酷我-北美枫

[anna]

I write this to you,
in the imagination of
my pen becoming a lily bud -
with breathing upon it,
it blooms beneath a full moon.

Through the silver river,
you are laughing;
a lonely boat dangles upon your reflection.
You say, poetry is far above the ground,
like the heaven, the sun ...
it rises, and rises.

Yet to me, poetry descends too.
It turns inwards to our life.
Like a door or a dream
where you can see I walk into you.
On the edge of fingertips,
you can taste the temptation of honey,
the sweetness of wine,
the warmness of blanket,
and the scents of earth.

Like now, I write this to you,
hearing our voices loudly
debating what poetry is,
what else life to hold on.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

I write this to you,
in the imagination of
my pen becoming a lily bud -
with breathing upon it,
it blooms beneath a full moon.

Through the silver river,
you are laughing;
a lonely boat dangles upon your reflection.
You say, poetry is far above the ground,
like the heaven, the sun ...
it rises, and rises.

Yet to me, poetry descends too.
It turns inwards to our life.
Like a door or a dream
where you can see I walk into you.
On the edge of fingertips,
you can taste the temptation of honey,
the sweetness of wine,
the warmness of blanket,
and the scents of earth.

Like now, I write this to you,
hearing our voices loudly
debating what poetry is,
what else life to hold on.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[anna]

this is inspired by Billy Collins' poem "You, the Read"
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

this is inspired by Billy Collins' poem "You, the Read"
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[anna]

Revised

I write this to you,
in the imagination of
my pen becoming a lily bud -
with breathing upon it,
it blooms like a full moon.

Sitting in a lonely boat,
aloof high in the starry sky,
you sprinkle the silver wine
and proclaim:
Poetry is far above the ground,
like the heaven, the sun ...
it rises, and rises.

Yet to me, poetry descends too.
It turns inwards in our lives,
like a knife peeling the pear,
a door half-open to a dim room,
a fish hooked to the shore,
a tree surviving from lightning.

On the edge of fingertips,
it outlives the sweetness of honey,
the softness of lips,
the warmness of blanket,
and the scents of earth.

Like now, I write this to you,
wonder how my voice could find you,
no matter what poetry is,
and what else our lives to hold on.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

Revised

I write this to you,
in the imagination of
my pen becoming a lily bud -
with breathing upon it,
it blooms like a full moon.

Sitting in a lonely boat,
aloof high in the starry sky,
you sprinkle the silver wine
and proclaim:
Poetry is far above the ground,
like the heaven, the sun ...
it rises, and rises.

Yet to me, poetry descends too.
It turns inwards in our lives,
like a knife peeling the pear,
a door half-open to a dim room,
a fish hooked to the shore,
a tree surviving from lightning.

On the edge of fingertips,
it outlives the sweetness of honey,
the softness of lips,
the warmness of blanket,
and the scents of earth.

Like now, I write this to you,
wonder how my voice could find you,
no matter what poetry is,
and what else our lives to hold on.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[anna]

revised again

You, the Poet

I write this to you,
imagining my pen
as a lily bud,
I breathe on it
until it blooms like a full moon.

Sitting in a lonely boat,
aloof high in the starry sky,
you sprinkle the silvery wine
and proclaim:
like the heaven, the sun ...
poetry rises, and rises.

Yet to me,
it turns inwards in our lives,
like a knife peeling a pear,
a door swung to a dim room,
a fish hooked to the shore,
a tree surviving lightning.

On the edge of fingertips,
it outlives
the softness of our lips,
the warmth of blanket,
the pureness of our blood,
and the silence of midnight.

As now, I write this to you,
wonder how my voice could find you,
no matter what poetry is,
no matter what else our lives could hold on.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

revised again

You, the Poet

I write this to you,
imagining my pen
as a lily bud,
I breathe on it
until it blooms like a full moon.

Sitting in a lonely boat,
aloof high in the starry sky,
you sprinkle the silvery wine
and proclaim:
like the heaven, the sun ...
poetry rises, and rises.

Yet to me,
it turns inwards in our lives,
like a knife peeling a pear,
a door swung to a dim room,
a fish hooked to the shore,
a tree surviving lightning.

On the edge of fingertips,
it outlives
the softness of our lips,
the warmth of blanket,
the pureness of our blood,
and the silence of midnight.

