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jennifer

offline 39 friends
joined on 10/10/05
last updated 06/27/09
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BLEED THROUGH

BLEED THROUGH
by Joy Harjo

I don't believe in promises, but there you are,
balancing on a tightrope of sound.
You sneak into the world
inside a labyrinth of flame
break the walls beneath my ribs.
I yearn to sing; a certain note can spiral stars,
or knock the balance of the world askew.
Inside your horn lives a secret woman
who says she knows the power of the womb,
can transform massacres into gold, her own heartache
into a ruby stone.
Her anger is yours and when her teeth bite through
a string of glass
you awaken
and it is not another dream, but your arms
around a woman
who was once a dagger between your legs.
There are always ways to fall asleep,
but to be alive is to forsake
the fear of blood.
And dreams aren't excuses anymore. You are not behind
a smoking mirror,
but inside a ceremony of boulders that has survived
your many deaths.
It is not by accident you watch the sun
become your heart
sink into your belly, then reappear in a town
that magnetically
attracts you.
What attracts cannot naturally be separated.
A black hole reversed is a white hot star,
unravels this night
inside a song that is the same wailing cry as blue.
There are no words, only sounds
that lead us into the darkest nights,
where stars burn into ice
where the dead arise again
to walk in shoes of fire.

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YES

Yes,
I am a rabid optimist.
For me,
Every tree that continues to stand,
Every stream that continues to flow,
Every child that runs away from home,
Is an indication
That the battle
Is not only on,
It is being won.

Possibly you will tell me
About the nuclear arms race,
And all I can tell you
Is that
An unknown child
Held my hand
With love.

You will try to draw me
Into the plateau of practical life
Tell me,
That not only God but all the religious
And irreligious leaders
Are dead,
And all I can tell you
Is that
Across the forest
Lives a young man
Who calls the earth
His mother

You will give me the
Boring details of the rise of state power
After every revolution
And all I can tell you
Is that
In our tribe
We still share
Our bread

You will reason with me
And I will talk nonsense like this.
And because the difference between reason and poetry
Is the difference between breathing and living life,
I will read poems to you.

Poems full of optimism
Poems full of dreams.
Maybe poems better than this.

- Sathyu Sarangi
Activist for Justice for Bhopal
and Managing Trustee of Sambhavna Trust




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FOR THE COURTISAN CH'ING LI


FOR THE COURTISAN CH'ING LIN
by Wu Tsau

On your slender body
Your jade and coral girdle ornaments chime
Like those of a celestial companion
Come from the Green Jade City of Heaven.
One smile from you when we meet,
And I become speechless and forget every word.
For too long you have gathered flowers,
And leaned against the bamboos,
Your green sleeves growing cold,
In your deserted valley:
I can visualize you all alone,
A girl harboring her cryptic thoughts.

You glow like a perfumed lamp
In the gathering shadows.
We play wine games
And recite each other's poems.
Then you sing `Remembering South of the River'
With its heart breaking verses. Then
We paint each other's beautiful eyebrows.
I want to possess you completely -
Your jade body
And your promised heart.
It is Spring.
Vast mists cover the Five Lakes.
My dear, let me buy a red painted boat
And carry you away.

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En-hedu-Ana

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"She makes me feel mad and holy. . . "
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1.
Deep within the forest, in the land of Elphinstone, there lived many creatures. Creatures of the land, creatures of the sky, creatures of the creeks…Varied were their modes of life. Some traveled great distances each day, leaving the woods by air in the morning and returning at night to rest. Some would go on journeys that lasted days or even months. No matter how far they traveled, they would always return to their beloved Elphinstone forest. In the deepest part of the forest, howev... read more
Sat, June 27, 2009 - 3:04 PM permalink - 1 comment
 
Just wanted to share this link to an article that may be of interest to some, by a fantastic theater director and cultural critic named Rustom Bharucha, based out of Kolkata India. It ranges from a critique of appropriationist multiculturalism to some very insightful remarks on the history of festivals as grounded in some ancient Indian traditions and contrasts them with contemporary state funded festivals. His remarks I think resonate well with what many of us love about the tribal festiva... read more
Thu, August 7, 2008 - 8:36 PM permalink - 1 comment
 
Tue, April 22, 2008 - 9:13 AM permalink - 4 comments
 
um...
Mon, April 7, 2008 - 3:07 AM permalink - 4 comments
 
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