only as far as i can see
because i always get off
at the tram stop before.
as far as i know,
nothing exists beyond.
until one day,
i stay on the tram for an extra stop
or two ---
and what's revealed to me is
an expansion of the world.
the world ends at Bronowice Maly ---
only as far as i can see because i always get off at the tram stop before. as far as i know, nothing exists beyond. until one day, i stay on the tram for an extra stop or two --- and what's revealed to me is an expansion of the world.
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wooden slab and a
long pair of ropes leading up to stars sparkling through a canopy of leaves and dark night the constant creak of rope and oak --- legs moving in muscle memory of youth hanging down, hair softly tickling my temple, gliding over autumn grass as soft flowing water. all the earth passed between the moon and the sun as if each pump of my legs moved some celestial mechanism --- covering the bright moon in shadow as it moved in and out of the leafy canopy, allowing the stars to shine brighter as the moon shut its sleepy eye--- for a once-in-15-year nap Last week I had the wonderful opportunity to attend a conference in Bergen, Norway, just a half-hour drive from where my great-grandfather was born, on fjord-surrounded island called Osterøy. I stayed with my wonderful family there, and they brought me to the foundation of the house where he was born over 100 years ago...
Everything green The ground, winter tree roots, And the stones --- Hanging with moss. My boots sink deep into Moss, grass, water. My fingers run along the stones Dark and grey, Green with fresh lichen Unmoveable even after so many Years. I close my eyes and see the cottage, Enclosed in wood with a dirt floor, perhaps, A small stove and a chimney with rising smoke Warm inside amidst the Norwegian snows. I stand by these stones which Held a family once, poor but strong, And a small boy who they thought Wouldn’t live past his first year, Would follow his triplet siblings In the soft earth. But he lived --- And followed his older brother to America. A photograph shows him That day, in a long cloak and a cap, standing with his father, whom he Would never see again, in the country He would never see again until He was 80 years old, when finally, After years of letters, he saw His family and homeland again. My great-grandfather, who lived to 99, Who I remember in the nursing home When I was small because there was an Aquarium with colorful fish and I would Watch them while he held my mother’s Hand, softly saying “Ja” and “Nei”… And now, as I stand on this earth where he Stood, where he lived, where he was born, Where he decided to leave this breathtaking Place for a chance at a better life, Where he made a decision that Determined my existence; I wish I Had a chance to ask him how and why, To ask him how it was and to see him In this place. But I can only stand and Wonder, and write, and live with his memory and this land in my heart. 8.11.2014
Letter to a Leader of the Next Generation Dear Sir, I was sitting behind you yesterday at a conference at the University of Warsaw. You were sitting there quietly, seemingly politely, dressed in your smart pin-stripe suit --- at least you looked diplomatic. But I want to bring to attention your behavior during the last panel, about Legacy and responsibility, which I found inconceivable: While a woman from Rwanda told the story of the deaths of her Mother, father, her sisters, her brothers, and her friends during The bloodbath genocide that killed over 800,000 people in three months, You were looking at pictures of yourself on Facebook. When a former prosecutor of the International Court listed All of the international actions that were taken much too late In Bosnia, Armenia, the Congo, Burma and Cambodia Resulting in the deaths of millions of innocent men, women, and children, You were choosing your next profile picture. While the panelists discussed the desperate need for reform in International law and policy in the world’s 196 countries and to “Give a damn” about the other human beings on this earth, You were desperately trying to fit a statement about yourself In 140 characters on your twitter account. What’s more, it is likely that your grandparents, your parents, And the preceding generations of Polish citizens, Sacrificed their lives so that you would have the freedom and opportunity to get an education, have a job, to have a life --- to have Facebook. I am not sure I have been so disgusted in my life; I was Irate, and I am certain that those sitting next to me could Feel the heat of my anger rising off my entire body. I wanted To scream at you, to shake you into awareness of what is Happening in the world around you. But I waited, and Soon my anger turned to sorrow, and compassion, not only For you, but for the people in your life now and in the future. I weep because one day you will be someone’s father, someone’s Teacher, doctor, lawyer --- maybe you will even make laws in This country, or the world; your new profile picture was with a Famous politician, after all. I weep because I fear that your attention is set in a different Reality --- one where people connect electronically and Relationships are no longer between human and human. When a human ceases to be human, it is easier to be apathetic About to their suffering, apathetic to their pleas for help. I was sitting behind you yesterday at a conference about Jan Karski, A man who jumped from a racing train to escape certain