Salvatore Quasimodo

Ingredients:

Selected poems from Salvatore Quasimodo "To Give and To Have" (1942), translated by Edith Farnsworth.

Directions:

Angels

Every sweetness having gone from life
you praise the dream; toward unknown shores advancing
may your day approach
in which still waters dense with angels
of encircling green trees barely stir.

Your infinite day; to overtake each hour
which seemed to you eternal,
youthful laughter, pain,
where formerly you sought the secret
birth of night and day.

And Your Dress Is White
Bent is your head and you regard me
and your dress is white
and one breast can be seen under the lace
falling from your left shoulder.

The light overpowers me; quivering,
it touches your naked arms.

Again I see you. Words
you had that were mute and rapid,
giving a heart
to the burden of a life
which seemed a carrousel.

Dark was the road
by which the wind came down
those nights in March
and wakened us,
strangers as on the first evening.

You invoke a life

Task of love, sadness
you invoke a life
that deep within has names
of skies and gardens.

And were it my flesh
which the gift of evil alters!

Words

You laugh because I flay myself for syllables
and bend the skies and hills, the azure hedge
surrounding me, the rusting elms,
the voices of the anxious waters;
because I beguile my youth
with clouds and colours
which the light dissolves.

I know, all that in you is lost
exalts the fair, the breasts,
curves with the thighs and gently
broadens for the timid arch;
in formal harmony descends
to the ten shells of the pretty feet.

But if I should take you,
In words, you too would be sadness.

Angel

Pure white the angel sleeps
on roses of air,
upon her side,
her fair hands crossed
beside her breast.

My voice awakens her,
and she is smiling;
strewn with pollen
is the proffered cheek.

She sings; the opaque sky
of dawn assails my heart.
Mine is the angel;
frigid, I take her in my arms.

Hidden Life

It filters time and space
and has no light of presage
in the apathy of the grasses;
and the wind, the fresh wind pours
no web of tones, no quick illuminations;
when it is silent the sky, too, is alone.

Give me hidden life,
and if you do not know me deep concealed,
the night, ethereal sea.

I drown: and with each syllable you mean
that from the earth it mines its gleam
and in the dark expands;
 tree it becomes or rock or blood
in palpitating essence
which in itself degenerates, 
myself, exfoliate from the suffering
which renders me serene, love's depths.

Dreams of Absent Lovers

Ingredients:
A short series of poems by six female poets, beginning and ending with
Mary Wilkins
and sandwiched in between the five lesbian poets
Matilda Betham Edwards,
Aphra Behn,
Marie Madeleine,
Katharine Lee Bates, and
Wu Tsao.

Directions:

Now Is The Cherry In Blossom (Mary Wilkins)
Now is the cherry in blossom, Love,
Love of my heart, with the apple to follow;
Over the village at nightfall now
Merrily veers and darts the swallow.

At nightfall now in the dark marsh grass
Awakes the chorus that sings old sorrow;
The evening star is dim for the dew,
And the apple and lilac will bloom to-morrow.

The honeysuckle is red on the rock;
The willow floats over the brook like a feather;
In every shadow some love lies hid —
And you and I in the world together.

A Valentine (Mathilda Betham-Edwards)

What shall I send my sweet today,
  When all the woods attune in love?
  And I would show the lark and dove,
That I can love as well as they.

I'll send a locket full of hair, -
  But no, for it might chance to lie
  Too near her heart, and I should die
Of love's sweet envy to be there.

A violet is sweet to give, -
  Ah, stay! she'd touch it with her lips,
  And, after such complete eclipse,
How could my soul consent to live?

I'll send a kiss, for that would be
  The quickest sent, the lightest borne,
  And well I know tomorrow morn
She'll send it back again to me.

Go, happy winds; ah, do not stay,
  Enamoured of my lady's cheek,
  But hasten home, and I'll bespeak
Your services another day!

 

The Dream (Aphra Behn)

All trembling in my arms Aminta lay,
Defending of the bliss I strove to take;
Raising my rapture by her kind delay,
Her force so charming was and weak.
The soft resistance did betray the grant,
While I pressed on the heaven of my desires;
Her rising breasts with nimbler motions pant;
Her dying eyes assume new fires.
Now to the height of languishment she grows,
And still her looks new charms put on;
Now the last mystery of Love she knows,
We sigh, and kiss: I waked, and all was done.

`Twas but a dream, yet by my heart I knew,
Which still was panting, part of it was true:
Oh how I strove the rest to have believed;
Ashamed and angry to be undeceived!
 

 Foiled Sleep (Marie Madeleine)

And when I shut my eyes, forsooth,
I cannot banish from my sight
  The vision of her slender youth.

She stands before me lover-wise,
  Her naked beauty fair and slim,
She smiles upon me, and her eyes
  With over fierce desire grow dim.

Slowly she leans to me. I meet
  The passion of her gaze anew,
And then her laughter, clear and sweet,
  Thrills all the hollow silence through.

O, siren, with the mocking tongue!
  O beauty, lily-sweet and white!
I see her, slim and fair and young.
  And ah! I cannot sleep tonight.

 

If You Could Come (Katharine Lee Bates)
My love, my love, if you could come once more
From your high place,
I would not question you for heavenly lore,
But, silent, take the comfort of your face.

I would not ask you if those golden spheres
In love rejoice,
If only our stained star hath sin and tears,
But fill my famished hearing with your voice.

