Poetry

Poetry and Tao Te Ching translation

Tao Te Ching #8 (translation Cristina Viviani)

True goodness is like water,

without resistance, benefits all things.

Resting in places people

dislike, it’s close to the Tao.

 

In dwelling, live close to the earth.

In heart-mind, rest in quiet spaces.

In generosity, simply give.

In speech, be sincere.

In leadership, choose harmony.

In livelihood, embrace ability. 

In action, timing is key.

 

Without quarrelling

–live with ease.

Tao Te Ching # 35 (translation Cristina Viviani)

Stay centred in the Tao and

the whole world follows

free from harm, peaceful, and radiant.

 

Music and food entice travellers to stop

while the Tao tastes insipid and bland.

 

Look, it’s barely visible.

Listen, it’s barely audible.

Its usefulness is inexhaustible.

Tao Te Ching # 3 (translation Cristina Viviani)

Not elevating one over another, prevents rivalry.

Not over-valuing rare things, prevents theft and extinction.

Not flaunting desirable goods, prevents confusion.

 

Therefore the sage leads by:

settling minds and nourishing souls,

            weakening desires and strengthening bones,

            encouraging not knowing over endless seeking,

            so deterring the knowing from interfering.

 

By simply responding, all flows into place.

Excerpt from Line poem series 

(It all Depends on Gravity manuscript)

i. Linea

An infinite series of points solicits time,

she beckons length, shy of breadth;

 

linked x-y co-ordinates join, separate, divide,

her heartbeat skips on the cardiogram;

 

a river’s pulse oscillates oceans,

her resonance fills—thunderbolt rainfall;

 

night strips serpent, rib, rhizome,

her stars wander an arc;

 

feathered too small to measure,

her unseen lines repeat a shoreline;

 

ice crystals uncurl minute replications, 

fractals slip through a pin hole.

 

ii. Crease

The day you left a fold in silence

leans impossibly close,

 

     unravels a lifetime in

     a few words spoken

      —the unspoken weight more than I.

 

Each moment crinkles an hour, a day, a month

echoes, elongate the years, decades…

 

iii. Trace

Eyes closed

my fingers trace over your eyebrow, around your ear, under

 your chin, down the hairline of your chest

 

fingertips                                 shhh—i will not give you away.

I trace a line to imagine

a shape to make the letter u

 

fingertips                                  shhh—dare i give you away?

 

iv. Trajectory

Between my skin and yours

breathes a slip-line, a trajectory

bought for knowledge.

Excerpt from Space poem series 

(It all Depends on Gravity manuscript)

vii. Timespace

They pin me down to x, y, z co-ordinates

plus time; locate me in timespace. 

 

Not all gravity shapes the same:

they fold me up, a plasticine doll,

 

they press me against the wall,

stretch me in ten dimensions.

 

This lifetime escapes a glance.

Light rays bend in gravitational fields

 

—more or less depending on:

they say, we come from stardust

 

space contained in one single atom

all 170 billion galaxies plus, their outer edge

 

forty-six to forty-seven billion light years away;

they say, the universe is flat, rapidly expanding

 

appears in all directions, finite;

they say, imagination tells time;

 

I can move freely only in space—not time

now say, what if—I stop imaging time?

Excerpt from Shape poem series 

(It all Depends on Gravity manuscript)

i. Eclipse

She disappeared with this morning’s

sky, shied into Venus’ girdle.

 

Last night, caught off guard—the full moon

slipped on earth’s shadow

painting a pale blood-orange

over the evening’s darkening sky.

 

A dim glow rising outline,

a jet-black eye pierced a hole,

the sun shot thru 

moon’s rim flirted, fire white

 

spark stretched ’round a crescent.

Light cast past her cradling wide

shading in moon’s darkness

shrinking night.

Fifteen Degrees (Intermediary States manuscript)

The long trill

of the meadow lark

collides with night

 

—reassures sunrise. Vagrant

clouds drift. The crow lifts

off a cedar branch,

 

wind catching its wings,

makes a skyward leap, twists

headfirst, a low black swoon.

 

Maples in pale red and green,

buds bigger than yesterday.

In the gusty breeze

 

weeping birches glitter,

dress the slate gray sky

with a trillion stars

 

that land

quiet grace  

in my hands.

 

In the hour of noon

the sun paints

a slice of light

 

fifteen degrees over us

—an eye

open to god.