death, Fought bravely with his brothers and sisters in an impossible uprising, Experienced a ghetto and concentration camp and pleaded, One man standing, to the Allied governments --- namely US and Britain, Who turned deaf ear to his pleas at a point in the War when Millions who later died could have been saved. I am not asking you to jump from a train, I am not asking you to pick up a gun and fight --- But I am asking you, pleading with you --- Do not let the world pass you by. Peel your eyes from that screen and hear those who Are with you here and now. Use the gift of the Internet To become informed on the issues of the world, to Spread advocacy for peace, justice, love, and compassion. Dear Future Leader, I send you this as a friend, as a fellow human being, As a plea on behalf of all humanity. Not only do I hope and pray that your apathy does not contribute to The immeasurable loss of life in the Central African Republic, In Syria, Palestine, and in the slums of third world nations, That you do not become blind to the suffering on your own Streets, to the cries of help from your family, neighbors, and friends--- But I pray to God you wake up and become aware of the world, so that you do not suddenly realize one day that you have missed: The first cry of your newborn child, the soft smile of your wife, The first blooms in spring, the changing colors of leaves, A performance that makes you weep, a painting that takes Your words, or a mountain view that cannot be recreated. Because you have spent your life looking at a lifeless electronic object. From the depths of my soul I wish you peace and all good; you are in my prayers. - A Friend and Fellow Human little girl
puffy purple coat and tiny purple gloved fingers grasping a single purple clover little black shoes and little legs streched out over the lap of "Tata", wearing a black beanie over crazy curly hair--- the kind you find on young indie musicians and students in grungy coffee shops smoking cigarettes on graffiti-ed dark street corners--- whispering soothing words to tiny ears covered by a tiny matching beanie, but purple, both looking at the passing evening world, dim-yellow streetlamps and lit-up storefronts as the tram rocked along --- until the tram-stop bell sounded and the two entered that world together, hand in hand. A few weeks ago I had the incredibly opportunity to see world-renowned composer and pianist Philip Glass play some of his 20 Etudes as part of the Sacrum Profanum music festival in Krakow, Poland. Each piece in the set was performed, alternately by Glass, Maki Namekawa, and Piotr Orzechowski, and as an experimental exercise, I wrote a poem based on each etude. For more information on Philip Glass, please see: http://www.philipglass.com/ and for more information on Sacrum Profanum, please see http://sacrumprofanum.com/en. Enjoy! i. the sun shines on the meadow --- a soft ripple flows through the field of wheat grasses and wildflowers sway as they please in the breeze as if smiling --- their cares non-existent as the sun shines and all is beautiful all is pleasant all is truth in this moment. yesterday is yesterday, tomorrow will be tomorrow, and today is enough. ii. why do we separate the pieces of our being as if we exist on different planes? are we not one person? what are the thresholds within which we cross, the hidden lines that transform our molecular chemistry, changing our behavior one way or another? our perceptions of a certain location or group of people inflences who we choose to be in a given moment. iii. mediocrity. darkness lingers within us deceives us with pleasantly-coated lies --- slowly pulling in small ways so that we do not see the effects. guided at first by small nudges then marionettes on strings blindly led, until we wake up one day, pull back the curtains and wonder--- how the hell did we end up here? indifference. seduces us swaying us before we succumb to the jaws of the monster. iv. walking along in a dark street a lone light flickers and the cobblestones dully shine as i stand, umbrella-less staring at the black sky as golden drops slowly fall. moonless sky, starless sky, the raindrops as the stars, the streetlamp the moon. why must things be what they're not? is absence of what's real perceived? so i stand as stars soak my head, run down my face and fall to the ground, under the fluorescent moon. v. the sun rises, shines in the spaces between the clouds shedding golden rays as it can. the clouds - thick and grey - stand firm to block its light. yet the sun - ever shining, continues its ascent, though unseen behind the clouds. the clouds - a million grey molecules, not strong enough along but together can block the light. but as one particle falls away, and another, and another, the grey subsides and the sun, always there, always true, ever-shinging, begins to emerge to now be seen and understood as existent. vi. ballerinas twirl like pink cherry blossoms falling in the light and fragrant spring breezes, lilting and swaying, dancing their way to the soft grass. the dancers light like soft petals and the slightest fragrance of falling blossoms, bourrée effortlessly, as if their movement was controlled only by the wind. weightless, the dancers end, bowing and exiting, and the stage is empty of blossoms. vii. settled in happy love understanding the contentment and comfort knowing consistency subtle new changes adjustments but grounded without regrets. a familiar dance done without the worry of forgetting or not knowing the steps, laughing at