Art is the proper task of life











{June 27, 2007}   Wide Brush By Alfred Nicole

Wide Brush

By Alfred Nicole

Late afternoon, in the slant winter light,

Where men are painting the white buildings white,

The shadows of their ladders climb the walls

To meet the covering darkness as it falls.

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{April 26, 2007}   He fumbles at your spirit

By Emily Dickenson

He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees,

Prepares your brittle substance
For the ethereal blow
By faint hammers, further heard,
Then nearer, then so slow

Your breath has time to strighten,
Your brain to bubble cool, —
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul.



{April 25, 2007}   The Weeping

By Frederico Garcia Lorca

I have shut my windows.
I do not want to hear the weeping.
But from behind the grey walls,
Nothing is heard but the weeping.

There are few angels that sing.
There are few dogs that bark.
A thousand violins fit in the palm of the hand.
But the weeping is an immense angel.
The weeping is an immense dog.
The weeping is an immense violin.
Tears strangle the wind.
Nothing is heard but the weeping.

Translated from Spanish by Kenneth Rexroth



{April 24, 2007}   I’m Nobody! Who are you?

by Emily Dickenson

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us–don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!



et cetera