Showing posts with label Urban. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Urban. Show all posts

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Eugene Onegin






“It's a lucky man, a very lucky man, who is committed to what he believes, who has stifled intellectual detachment and can relax in the luxury of his emotions - like a tipsy traveller resting for the night at wayside inn.”






“He filled a shelf with a small army of books and read and read; but none of it made sense. .. They were all subject to various cramping limitations: those of the past were outdated, and those of the present were obsessed with the past.”






“But even friendship like our heroes' 
Exist no more; for we've outgrown 
All sentiments and deem men zeroes-- 
Except of course ourselves alone. 
We all take on Napoleon's features, 
And millions of our fellow creatures 
Are nothing more to us than tools... 
Since feelings are for freaks and fools. 
Eugene, of course, had keen perceptions 
And on the whole despised mankind, 
Yet wasn't, like so many, blind; 
And since each rule permits exceptions, 
He did respect a noble few, 
And, cold himself, gave warmth its due.”





“..depression still kept guard on him, and chased after him like a shadow - or like a faithful wife.”







“Thus heaven's gift to us is this: That habit takes the place of bliss.”

Alexander Pushkin

Sunday, February 5, 2017

The Songlines



 

“As a general rule of biology, migratory species are less 'aggressive' than sedentary ones.





There is one obvious reason why this should be so. The migration itself, like the pilgrimage, is the hard journey: a 'leveller' on which the 'fit' survive and stragglers fall by the wayside.





The journey thus pre-empts the need for hierarchies and shows of dominance. The 'dictators' of the animal kingdom are those who live in an ambience of plenty. The anarchists, as always, are the 'gentlemen of the road'.”






“in becoming human, man had acquired, together with his straight legs and striding walk, a migratory ‘drive’ or instinct to walk long distances through the seasons;



 


that this ‘drive’ was inseparable from his central nervous system; and that, when warped in conditions of settlement, it found outlets in violence, greed, status-seeking or a mania for the new.





This” 
 
Bruce Chatwin

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Haiku Two to Fourteen






Into the lake spill
a single drop of wine
and there fades the sun






In the meadows
not one four-leaf clover;
among the three of us, who is to blame?







In the museum garden
Chairs deserted.
The statues have gone back
to that other museum.







Could that be the voice?
of our dead friends?
or could that be the phonograph?








She rests her fingers
on the sea-blue scarf
Look, there: corals!







Contemplating
Heavy are her breasts
through the looking glass






Again I put on
the tree leaves
and you, you bleat.







Darkness. The wind.
Divorce spreads
and moves in waves.







Naked woman
the pomegranate she threw
was full of stars.







 
I am raising now
a dead butterfly
with no make-up








How can you gather
the thousand little pieces
of each person?







What's wrong with the rudder?
The boat goes in circles
And not a single gull in sight







Sick Fury
She has no eyes left,
the snakes she was grasping
swallow her hands.







There is a hole in this column.
Can you see
Persephone? 

George Seferis