Blue and black for faithfulness; green for unfaithfulness.
'What colours are there
in your hair?
I didn't see
past the red, gone brown
by dark...
the hair, the red
lights of strands'---Kenneth Irby.
And the blue mourned the loss of the red.
Search out the faint pencil marks by light, the spaces that held us, in silence, in which we fell. Rehearse the lines again, until they're deep in you, like wine's dark mysteries, only to stammer, dazed when the time comes. What word is there for the unseen one, the web without the spider, widowed time under your skin, your breath on the dark glass; what names I give you, like the hand of a criminal, searching out the truth; mythical names and colours, since everything in the world must substitute, bring you closer. The Red room: and the whole world was red.
'Then we turn disjointed and uncertain
at even the next word, to make any connection
connects everything'
---K.I.
Shorten everything, but most of all time; the one moment, hanging like a loose thread...tying us together, linking us, night after night. The redwood in the heart, the Eastward-facing heart. If only.If only time wasn't time. The red-emption, an unraveling, unknotting...
Do not give me scissors, the Sufi said, but a needle; I do not cut, but weave.
_ _ _ _
Riven:
From Middle English riven (“to rive”), of North Germanic origin, from Old Norse rīfa (“to rend, tear apart”), from Proto-Germanic *rīfanan (“to tear, scratch”), from Proto-Indo-European *(e)reip- (“to crumble, tear”). Cognate with Danish rive (“to tear”), Old Frisian rīva (“to tear”), Old English ārǣfan (“to let loose, unwrap”), Old Norse ript (rift, “breach of contract”), Norwegian rive (“to tear”)
Ruffu:
to repair what is riven.
7 comments:
i am reading what you wrote here and at times it seems as if i were reading a mystic, i can't even tell whether you long for a lover or for the divine, some mystical rapture, tearing of being. at first i thought that this was the influence of all your sufi reading, but i wonder now, and if it is the other way round - that you are attracted to such poems precisely because there is the same urge in your own being? of course, it is impossible to unravel such mysteries, what came first and why - as it is impossible to read behind the veil...
what is the word in Romanian?
But I haven't done any sufi reading! :-) and your other point seems way off as well!
I'm told that in various traditions there is this similarity, overlap (starting from the Song of Songs) and the courtly tradition, of course, which some people might find blasphemous.
Yes, impossible to read behind the veil. except, sometimes, if you see the eyes, you see everything. Now, you will no doubt read something erotic or mystical into that innocent line by innocent lil me.
"as if i were reading a mystic"
you mock me! :-)
hello, Roxana. how are you?
b.
of course, the 'you' i wrote about is only the voice speaking in this text, and many others, not you personally.
lines like these:
what names I give you, like the hand of a criminal, searching out the truth; mythical names and colours, since everything in the world must substitute, bring you closer.
i only interpret the text, this is what i do. and it reads either like a longing for an impossible lover (as in court poetry, indeed), or a mystical text, or both.
oh.
u sound like a french intellectual there! very thrilling and mildly erotic. the text, i mean.
Interesting text, B. Gives your aims way more texture.
why am i surrounded by (female) shrinks?! :-)
My previous comment didn't take, but...regarding you,;), I think the right question remains : what book will you be tomorrow? In many ways you are still caught into that juvenile state of stretching boundaries, probing and testing limits, avidly still living within the pages of books (yeah, thinking of Wittgenstein here, not pretending to reinvent the wheel). Now, back to my soufflés...
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