accidents of light and shadow

pigeons on wabash avenue

the three questions

what is real?

who am i?

how should i live?

mono no aware: mist, branches, morning sun

sacred grove

there are places in the forest where the illusion of space and time is so thin that it seems one might step into the real world without even trying

perhaps not trying is the key

answer to Job

existence and delay

Relentless necessity, wretchedness, distress, the crushing burdens of poverty and of labour which wears us out, cruelty, torture, violent death, constraint, disease -- all these constitute divine love. It is God who in love withdraws from us so that we can love him. But if we were exposed to the direct radiance of his love, without the protection of space, of time and of matter, we should be evaporated like water in the sun; there would not be enough "I" in us to make it possible to surrender the "I" for love's sake. Necessity is the screen set between God and us so that we can be. It is for us to pierce through the screen so that we cease to be.
--Simone Weil
Gravity and Grace

and in the margin of weil's text, the woman i love has written: 

there would be no delay,

no existence

Honora Bay, Manitoulin Island, Ontario, 28 Nov. 2012, 2:06 p.m.

what does it matter
who stands here
and holds the camera?

untitled

identity is a small fire in the chest

this only earth breathes inside our small sleep

home is a crossroads, the gods and the local dead, the ways of the world

i remember the edge between weight and flow

a pulse in the air struggles to say its name

a river in broceliande

persistence and fade

this is how i wait

moving in october

Last waking in the old house, the boy watches
from an upstairs window, nodding
at the sky‘s surrender to dust from the harvest.

The restless world searches for an ending.
Congregations of blackbirds over stubble,
like mothers and fathers gleaning children

from the broken ground. Wind maims
the soft yellow trees, tearing the frail edges
of leaves, trying to sew the name of God.

He whispers his own name as if pulling a thread.
His breath fogs pale and cool on the glass,
warm on the back of his hand. It is day.

birch grove, october dusk

this doorway

James Owens 1904 - 1988

Jack Owens 1936 - 2003

James Owens 1963 -

Benjamin Owens 2000 -

------------------------

And I know a father

Who had a son

He longed to tell him all the reasons

For the things he'd done

He came a long way

Just to explain

He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping

Then he turned around and headed home again

Paul Simon

Slip-Sliding Away

lift

toward the moment

Letter to James Wright from the Rocks above Bass Pond at the End of Summer

I bang fist-sized stones together. Once.
Stones cool with the smell of dirt
from lying in the ferns.
My palms love their gritty sides.

The hollow tonk plucks at air
like a first raindrop hitting a spider’s web,
the attentiveness of a word
and no content.

The solemn turkey buzzard shrugs higher.
Grey moss cracks underfoot.
Juniper and blueberry clench small.
Here wind and weak sun --

below, the fur of trees ruffles,
the pond glints,
losing track of my failures.

I will lie and wither like the moss
and rise in a year, language as hard
and unused as a scatter of pebbles,
to find my own crossed thighbones here,

stripped sticks
to knock together for prayer.

the lure of distance

space around world and i

Ein Wort

Ein Wort, ein Satz—: aus Chiffren steigen

erkanntes Leben, jäher Sinn,

die Sonne steht, die Sphären schweigen

und alles ballt sich zu ihm hin.

Ein Wort—ein Glanz, ein Flug, ein Feuer,

ein Flammenwurf, ein Sternenstrich—-

und wieder Dunkel, ungeheuer,

im leeren Raum um Welt und Ich.

Gottfried Benn

A Word

A word, a phrase -- from ciphers climb

Known life, sudden sense.

The sun stops, spheres no longer chime,

All thickens around, dark and dense.

A word, a gleam, a flight, a spark,

A thrust of flame, star-strike on the sky --

Then again the enormous dark

And empty space around world and I.

(my translation)

breath

inuksuk

words in a landscape
shadows on rock

for ruth, at washed stones

a contrary joy

Einsamer nie als im August:
Erfüllungsstunde—im Gelände
die roten und die goldenen Brände,
doch wo ist deiner Gärten Lust?

Die Seen hell, die Himmel weich,
die Äcker rein und glänzen leise,
doch wo sind Sieg und Siegsbeweise
aus dem von dir vertretenen Reich?

Wo alles sich durch Glück beweist
und tauscht den Blick und tauscht die Ringe
im Weingeruch, im Rausch der Dinge—:
dienst du dem Gegenglück, dem Geist.

Gottfried Benn

Never more lonely than in August:

This fulfilled hour, the land

Is red brand after golden brand --

But is your garden’s longing lost?

The clear lakes, a tender gleam

Of sky, the fields softly shine,

But where is triumph and its sign

From your far, native realm?

Though happiness is the proof others find,

Exchanging glances, exchanging rings

In the aroma of wine, a drunkenness of things,

You serve a contrary joy, the mind.

(my translation)

we pass through the edge of the world to reach its heart