as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared

Mark Rothko, Green Over Blue, 1956."I’m not an abstractionist. I’m not interested in the relationship of color or form or anything else. I’m interested only in expressing basic human emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, doom, and so on."

Every true poet is a monster.
He destroys people and their speech.
His singing elevates a technique that wipes out
the earth so we are not eaten by worms.
The drunk sells his coat.
The thief sells his mother.
Only the poet sells his soul to separate it
from the body that he loves.

Follow the courses of the stars, as if you were going along with them; and consider constantly the changes of the elements into one another; for such thoughts purge away the filth of this earthly life.

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.


Amare gli altri è una pesante croce,
ma tu sei bella senza ghirigori,
ed il segreto della tua vaghezza
è l’enigma risolto della vita.

A primavera si sente il frullare dei sogni
e il fruscìo di novità e certezze.
Tu sei della stirpe di tali princìpi.
Come l’aria il tuo senso è spassionato.

E’ facile svegliarsi e veder chiaro,
spazzare dal cuore il pattume verbale
e vivere senza intasarsi in anticipo.
Tutto questo è una piccola scaltrezza.

Boris Pasternak

it was a dream

in which my greater self
rose up before me
accusing me of my life
with her extra finger
whirling in a gyre of rage
at what my days had come to.
i pleaded with her, could i do,
oh what could i have done?
and she twisted her wild hair
and sparkled her wild eyes
and screamed as long as
i could hear her
This. This. This.

Lucille Clifton

I’d like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.

I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.

come a little further —why be afraid—
here’s the earliest star(have you a wish?)
touch me,
before we perish
(believe that not anything which has ever been
invented can spoil this or this instant)
kiss me a little:
the air
darkens and is alive—
o live with me in the fewness of
these colours;
alone who slightly
always are beyond the reach of death

and the English