the wave, part IV
AT POPHAM BEACH Haze of wave spume
towards Small Point,
Seguin Island Light like
a whale's spout--
maybe life washes itself here,
cools off.
It never comes clean.
See all the sails up
and full in the windy parade of skin
and sand and brine.
Soon the rocks will pluck
each wave's feathers.
Soon the beach
like the moon, waning,
will be 1/8th its size.
somewhere else --
maybe Ireland -- the tide
will bottom out then.
For now the sun blesses the bodies at home in theirs,
and those less so,
to ruin and ruin's aftermath --
whatever that is --
and the waves rolling in,
little snowplows,
nimbus in miniature; how
the beach fishhooks east,
one child -- is that mine,
or some spirit I was one more
usher of? -- face up, arms and legs
scraping a temporary angel in the sand.
© 2008 Thorpe Moeckel
PRELUDEI know only the bare
rocks of today.
In these lies my brown sea-weed,—
green quartz veins bent through the wet shale;
in these lie my pools left by the tide—
quiet, forgetting waves;
on these stiffen white star fish
on these I slip barefooted!
rocks of today.
In these lies my brown sea-weed,—
green quartz veins bent through the wet shale;
in these lie my pools left by the tide—
quiet, forgetting waves;
on these stiffen white star fish
on these I slip barefooted!
Whispers of the fishy air touch my body;
Sisters, I say to them.
© 2008 William Carlos Williams
Sisters, I say to them.
© 2008 William Carlos Williams
PROJECTORLight takes new attribute
and yet his old
glory
enchants;
he shows his splendour
in a little room;
he says to us,
be glad
Pleiads rise.glory
enchants;
he shows his splendour
in a little room;
he says to us,
be glad
and laugh, be gay;
waves sparkle and delight
the weary eyes
that never saw the sun fall in the sea
nor the bright
waves sparkle and delightthe weary eyes
that never saw the sun fall in the sea
nor the bright
© 2008 H.D.
BLANDULA, TENULLA, VAGULAWhat hast thou, O my soul, with paradise?
Will we not rather, when our freedom's won,
Will we not rather, when our freedom's won,
Lets drift in on us through the olive leaves
A liquid glory? If at Sirmio,
My soul, I meet thee,
when this life's outrun,
Will we not find some
headland consecrated
By aery apostles of
terrene delight,
Will not our cult be foundedon the waves,
Clear sapphire, cobalt, cyanine,
On triune azures,
the impalpable
Mirrors unstill of the eternal change?
On triune azures,the impalpable
Mirrors unstill of the eternal change?
Soul, if She meet us there,
will any rumour
Of havens more high
and courts desirable
Lure us beyond
the cloudy peak of Riva?
© 2008 Ezra Pound
(not the first time the wave has shown up here -- check it out -- this time inspired by quiche's fascination with it.)
Labels: arnost hoffbauer, ezra pound, HD, hokusai, imagist poetry, isoda koryûsai, roubille, the sea, the wave, thorpe moeckel, utagawa hiroshige I, waterbabies, waves, william carlos williams
posted by lotusgreen at 1:11 PM
1 Comments:
Found it! I don't know how I missed this one when you first posted it. I must have been in my Inkscape world or music. Lovely! I am fascinated too with how motifs from nature, Asian and elsewhere, and certainly cross cultural, in the world have evolved and morphed into abstract forms, sometimes barely discernable from their natural forms, and have crossed cultures, and spilling into popular culture. Love too the Ezra Pound poem, as if he were peering at the same images. Glad my oddball fascination inspired this (:
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hi, and thanks so much for stopping by. i spend all too much time thinking my own thoughts about this stuff, so please tell me yours. i thrive on the exchange!
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