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Contemplative, Louise Louis, in English Clear filters

ContemplativeLouise Louis

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Walk down the avenue. The city avenue. Let it be winter. Dusk sifting slowly down, hugging the bare street. Shops light up at random. Kids seem less eager to clutter up the way. The hum of night is lurking in the air as if he were ready to fold his hands over his stomach and sigh: "Well, there goes another day!" His thought drops into your chest. You think: "Another day. A hundred years from now the same remark will drop into someone else's heart with equal dismay." You notice the bulb is out on Segal's sign. Joey is wearing glasses. The skinny girl next door is coming home from work. Youth is wearing armor.
ContemplativeLouise Louis

The Dervish Dance

Eat the fire, serpent, glass, when you are hunger-heady. Nothing happens to your heart till your heart is ready. Ecstasy is but a name, in it lies a presence like a little candle lit or a small obeisance. Eat the serpent, fire, glass when your heart is heady. Harm or blessing come to pass if the heart is ready!
ContemplativeLouise Louis

Friar Freedom

Take it easy, Friar Freedom, keep your secret. Hug the spell. For the solitude of being holds a penalty as well.
ContemplativeLouise Louis

Fortress

Sometimes you fail for something you have known. Some little island in your heart, Some land you've sown. (Acres bright with thought weeded of ghosts.) Sometimes you fail, succeding most. "Run back, run back, run back," you never do. Direction has no shape it leaves no clue — a ledge, perhaps, in crags plumed by the sea? The cradle of the wind? The night's star-wizadry?
ContemplativeLouise Louis

Soothsayer

What is it yesterday told? What will tomorrow relate? "Distance but lies in your heart." "Today moves her tent while you wait."
ContemplativeLouise Louis

Round of Hours

I who might have traveled to a wider plane Who cannot boast of seeing pyramids Or skies, above some greener fields, or richer Fruited — I love the meticulous jogging on of time. (Dull time to some) for setting silver at dusk About a linen, clean and neatly mended. As if a greater Presence comes each night To supper, I love the placing on of goblet Or of cup . . . the plate of bread . . . the aroma Of the yield made from a harvest, stronger Hands than mine knew how to tend . . . I love the comfort of the crystal windows Not elegantly yet with color curtained — The tassels dangling from the leveled shades Dividing with their perpendiculars A saucy street . . . unless with gathering dusk
ContemplativeLouise Louis

The Mirror

I dive into this lunar disc but penitent I rise deceived by no serenity its surface can devise. A lunar llama sagely sits beneath this crater's glow never to let me turn from it save wiser when I go.
ContemplativeLouise Louis

Mendicant

Lean on my shoulder, ragged, borne upon a crutch . . . yet lean. I do not ask your travelings; long ago I learned all journeyings are secret since none may know the end till he arrives. Rest. For every ditch has mirrors; the spheres will shine and swing in them with tantalizing nearness to your cheek. So far from Heaven it is to lie upon the reflection of a star . . .

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