Friday, July 19, 2013

Tor Ulven, Selected Poems



I shall marry the goldsmith's dead daughter







1

i stand under a tree of hungry hands

no

i stand under nothing

2

i am heading to an absolute

isolation solitude and emptiness

mile after mile of desert I left behind me

and last city passed a long time

i am heading to a great despair

to a doubt

that may be vanished only by major doubts

3

why do i stand silent if i have a mouth

why do i stand still if I have feet

why don't I see if I have eyes

why don't i scream if i am caught in this misery

because i am made of stone

4

there is something i cannot reach

i do not know what it is

i stretch the arms out after it

air air… air

5

what are you looking for in the sky

i'm looking for a constellation that doesn't exist

6

in the human sphere there are not well

so many significant things:

nails brain bones

*

I by my own eyes have to

access darkness.

and calmness

on the other side of them.

But who could to say

the difference

between black and green?

Who lives

and moves

in your hands

when you examine them under light

a short moment?

Many. The same

who have never

existed.

Who exists and does not

exist, exactly

now?

The forest is alive

You can smell the odor

of the fir branches

amidst the night. The wind

whizzes

In you. In us.

*

I will travel

to Eridu

and I will create my broken

jars with red images

of the red-horn goat.

and the streaming water, which

steers

and drinks all of us.

I will travel

home

to Eridu

and marry

the goldsmith's dead

daughter.

sitting on the threshold

in the evening, I hear the neighbour’s laughter

and the reborn flies

around the glare of the oil lamp.

*

The suffering

has no seat

to alight on.

You pursue oaks

inside a church.

Yes! now I suddenly see

the chestnut tree

you are thinking about, in darkness

the white flowers,

we are dust.

The slide

of a smile.

Projected on the hedge

a late summer night, the shadows

of insects

that chase, perhaps

a swallow.

Tor Ulven
(1953–1995)

Tor Ulven was a Norwegian poet. He is considered one of the major poets of the Norwegian post-war era, and he won several major literary prizes in Norwegian literature.

His early works, consisting of traditional modernist verse poetry, were heavily influenced by André Breton and the surrealist movement. As the 1980s progressed he developed a more independent voice, both stylistically and thematically. The later part of his work consists mainly of prose. He committed suicide in 1995 in Oslo, the city where he was born.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

The alphabet prayer



0009



The alphabet prayer

A Hasidic tale:


Late one evening a poor farmer on his way back from the market found himself without his prayer book.

The wheel of his cart had come off right in the middle of the woods and it distressed him that this day should pass without his having said his prayers.

So this is the prayer he made:

“I have done something very foolish, Lord.

I came away from home this morn­ing without my prayer book and my memory is such that I cannot recite a single prayer without it.

So this is what I am going to do:

I shall recite the alphabet five times very slowly and you, to whom all prayers are known, can put the letters together to form the prayers I can’t remember.”


And the Lord said to his angels,

“Of all the prayers I have heard today,

this one was undoubtedly the best

because it came from a heart that was simple and sincere.”


The prayer of the frog. Volume – I

Anthony de Mello

Friday, March 29, 2013

THE LITTLE FISH



011


THE LITTLE FISH





“Excuse me,” said an ocean fish,

“You are older than I so can you tell me

where to find this thing they call the Ocean?”

“The Ocean,” said the older fish, “is the thing you are in now,”

“Oh, this? But this is water.

What I’m seeking is the Ocean,”

said the disappointed fish as he swam away to search elsewhere.


He came to the Master in sannyasi robes.

And he spoke sannyasi language:

“For years I have been seeking God.

I have sought Him everywhere that He is said to be:

On mountain peaks, the vastness of the desert,

and the silence of the cloister and the dwellings of the poor.”

“Have you found him?” the Master asked.

“No. I have not. Have you?”

What could the Master say?

The evening sun was sending shafts of golden light into the room.

Hundreds of sparrows were twittering on a banyan tree.

In the distance one could hear the sound of highway traffic.

A mosquito droned a warning that it was going to strike...

And yet this man could sit there and say he had not found Him.

After a white he left, disappointed, to search elsewhere.



Stop searching, little fish.

There isn’t anything to look for.

All you have to do is look.



The Song of the Bird

Anthony de Mello


Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Finding



Finding


I am seeking for myself…

So… I travel…

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Mary wants to be a Prostitute


0087


Mary wants to be a Prostitute


When Sister asked the children in her class what they wanted to be when they grew up
little Tommy said he wanted to be a pilot.
Elsie said she wanted to be a doc­tor,
Bobby to Sister’s great joy, said he wanted to become a priest.
Then Mary stood up and declared she wanted to be a prostitute,

“What was that again, Mary?”

“When I grow up,” said Mary with the air of someone who knew exactly what she wanted,
“I shall become a prostitute.”

Sister was startled beyond words.
Mary was immediately segregated from the rest of the children and taken to the Parish Priest.

Father was given the facts in broad outline but he wanted to check them out with the culprit,
“Tell me what happened in your own words, Mary.”

 “Well,” said Mary, somewhat taken aback by all this fuss,
“Sister asked me what I wanted to become when I grew up and I said I wanted to become a prostitute.”

“Did you say prostitute?” asked Father, double-checking.

“Yes.”

“Heavens! What a relief!
We all thought you said you were going to become a Protestant!”



The prayer of the frog. Volume – I

Anthony de Mello
 

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Alligator teeth for pearls


240

Alligator teeth for pearls

A woman tourist from the West was admiring a native’: necklace.

“What is it made of?” she asked.

“Alligator teeth, ma’am,” said the native,

“Oh, I see. I suppose they have the same value for you people that pearls have for us,”

“Not quite. Anyone can open an oyster,”


The enlightened understand that a diamond is a stone until endowed with value by the human mind.

And that things are as big or as small as your mind chooses to make them.


The prayer of the frog. Volume - II

Anthony de Mello

Monday, July 30, 2012

“She has no family"



214


“She has no family"



The family was gathered at dinner. The oldest boy announced he was going to marry the girl across the street.

“But her family didn’t leave her a penny,” objected his father.

“And she hasn’t saved a cent,” added mother. “She doesn’t know a thing about football.” said junior. “I’ve never seen a girl with such funny hair,” said sister.

“All she does is read novels,” said uncle.

“And such poor taste in the choice of her clothes,” said aunt.

“But she isn’t sparing of the powder and the paint,” said grandma.

“True,” said the boy. “But she has one supreme advantage over ail of us.”

“What’s that?” everyone wanted to know.

“She has no family!”


The prayer of the frog. Volume – I


Anthony de Mello