As now, I write this to you,
wonder how my voice could find you,
no matter what poetry is,
no matter what else our lives could hold on.
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[星子]

revised again.


I write this to you,
imagining my pen
as an illuminating egg.
I breathe upon it,
yet it splits into two.

Being a lonely half,
aloof in the sky,
you sprinkle your silvery stardust
and proclaim:
Like the heaven, the sun,
I rise and rise.

Yet I descend as a paring knife
peeling a pear naked and alone,
and the rotten door swung into a dim house.
I witness a fish hooked to a rocky shore,
and a trembling tree under lightning.

On the edge of fingertips,
we both outlive
the softness of our lips,
the fright of our nerve,
the sadness of our cells,
and the warmth of our blood.

Now as I write this to you,
I wonder how my voice finds you,
no matter which part we become,
no matter what else our lives hold.
_________________

[[ANNA]]

revised again.


I write this to you,
imagining my pen
as an illuminating egg.
I breathe upon it,
yet it splits into two.

Being a lonely half,
aloof in the sky,
you sprinkle your silvery stardust
and proclaim:
Like the heaven, the sun,
I rise and rise.

Yet I descend as a paring knife
peeling a pear naked and alone,
and the rotten door swung into a dim house.
I witness a fish hooked to a rocky shore,
and a trembling tree under lightning.

On the edge of fingertips,
we both outlive
the softness of our lips,
the fright of our nerve,
the sadness of our cells,
and the warmth of our blood.

Now as I write this to you,
I wonder how my voice finds you,
no matter which part we become,
no matter what else our lives hold.
_________________

[anna]

Comments from Bernie... (Always has something good to share... so I copy it here)



A---

Too much early clutter for me.

What on earth is an “illuminating egg?”

You would have no way of knowing the imaginary setting of f scott fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby---East Egg/West Egg.

I I write this to you,
imagining my pen
as an illuminating egg.
I breathe upon it,
yet it splits into two.


I just can’t imagine this taking place in real time---or in this galaxie.

Splitting a photo, listening to music, looking at a familiar object shared by both lovers---but an egg?

Ham and eggs.

Egg plant.

Eggs for DNA research.

the famed Fabergé eggs of the Hermitage----oh yes, more of that image!



Being a lonely half,
aloof in the sky,
you sprinkle your silvery stardust
and proclaim:


Yipes---does the term overwriting have any significance for you?

Like the heaven, the sun,
I rise and rise.


Sure wouldn’t want to rise like a sleeper getting up, a bather from the tub, a swimmer from the sea----oh no, the narrator must rise like the sun, the heavens.

Plz reconsider.



Yet I descend as a paring knife
peeling a pear naked and alone,
and the rotten door swung into a dim house.



Huh?

look, no man can remain ---ah, ah, potent---when faced with a lady carrying a paring knife---and that rotten door----that sure puts me in a loving mood. you too? "dim house"---what is this, a date on friday the 13th?



From heaven with a paring knife----not much of a shopping trip to heaven---I wuld have picked up a little life everlasting sauce, some salvation potion, even some re-fried soul---but nooooo, the narrator slipped a paring knife under her cloak…..


Now begins a new poem:


I witness a fish hooked to a rocky shore,
and a trembling tree under lightning.


So this poem, these concluding ten lines become both personal and fresh, the intimacy almost makes me blush. Good, more of that, less eggs and paring knives. No what I mean?


Quote:
On the edge of fingertips,
we both outlive
the softness of our lips,
the fright of our nerve,
the sadness of our cells,
and the warmth of our blood.

Now as I write this to you,
I wonder how my voice finds you,
no matter which part we become,
no matter what else our lives hold.


yes, i got it, what part of that galactic floating---splitting egg from the first lines.


you were posting poems from established authors. what happened? no reading, no growth.
here for fun:


Ardent Love


Quote:
Be my apostrophe before S
I'll second that motion
The possession beyond space and time
When the nude love swims in our notion

Give me a glass of wine darling
A glass of love potion
No I need more ecstasy
A dropp of your eyes' ocean

Persian Nightingale


opening lines from neruda---


Quote:
POETRY

And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.



a few openng lines from andre breton:

Always for the first time

Always for the first time
Hardly do I know you by sight
You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window
A wholly imaginary house
It is there that from one second to the next
In the inviolate darkness
I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occuring
The one and only rift
In the facade and in my heart
The closer I come to you


