Billy Collins on TED

March 26, 2012

Another brilliant TED talk from a poet Billy Collins. The last poem which he read himself was a glimpse into what I, as well as almost every parent, do to my children. Laughable and so damnable, but how to help it?..

Great poetry and great animation!

http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf

There is a website with more animated poems by Billy Collins:�http://bcactionpoet.org/

 

Mirror on The Wall

February 20, 2012

This morning, after dropping girls off at school, I caught this song on the radio, which hit me like no other song did for a while. This is totally powerful.
Rushed home to look up lyrics on youtube – even better!
Then found a video clip – blew my mind away!
See this:

Read lyrics:

Lil Wayne “Mirror” Lyrics

With everything happening today
You dont know whether you’re coming or going
But you think that you’re on your way
Life lined up on the mirror dont blow it
Look at me when Im talkin to you
You looking at me but I’m lookin through you
I see the blood in your eyes
I see the love in disguise
I see the pain hidden in your pride
I see you’re not satisfied
And I dont see nobody else
I see myself I’m looking at the

Mirror on the wall, here we are again
Through my rise and fall
You’ve been my only friend
You told me that they can understand the man I am
So why are we here talkin’ to each other again

Oh, I see the truth in your lies
I see nobody by your side
but I’m with you when you re all alone
And you correct me when Im lookin wrong
I see that guilt beneath the shame
I see your soul through your window pain
I see the scars that remain
I see you Wayne, Im lookin at the..

Mirror on the wall, here we are again
Through my rise and fall
You’ve been my only friend
You told me that they can understand the man I am
So why are we here talkin’ to each other again

Lookin at me now I can see my past
Damn I look just like my f-ckin dad
Light it up, thats smoke ‘n mirrors
I even look good in the broken mirror
I see my momma smile thats a blessin
I see the change, I see the message
and no message could been any clearer
So I’m startin’ with the man in the’

Mirror on the wall, here we are again
Through my rise and fall
You’ve been my only friend
You told me that they can understand the man I am
So why are we here talkin’ to each other again

Mirror on the wall, here we are again
Through my rise and fall
You’ve been my only friend
You told me that they can understand the man I am
So why are we here talkin’ to each other again

Mirror on the wall.

Read more: http://www.killerhiphop.com/lil-wayne-mirror-lyrics/#ixzz1muccz2NV

Today I focus on a poet John G. Rives. I admire. I love. I amaze at. I want to share this person around, so that everyone can take a little or a lot of him, and that way add more joy, into their lives.


This is what TED says about him:

Flat pages can’t contain Rives’ storytelling, even when paper is his medium. The pop-up books he creates for children unfold with surprise: The Christmas Pop-Up Present expands to reveal moving parts, hidden areas and miniature booklets inside. On stage, his poems burst in many directions, too, exposing multiple layers and unexpected treats: childhood memories, grown-up humor, notions of love and lust, of what is lost forever and of what’s still out there waiting to unfold.

On his Bravo special, Ironic Iconic America, he and costar Bar Rafaeli tour the United States looking for wonderfulness, on “A Roller Coaster Ride Through the Eye-Popping Panorama of American Pop Culture.”

And this is what he says about himself:

And here is something tender and childish, pure and innocent, fluttery and bunny-full…

And just this one more here:

This looks like a door to his web-life, and it leads in many various directions… Take a look at one corner of it: 

And here is another poem:

What Art is about? I am doing the Big Questions this week…

Болтали с Максом. Я ему говорю, “А я вчера стишок накрапала ни с того, ни с сего. Прикинь!” , и послала ему вчерашнее. А он мне говорит, “Я тоже”, и послал мне свой (смотри ниже). “Это такая творческая эрекция у нас” – он говорит. Замеча-а-а-тельно! Я целиком и полностью за эрекцию во всех ее проявлениях!

Нет, она слишком возвышенна.

Слишком возвышенна чтобы думать.

Чтобы думать о корове.

О какой-то там корове.

Которая, к тому же, умерла.

Тем более не оставила детям молока.

Она слишком возвышена, чтобы думать о детях.

О молоке,

О корове,

О детях,

Которых поить

Молоком коровы

Уже на завтрак.

Завтра.

 

Она сидит на краю пропасти в бесконечность

Заглядывает внутрь себя

И размышляет о Целом.

О своем.

О целом своем внутреннем мире.

О целой Вселенной, которая внутри нее загадочно мерцает прекрасными туманностями и чуть потрескивает метеоритами.

 

В крайнем случае

Она бы могла подумать о всех детях мира,

О всех коровах мира,

О всем молоке мира,

Будь она хоть чуть-чуть более приземленной.

