do not want to describe it. No, but the sheets were drenched and twisted. They were the very handkerchiefs of grief.) Let summer come now with its schoolboy trumpets and fountains. But the years are gone, the years are finally over. And there is only This long desolation of flower-bordered sidewalks That runs to the corner, turns, and goes on, That disappears and goes on Into the black oblivion of a neighborhood and a world Without billboards or yesterdays. Sometimes a sad moon comes and waters the roof tiles. But the years are gone. There are no more years. (Comment on this)
9:42 pm	Donald Justice's Bus Stop I picked up an old copy of Donald Justice's 'New and Selected Poems' off of my bookshelf. Leafing through it, I found my mind turning through the pages of old memories, of feelings felt years ago, but suddenly alive again. I thought back to the great 'Creative Writing: Poetry' class that I took; I thought: what if I had gone down another path, become a literature scholar, a writer, or even a poet? But this is all foreign to me now. Once I could expound on the literary significance of a particular work, or I could muse thoughtfully on the relevance of a particular piece of artwork, and how it fit into a particular time in the literary and cultural history of a certain European country. Those were times when I thought about life, and loss, when I wrote of love with eager and naive eyes, when I thought the whole world lay before me, waiting to relish its infinite riches and possibilities. Each semester was filled with economics and history, German literature and poetry, business culture or management, philosophy and art. It was a time when I read poems such as Donald Justice's 'Bus Stop', and stopped to think about all they could mean. I could spend an entire Saturday morning sitting in a grassy quadrangle, or before the large, ceiling-high windows of the library, pondering the merits of a certain idea, or scratching away - scribbling thoughts for a wonderous, well-researched paper. Looking back to those days now, I mostly have small remnants; little scraps such as 'Bus Stop', which I lay before you now. May you enjoy this poem as much as I once did. Bus Stop by Donald Justice Lights are burning In quiet rooms Where lives go on Resembling ours. The quiet lives That follow us -- These lives we lead But do not own -- Stand in the rain So quietly When we are gone So quietly ... And the last bus Comes letting dark Umbrellas out -- Black flowers, black flowers And lives go on. And lives go on Like sudden lights At street corners Or like the lights In quiet rooms Left on hours, Burning, burning (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 4th, 2005
12:05 am	Guardian Angel Have you ever found your guardian angel just in time? Have you ever felt your day swallowed by despair, only to have one single act of kindness save it all? Have you felt the smallest kindness by a stranger, or a single act of compassion from a friend, or acquiantance touch your heart and raise your spirits? I was very moved by Rilke's poem, The Guardian Angel. This one is from his Book of Images, and was translated by Edward Snow. A small dedication to a great poet (from a lesser-known one!): When the well of my inspiration has run dry, I look to you Oh bearer of words and wisdom, of joy and sadness, You explain life's mysteries and absurdities to me You reveal a path when there is none Your words are life to me The Guardian Angel by Rainer Maria Rilke You are the bird whose wings came when I wakened in the night and called. Only with my arms I called because your name is like a chasm, a thousand nights deep. You are the shadows in which I quietly slept, and your seed devised in me each dream, -- you are the image, but I am the frame that makes you stand in glittering relief. What shall I call you? Look, my lips are lame. You are the beginning that gushes forth, I am the slow and fearful Amen that timidly concludes your beauty. You have often snatched me out of dark rest when sleep seemed like a grave to me and like getting lost and fleeing, -- then you raised me out of heart-darknesses and tried to hoist me onto all towers like scarlet flags and bunting. You: who talk of miracles as of common knowledge and of men and women as of melodies and of roses: of events that in your eyes blazingly take place, -- you blessed one, when you at last name Him from whose seventh and last day shards of glory can be still found on the beating of your wings ... Do I need to ask? (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 3rd, 2005
2:23 am	Sleep, because the clock is ticking Sleep, because the clock is ticking Forget that the night is passing Dream of forever flying Close your eyes, and her arms will cradle you Take her blanket and let it cover you Sip from her proferred cup of milk, and tea and sleep The blanket of stars envelopes the sky and your tender eyelids close You forget the sun, you know not of its rays you lie cradled and loved in her nightly embrace (Comment on this)
