11.02.08
Luna Ticks
(The “emergency” messages I receive on my cellphone are usually orders for me to go out and gaze at the moon… and it is my duty to act forthwith! What sheer blessedness!) “Words are not enough. No language will be worthy to speak of it. Its beauty is beyond these mediums,” my informant, a fellow “lunatic” reminded me. Nevertheless, such an entrancing sight only persuades me to set forth a few words. Not so I could clutch the moonlight in my hands, but to at least hold traces of it.
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¤ ¤ ¤
(11/02/08)
Waxing crescent moon,
fisherman’s cradle of fruitful prognosis,
did Osman really envision you in his dreams? I wonder.
The Boat of Light to the Babylonians,
representation of Isis to the Egyptians,
Tanit to the Phoenicians, Diana to the Greeks, a Tagore volume.
What other fables have they credited to your obliqueness?
Would they not have preferred humorous depictions,
you Croissant of the Sky, you Exaggerated Fingernail Trimming?
You may be Light, but you are more enigma.
Are you Beauty,
or are you merely
like me?
Drifting,
waiting,
a semicircle –
yet to be circumferred,
circumpleted.
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¤ ¤ ¤
“Beauty, Light, it happens that people regard them as obsolete, as insignificant… Certainly, there is an enigma. Certainly, there is a mystery. But the mystery is not a stage piece turning to account the play of light and shadow only to impress us.It is what continues to be a mystery, even in bright light. It is only then that it acquires that refulgence that captivates and which we call Beauty. Beauty that is an open path - the only one perhaps - towards that unknown part of ourselves, towards that which surpasses us. There, this could be yet another definition of poetry: the art of approaching that which surpasses us. Innumerable secret signs, with which the universe is studded and which constitute so many syllables of an unknown language, urge us to compose words, and with words, phrases whose deciphering puts us at the threshold of the deepest truth.
~Odysseus Elytis Alepoudellis~
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lunatic said,
November 3, 2008 at 8:57 am
you finally spoke of the moon…
oh moon. if only i could hold you there… and wonder how to look at the world from its zenith…
they said that this satellite rouses passion, i dare say that it is not just passion that is molded but the acuity of love as well…and if the almighty heaven permits, i will wait for you there tonight.
jonathan hawk said,
November 3, 2008 at 9:05 am
Beautiful written word of light and radiance…it is no wonder that you run when the text beckons… I would too.
mika lastrilla said,
November 3, 2008 at 1:03 pm
it amazes me how, sometimes, nature’s beauty can surpass the most beautiful of man’s art. there’s this quote i once read: “art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.” how can we ever succeed if we are competing with The Artist Himself? :)