 

Максим Бондаренко 

22 августа 2009, Москва

 

Его стихотворение было спровоцированно здесь: http://iramyra.livejournal.com/155321.html#cutid1 Очевидно там речь идет о скульптуре. Я не видела, потому что я не член, меня не пустили. А я вчера была под впечатлением стиля Umaturman, когда на меня нашло вдруг, а тема как всегда моя любимая – смерть и боги.

А Уматурман мне очень понравилась. Напомнила американских Sparks. Тем, что два брата – само собой, но также иронией. Правда американцы конечно гораааздо… Hard Core. Гротескнее. Театральнее. Эктремальнее.

А все же Уматурман мне понравилась.

А потом зашла я на ЖЖ к Максу, а там у него такое! Такое стихотворение! Вот оно:

Если запрокинуть голову
и смотреть снизу вверх
на медленно,
медленно падающий
крупный снег,
то может показаться
бог знает что.

Но снег падает на глаза
и тут же тает.

И начинает казаться,
что ты плачешь,
тихо плачешь холодными слезами,
безутешно,
безутешно плачешь,
стоя под снегом,
трагически запрокинув голову.
И начинает казаться,
что ты глубоко,
глубоко несчастен.

Для счастливых
это одно удовольствие.

Геннадий Алексеев
1980г.

Аааааах!

Чего это я?

August 25, 2009

Мы играем в игру под названием Жизнь

Самую справедливую игру на свете.

Допустим, ты обижен.

Ты хочешь меня убить.

ОК. Нет проблем. Может передумаешь?

Банг!

Я вышел. Мне хорошо-о-о-0…

В то время как ты

Остаешься жить

С этим.

Я пошел ужинать с папой Богом.

Мы сидим, разговариваем о том и об этом.

Смотрим оба в окно,

Наблюдаем за продолжением игры.

Завтра я выйду играть

Опять,

А пока,

Хорошо

Дома.

The better Death

May 19, 2009

This morning’s post on the Poetry Chaikhana came with a better idea of death than anything I came across so far. Still, it is not ideal. I mean, the death the way I perceive it, is a liberation, complete bliss and the all-encompassing knowledge. But now I came closer to understanding the pleasure of the physical existence. The really ideal way would be to have both – the bliss and the knowledge of beyond death, and the pleasures of the material living at the same time… I think it is possible. How can I achieve it?

I am copying here the Ivan Granger’s post. Can’t say I am taken by the poetic quality of the translation, but the idea of the poem itself resonates with me.

Poetry Chaikhana Blog

Link to Poetry Chaikhana Blog

Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi – No end to the journey

Posted: 18 May 2009 08:40 AM PDT

No end to the journey
by Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

English version by Robert Bly

No end, no end to the journey
no end, no end never
how can the heart in love
ever stop opening
if you love me,
you won’t just die once
in every moment
you will die into me
to be reborn

Into this new love, die
your way begins
on the other side
become the sky
take an axe to the prison wall,
escape
walk out like someone
suddenly born into color
do it now

— from Secret Language: Rumi A Celebration in Song (Music CD), by Ramananda


/ Photo by e-du /

No end, no end to the journey

That line becomes a rhythmic chant on Ramananda’s wonderful CD “Secret Language.”

no end, no end never

And, my favorite–

how can the heart in love
ever stop opening

A full life, a complete spiritual practice can be found in that question.

But why all this death imagery?

Into this new love, die
your way begins
on the other side

Why does every spiritual tradition speak of dying and death in such a favorable light? Do all mystics have some secret death wish?

In deep ecstasy, the sense of individuality, the sense of “I” thins and can completely disappear. Though you still walk and breathe and talk, there is no “you” performing these actions. The separate identity, the ego, disappears, to be replaced by a vast, borderless sense of Self.

It is this experience, this complete loss of the limited sense of self, that is the death so eagerly sought by mystics throughout time. This is the death that leads to new life…

in every moment
you will die into me
to be reborn

That limited sense of self is the prison we must break free from.

take an axe to the prison wall,
escape

Suddenly, the walls that kept you contained and carefully defined drop to the ground — and there you stand a radiant being whose boundaries are no longer perceived in terms of flesh or memory. In this new freedom, you are alive in a way you never imagined before, and everything you perceive is part of that life.

walk out like someone
suddenly born into color
do it now

Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi, Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi poetry, Muslim / Sufi poetry Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi 

Afghanistan & Turkey (1207 – 1273) Timeline
Muslim / Sufi

(more…)

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