One touch of you were worth a thousand creeds.
My wound is numb
Through toil-pressed, but all night long it bleeds
In aching dreams, and still you cannot come.

 

Bitter Rain (Wu Tsao)

Bitter rain in my courtyard
In the decline of Autumn,
I only have vague poetic feelings
That I cannot bring together.
They diffuse into the dark clouds
And the red leaves.
After the yellow sunset
The cold moon rises
Out of the gloomy mist.
I will not let down the blinds
Of spotted bamboo from their silver hook.
Tonight my dreams will follow the wind,
Suffering the cold,
To the jasper tower of your beautiful flesh.


After the Rain (Mary Wilkins)
  It had rained all night, but the sun shone in the morning. The cottage-roofs steamed in the sun; the roses in the garden were still heavy with rain and draggled with garden-mold; the wet trees gave out green lights; little rain-pools shone in the road like liquid gold, and the sparrows dipped in them. It had rained all night, but the sun shone in the morning.

  The lover whom love had forsaken looked out of his window. All night had he lain awake, listening to the rain on the roof, and longing for his lost love, while the memory of her caresses clung to his soul as sweet and evasive as the perfume of the roses in the garden.

  It had rained all night, but the sun shone in the morning. The lover whom love had forsaken looked out of his window. "My love has forsaken me," he said, "but it has stopped raining."

Two more poets in the comments:

Down in the Valley Below

Lower, descend lower into the valley below

And there beside the little hut you’ll see the one I know.

He carries a staff of ancient oak and in his hand an axe.

I loved you. Do you know it? Down in the valley below.

When we were kids we used to play and tease and laugh and sing.

Come to me and we will be forever dancing by the sea.

I loved you. You know it now. Deeper in the valley below.

Down in the hut where the old man stands with a wooden staff and an axe, 
Tracing my fingers over your skin, a breath between our lips, 

I love you still, my love. And there is nowhere deeper to go.

—okei

The Truth Beneath The Clouds

Some say that all is dust,
A figment of the mind,
And when we beings turn to rest
We are no longer blind.
Welcome then the stillness
Beneath the daily grind
So that we may truly sense
And inspiration find.

—okei

Seeking Guidance

At some point when you feel in a relaxed state of mind, ask yourself questions, and go deep inside yourself and listen to the answers. After each answer you get in reply, write down the answer exactly as you hear it, neatly enough so that you can read it later, before returning to the relaxed state to ask another question. Thanks to Cyn for the inspiration to do this.

So here is an imaginary conversation...no visual cues... just questions and answers, just like Yahoo Answers, but with me as both asker and answerer.


What should I ask for?
You should ask for that which will guide you to greater wisdom of the self, for wisdom of the self is everything.

Where does will come from?
It comes from inside, from Source.

Where do I find morality?
Morality is like diving into a pool. If you do not come up for oxygen, you will drown. Morality is that which sustains us, gives us direction. You will know when you are ready. Temptation is distraction.

How to tell if something is a distraction?
Feel it! Say, is this oxygen that will sustain me and take me forward, or is it something that distracts and holds me back. Do I need it?

So when we reach a state of needing nothing, do we run out of morals and is everything distraction?
We no longer need morals to sustain us. We are at peace.

Long pause in a still meditative state before I ask again...

This state of not needing anything, is it an amoral state?
The waters are cool and light. You do not need oxygen. You do not need warmth. You have it inside you and you can go where you will.

If two paths are presented to you, how to choose?
You have free will. You have choice. But a bad path in a pool filled with light will be very clear to you.

Is there anything else I should ask, and may I share this?
Yes, you should write it down and contemplate it. Ask "Why?"

Why? ... what?
Why I am here?

Why are you here?
Because you sent for me.

Thank you for coming.
All is in the asking.

Beyond the Waterfall's Edge

I take you silently in the dark

Like a raindrop falling from a rose,

Ravishing you slowly and smoothly,

Oars gliding to a gentle rhythm,

Tendrils floating down an invisible stream.

The darkness can contain us no longer;

We dissolve in a lightning flash

And the life of a rainbow dancing.

—okei

Diary of a Debauched Poet (Anonymous)

Sweetly, she said, in her voice to flirt, 

Hips swaying above her miniskirt, 

“How many girls have you taken out?, 

Tell me their names. Are they still about?” 

And round and round the merry-go-round 

Of accusations, she prodded and frowned. 

“What does she look like? Was she like me?” 

Then she leaned over my desk to see 

What I was writing, “Do you write for her?"

And on your name she uttered a slur. 

“Enough drama!” I cried, “You have no right! 

Time you put your cat out for the night.” 

Indeed, like a cat, she comes and goes 

Until the next time, and when? Who knows! 

Reading my mind, she sighed and purred, 

“You going to miss me, you baby bird? 

Oh how you blush and let out a sigh, 

Open your palm and make me feel high.” 

“Damn!,” she said, “I wanted to say that, 

Now you’ve written it, you’ve made it sound flat."

I looked at her eyes, out over my glasses, 

The drill-down look, I used to make passes.

She knew what it meant, that wicked stare.

Before I was even up from my chair,

She had already scooted away,

Back onto the bed, ready to play. 

As I dived down, around her clasping, 

She howled out, half-screaming, half-gasping, 

And her eyes rolled back into her head,  

As she dragged forth guttural sounds from the dead.

Needless to say, (or rather I must need to say it, for if it were needless to say, then I wouldn't need to say it), the debauched poet or "I" of the poem is anonymous and does not represent okei! :^)