Unforgettable —

classmates translating “Apogeo del apio”

Those imaginary stalks!

Unforgotten in thirty-odd years

Such trifles constitute eternity,

its small eternal bits

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written this very minute after dancing to Tanya Tucker, then putting on Heather Nova and walking away into my office. Looking for something to write, celery intruded by means of untraceable association.

The Spanish refers to a poem by Pablo Neruda, “Apogee of celery”.

Also a truly totally optional poem for Totally Optional Prompts.

You are incredible!
he said,
I don’t know where
ugly little me
fits in there
with your lofty ambitions
any more.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written around Ambitious, Incredible and Ugly from 3WW.

Author’s note: Not the least bit autobiographical, I’m happy to say. But such relationships exist in real life…

Let’s engage in some mayhem before we disarm.

Contains the 3 words engage, mayhem and disarm from 3WW CLIV.

Could be said to be a variation of the Bushism “you disarm, or we will.”

PS: I noticed – belatedly- that I posted this on September 11. It’s just as well, then, that it alludes to George W. Bush.

I would have loved to capture that Jinx – our Jinx – but, being her cousin, albeit twice removed and not much older than her, I did not qualify. Not that the subject ever came up.

Now she’s married, happily it seems, with two cute kids, and I get to see her every once in a while, at birthday or funeral parties, as it is among relatives.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written around Capture, Jinx, Qualify from 3WW CL.

Me alejo de mí mismo…
– Octavio Paz

Wiping the windows for hours
The stale blue cool coming alive
behind her eyes:
Little transparent one-cellular crumbs
She and her white and blue cotton cloth

are one

In the evenings we take walks
Then the daffodils are not so yellow,
and she says in a very foreign language:
Amru tys amry nos …

I open the steel-blue steel car door

She glides in

Or we go to a hula dance but she keeps watching me
through my black-rimmed glasses
and thick small-patterned dark suit,
my bulgy fifties self

But tender I read in her attentive eyes
Amru tys amry nos …

Her short-nailed fingers follow fine threads
and find islands easily

Buttons

And what do you have there? A piece of paper? And it says,

Keep this coupon?

Yes, amru tys amry nos …

– Johannes Beilharz ( © 1981 )

Note
I decided to post this older poem because I thought of it immediately after glancing at One Single Impression’s Windows prompt. This did not seem too far-fetched after rereading the entire poem because the themes of windows, transparency, looking through are all over the place.

Don’t give me that
hypnotic sulk, you drip.

That used to work, but
it ain’t workin’ no more.

Go feel sorry for yourself,
I ain’t doin’ it no more.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written around drip, hypnotic and sulk from 3WW.

For A.B., as usual

1 / Collapse

Several times he seemed
ready to collapse
under the burden of
pain from unhappy love

Yet always managed
to pick himself up –
by his own scalp,
so to speak

But there were moments
when collapse seemed
the sweetest thing on earth –

the final breaking of those
iron rings in his heart region
that would manifest pure love

2 / Sweet

An infinite sweetness
bearing no relation
to the object of collapse

Something truly
unconditional – an oath
not to ever betray

love, that particular love
regardless of anything
that might happen

3 / Yearn

Despite it all,
in the face of despise:
there it is – near-blind,
sighful yearning

The more un-
fullfillable
the better

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written around Collapse, Sweet, Yearn from 3WW.

I opened the door and I found I was looking at danger
It’s been so many years but we’re hiding our faces like strangers
She says that she’s got to go but there ain’t no way
I’m letting her walk while there’s something to say
It’s been too many years
to watch our hearts die in this way.
She’s feeling a time for a seasonal change and she’s yearning
To shake the trees of our love in the streets where the leaves are for burning
All things on this earth were made for the dying
One look in my soul says there just ain’t no use trying
It’s been too many years
to watch our hearts die in this way
In an unwritten time I thought that life was for sharing
And living together was simply a matter of caring
But things did not work out like I planned
and alienation has left me here damned
It’s been too many years
to watch our hearts die in this way

– Jorma Kaukonen

The dilemma of seeming to know each other too well, for too many years, becoming almost strangers. Unfortunately, there is no rendition of this wonderful song by ex-Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna lead guitarist Jorma Kaukonen on Youtube.

Posted for One Single Impression and The Stranger.

Once again for A.B.

I know you a little better now
than before, will

know you better again tomorrow
and the day after

I knew the sparkle before,
the sparkle in your dark brown eyes

Last week I noticed the wrinkles
around your eyes – you’re

thirty-seven after all, I noticed them
from the side as we were driving along

And yesterday it dawned on me
that you’re also fickle –

capricious for capriciousness’ sake;
you call it spontaneous

And don’t tell me you don’t thrive
on compliments on your beauty –

I know you better than your daughter
who is like you,

dancing away throwing a mane of hair,
curious of its effect

“Did I do a good throw?”
she said over her shoulder

I can’t wait to hear what you will say
over your shoulder

The day after the day and the day
I will know you better

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written to incorporate Fickle / Sparkle / Wrinkle from 3WW.

For A.S.

With all my cavorting
– and yours on top! –

we never know
who we’re dealing with.

You told me today
that sometimes

you did not know
who you were talking to

when talking to me –
my inner child,

my outer child,
my higher self

or whatever
(I don’t have

the nomenclature
down), and which

layer of you was
communicating with me.

“We’re complicated,”
I said. “No,” you said,

“complex.” That
definitely came

from your mouth
and went into my ear.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written upon inspiration by “covert” for Sunday Scribblings.