Quote:
Touch

My hands
open the curtains of your being
clothe you in a further nudity
uncover the bodies of your body
My hands
invent another body for your body

Octavio Paz


THE BIG HEART

Anne Sexton

opening lines:

"Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold."
From an essay by W. B. Yeats

Big heart,
wide as a watermelon,
but wise as birth,
there is so much abundance
in the people I have:
Max, Lois, Joe, Louise,
Joan, Marie, Dawn,
Arlene, Father Dunne,
and all in their short lives
give to me repeatedly,
in the way the sea
places its many fingers on the shore,
again and again
and they know me,
they help me unravel,
they listen with ears made of conch shells,
they speak back with the wine of the best region.



mojave
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com

[[星子安娜]]

Comments from Bernie... (Always has something good to share... so I copy it here)



A---

Too much early clutter for me.

What on earth is an “illuminating egg?”

You would have no way of knowing the imaginary setting of f scott fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby---East Egg/West Egg.

I I write this to you,
imagining my pen
as an illuminating egg.
I breathe upon it,
yet it splits into two.


I just can’t imagine this taking place in real time---or in this galaxie.

Splitting a photo, listening to music, looking at a familiar object shared by both lovers---but an egg?

Ham and eggs.

Egg plant.

Eggs for DNA research.

the famed Fabergé eggs of the Hermitage----oh yes, more of that image!



Being a lonely half,
aloof in the sky,
you sprinkle your silvery stardust
and proclaim:


Yipes---does the term overwriting have any significance for you?

Like the heaven, the sun,
I rise and rise.


Sure wouldn’t want to rise like a sleeper getting up, a bather from the tub, a swimmer from the sea----oh no, the narrator must rise like the sun, the heavens.

Plz reconsider.



Yet I descend as a paring knife
peeling a pear naked and alone,
and the rotten door swung into a dim house.



Huh?

look, no man can remain ---ah, ah, potent---when faced with a lady carrying a paring knife---and that rotten door----that sure puts me in a loving mood. you too? "dim house"---what is this, a date on friday the 13th?



From heaven with a paring knife----not much of a shopping trip to heaven---I wuld have picked up a little life everlasting sauce, some salvation potion, even some re-fried soul---but nooooo, the narrator slipped a paring knife under her cloak…..


Now begins a new poem:


I witness a fish hooked to a rocky shore,
and a trembling tree under lightning.


So this poem, these concluding ten lines become both personal and fresh, the intimacy almost makes me blush. Good, more of that, less eggs and paring knives. No what I mean?


Quote:
On the edge of fingertips,
we both outlive
the softness of our lips,
the fright of our nerve,
the sadness of our cells,
and the warmth of our blood.

Now as I write this to you,
I wonder how my voice finds you,
no matter which part we become,
no matter what else our lives hold.


yes, i got it, what part of that galactic floating---splitting egg from the first lines.


you were posting poems from established authors. what happened? no reading, no growth.
here for fun:


Ardent Love


Quote:
Be my apostrophe before S
I'll second that motion
The possession beyond space and time
When the nude love swims in our notion

Give me a glass of wine darling
A glass of love potion
No I need more ecstasy
A dropp of your eyes' ocean

Persian Nightingale


opening lines from neruda---


Quote:
POETRY

And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.



a few openng lines from andre breton:

Always for the first time

Always for the first time
Hardly do I know you by sight
You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window
A wholly imaginary house
It is there that from one second to the next
In the inviolate darkness
I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occuring
The one and only rift
In the facade and in my heart
The closer I come to you


Quote:
Touch

My hands
open the curtains of your being
clothe you in a further nudity
uncover the bodies of your body
My hands
invent another body for your body

Octavio Paz


THE BIG HEART

Anne Sexton

opening lines:

"Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold."
From an essay by W. B. Yeats

Big heart,
wide as a watermelon,
but wise as birth,
there is so much abundance
in the people I have:
Max, Lois, Joe, Louise,
Joan, Marie, Dawn,
Arlene, Father Dunne,
and all in their short lives
give to me repeatedly,
in the way the sea
places its many fingers on the shore,
again and again
and they know me,
they help me unravel,
they listen with ears made of conch shells,
they speak back with the wine of the best region.



mojave
_________________
---------------------

Anna Yin

《爱的灯塔-星子安娜双语诗选》
<Nightlights> <Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac> ...

http://annapoetry.com