1:52 am	Gibran on togetherness and separation I was reading Kahlil Gibran's most famous work, The Prophet. In one chapter, the wise prophet explains how two married people (or two lovers) should be together, yet separate. How each should have his own space, while respecting the space of the other. In order to be together, one also has to be separate. Here it what Gibran had to say: You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore. You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days. Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God. But let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow. Current Mood: pensive (Comment on this)
1:35 am	Lament I was reading Rilke's poem 'Lament' (Klage) from his Book of Images. (Oops - I wrote 'Book of Hours' previously.) Here is an excerpt from it, translated by Edward Snow. Lament by Rainer Maria Rilke [...] I think now, that the star whose brightness reached me has been dead for a thousand years [...] I would like to step out of my heart's door and be under the great sky. I would like to pray. And surely one of all those stars must still exist. I think now, that I know which one alone has lasted, -- which one like a white city stands at its light's end in the sky ... Current Mood: awake (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, July 31st, 2005
2:44 pm	Unspoken Raindrops on the windowsill, still heart Your morning gaze on my mind Eyes on me, sudden and round and then averted I feel your lament but I see no tears The day unfolds, the march of time unslowed you on my mind, you on my mind (3 Comments |Comment on this)
12:48 pm	Seeds and Dreams You are a single seed from a which a garden grows Your garden is yours but its flowers have their own petals, they open to the light when they are ready They smell sweetest when they find their own joy Your path is the one you make your journey is the one you take Your hand may be held steady by a stronger one or you may hold in it, one tender with youth, or frail with age When it comes time to cross that bridge, to make that leap of faith, to jump for the stars, when you know you may just make it to the moon You jump alone You may feel a guiding light, the warmth of morning, bright in your eager eyes You may have the strength of love by your side But the journey is yours to make The road is yours to take (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, July 29th, 2005
11:22 pm	Note to self Note to self: be more cheery in entries to come. It's not all doom and gloom! (Comment on this)
11:03 pm	Everything in autumn seems to die Another poem inspired by absolut_poetry. In this case, the first line and title are 'borrowed' from her poem. Everything in autumn seems to die brown leaves hang on branches of a sickly tree, grown long and bare on its barren stick-of-a-self Some people drag through their lives toiling to get past the day, sucking on its palest marrow stumbling through its absurdities Their faces grow long and barren and their souls lie faint, trapped under the weight of irrevocable sorrow Solitude hangs heavy over their fevered beds There is no balm for their broken spirits They gaze out into the grayness of autumn Its bitter wind lingers They have seen it coming - white, and raging tempestuous in its final fury Oh - the blinding evisceration of a final winter The thought of it is enough to quell the night's last fears (3 Comments |Comment on this)
10:47 pm	Ah, the tug of an aching heart This poem was inspired by absolut_poetry's poem, 'memory'. Ah, the tug of an aching heart - the tug of memories buried, not lost They lie within us, dormant bushels of hay, rolled up and tied behind closed barn doors Until a sudden wind pushes them on their hinges, wide open lays them bare to the golden sun and to the lashes of sudden rain They lie pulsing, alive ravished and wet and baking in the noon sun Current Mood: contemplative (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, July 23rd, 2005
3:50 pm	The weather is hot today Wow, it's really hot today. The sun was out in full force this morning, and only now has it begun to cool down a bit. There are so many things one could do on a warm Saturday ... (Comment on this)
12:26 am	The subway is full in the mornings The subway is full in the mornings I see people who see me Yet in seeing me, they seem to see through me There is the inevitable taut dress and possessively-held coffee cup There is the nibbled doughnut and the quickly-devoured Danish There is the AM New York reader, who thinks she can hide her curly face behind large newspaper sheets There is the hairy Metro reader, who, sweating profusely ponders the deeper meaning of Bush's half-smile There is the secretary-ish woman who has a short, tight top and knows she's hot Her eyes meet mine, but she's just looking for brief reaffirmation of her attractiveness And my stupid grin is all she needs She goes back to fixing her hair The train stops at 36th street and the car empties out, but the scent of coffee and doughnuts and work perfume lingers a few seconds longer (Comment on this)