mistakes. viii. but then, life takes a different turn. something is not as it once was and life is different now. nothing is to be done but adjust quickly. this is the bad of "in good times and in bad" what everyone thinks will never happen to them, but secretly fears. ix. but strength and lightness comes from somewhere the ability to smile in the face of change, to pull the grounded-ness from some store within --- to dance when your partner is gone. x. sunrise flowers open bees and dragonflies begin their day's work amidst the blossoms as the dew disappears catching final sun-sparkles rays of sun emerge over the horizon, one by one shining awakening the dust in the air, warming the wings of day. xi. a million faces --- a million people. and every one has an individual soul. overwhelming, isn't it? when you have the opportunity to connect --- to come to know one of these souls, it is like plucking a star from the sky and holding it in the palm of your hand. or maybe - just a few in a lifetime - you can hold it in your heart. xii. marionettes and music-box charachters dancing - old and worn - to a metallic and plinking tune, - their forever-smiling faces somewhat melancholy in faded colors- old pieces threatening to come apart in constant and commanded motion spinning and twirling faster and faster seeminglyoutofcontrol but slowing into a final coda, one final set of twirls fixed waves and painted-on smiles slow- ing to a stop. until someone winds the crank again. xiii. happiness that swells in your chest overwhelms you overflows and spills out of you in a smile --- and even if you don't smile, it shines in a brief glint in your eyes. xiv. lazily, our boat rocks on the sea a boat for two - you and me. the sun sings in the sky and one unhurried seagull flies by. we've taken in the oars, and lay casually on this boat alone, alone on the sea together - together you and me. xv. can you feel the autumn come? the slightly cool breeze on a summer day the brown-edged leaf that falls first (crunching under your unsuspecting bare foot) the first cool drops after a warm summer rain, when green is fleeting and the earth is ripe. summer is going, summer is gone. xvi. mary jane --- walk with me. hold my hand on this street --- will you find joy in life? will you know truth? mary jane --- when i cannot pick you up after you fall, will you sing when no one else will sing? will you dance when no one else will dance? dear, sweet, mary jane --- let me hold your hand while i can. let me kiss your forehead and whisper that i love you. let me show you the flowers, the birds, let me feel, with you, the sun and the soft wind. for one day all you will have of me is the sun --- the flowers and the birds --- the soft wind. mary jane. xvii. blackbirds scatter, emptying the sky all except the grey, and the hint of blue. and here, in the softest rose hue, i know that He is here. i know that hope emerges and love lives. though fog lilts and rolls, conceals and reveals, what's true is always there --- steadfast and unchanging [despite our mis-perception] xviii. water flows over river stones constant flow --- taking an occasional small piece unnoticed by the stone unnoticed by the river but influencing one another. the water flows and the particle goes --- so we give of ourselves, and take of others. until, perhaps, we have taken and given enough to continue existence in a new form and place. xix. all that we are is enough once we find the worth in the love and joy within use and we cannot help but overflow. but what a long journey it is to search so far for what is directly within us. xx. rain patters on the window as i look out pen in hand and empty paper. each raindrop a song i cannot sing a poem i cannot write. i am like a brown leaf of winter
fragile dry and brittle barely clinging to the dormant winter branch i am desperately clinging holding onto things of which i know i should let go but can't. there are plenty of leaves surrounding me and we rustle together in the passing wind occasionally one tired and weary gives up this perpetual clinging unravels her white knuckled grasp we watch her drift away floating effortless in the wind--- her exhale of relief echoes softly as she disappears. we remain so desperately clinging waiting for the strength within us to let go. dewdrops on grassblades
tremble in the breeze one drop for tiny sparrow; a cup of morning tea a day's drink for young cricket a morning bath for humble bee they disappear by afternoon but sometime in the night little drops come just in time for dawn's magnificent light she wipes the tears from her eyes,
he reaches to caress her face he speaks, she nods, looks away and gives a reply. they embrace--- they kiss--- exchange little nothings suddenly time seems too fast but what to say? she fixes his collar he gently touches her arm they look opposite ways and light up cigarettes. she leans on her luggage, wipes another tear, he looks at her and speaks consoling words they again embrace longer this time--- how long will she be gone? touch and words--- how to fill the upcoming absence? they look at each other one final kiss. he takes her suitcase and they walk hand in hand to the platform. legs shifting
knees bumping, apologies train rumbles, door slides open broken light stuffing the shade in the window to keep it open coughing, breathing hot, cold dry, stuffy two leave, three more come finally doze off just as the sun rises and the train pulls into the station |
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