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Espace perso de Claudie-Shatha ..................FRIENDS are angels restoring us when our wings don't remember how to fly …. August 28 MUSLIM SUFI POETRY - You alone
Suad Al- MUBARAK Al-SABAH (1942- You alone . . . control my history And write your name on the first page And on the third, and on the tenth, And on the last. You alone are allowed to sport with my days From the first century of my birth To the twenty-first century after love. You alone can add to my days what you wish And delete what you wish My whole history flows from the palms of your hands And pours into your palms. June 19 Tennessee Williams part VIIVII. You and I Who am I? A wounded man, badly bandaged, a monster among angels or angel among monsters, a box of questions shaken up and scattered on the floor,
A foot on the stairs, a voice on a wire, a busy collection of thumbs that imitate fingers, an enemy of yours. Your lover.
Text copyright © 1979 by Tennessee Williams June 18 Tennessee Williams part VIVI. The Ice-Blue Wind
Being expert on the zither he gave concerts twice a winter ...
His fingers knew The Ice-Blue Wind that single score and nothing more.
But what of that? It did suffice to close him in a wall of ice,
Tinged with distance, always blue, which somehow warmed him through and through.
Long, long after all had gone, and in the hall crept winter dawn,
He would strike a final string, take a bow and proudly shin
Up a column up to the roof, in union with The Absolute. June 16 Tennessee Williams part VV. Wolf's hour
Well, it's three A.M. after an hour's sleep and a blond youth who declined to stay with me. Wolf's hour of night is not well-spent alone.
Nevertheless there is this bit of comfort: in my hands' curved remembrance there remains indelibly the unclothed flesh of the youth who refused to stay longer, and I could settle for less, God knows if not unknowing. June 06 Haïku - DeathDEATH
I am dead again
Dead without grave or any wreaths My heart still beating Asking God to take me there, Quick - without regrets, remorses. Galaxy Accrostic et HaïkuM illiards years before
I deal way was born L ook to the sky and see K nitting of shining stars Y ellow and white lights W alking in heaven A s much as many tokens Y ears after years it stays ----------------------------------------- So far from us is
June 05 Tennessee Williams part IVIV. Liturgy of Roses
This is for you for whom bloom certainly roses ...
and all of those doors floating open on those who have roses going to those who have roses, in chambers which those without roses possess no license to enter.
Roses, all roses, the immense impartiality of all God and all roses, orifice emptying, never emptied of roses.
Because you are tolerant only of those who have roses, Your eyes ... saying, These roses, all roses, my roses, Though still in the arms of those who came bearing roses.
And by the same token confessing: My tongue, my tongue, not your body, my body, my body, not yours, while murmuring You, while continually murmuring You, you, you, which is translated to I no matter how murmured to whom.
June 04 Part III - TENNESSEE WILLIAMSIII. Winter Smoke Winter smoke is blue and bitter: women comfort you in winter.
Scent of thyme is cool and tender: girls are music to remember.
Men are made of rock and thunder: threat of storm to labor under.
Cypress woods are demon-dark: boys are fox-teeth in your heart.
June 03 accrostic - A letterA bility for a
L etter to give happiness
E ngrave words in minds
T otal sweetness and
T estimony of love
E nergy of feelings
R emain us we are alive ...
June 02 Tennessee Williams (part II)II. Cruising
Noontime youths, thighs and groins tight-jean-displayed, loiter onto Union Square, junkies flower-scattered there, lost in dream, torso-bare, young as you, old as I, voicing soundlessly a cry ...
Androgyne, mon amour, shadows of you name a price exorbitant for short lease. What would you suggest I do, wryly smile and turn away, fox-teeth gnawing chest-bones through?
Even less would that be true than, carnally, I was to you many, many lives ago, requiems of fallen snow.
Androgyne, mon amour, cold withdrawal is no cure for addiction grown so deep. Now, finally, at cock's crow, released in custody of sleep, dark annealment, time-worn stones far descending, no light there, no sound there, entering depths of thinning breath, farther down more ancient stones, halting not, drawn on until
Ever treacherous, ever fair, at a table small and square, not first light but last light shows ... Androgyne, mon amour. June 01 miss youMISS YOU ...
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