Friday, April 26, 2013

Painting Inspired 3

Roger délivrant Angélique, Jean-Auguste Dominique Ingres, 1819

I wake up in the lighthouse
On top of the cliff.
I step outside,
My naked feet on slippery rocks,
Pieces of my dream
Taken away by a black wind.

I look down
At the solid sea
And angry waves,
Like thousands year old creatures
Swimming to the surface,
Stubbornly charging at the cliff.

There's a sourceless light in the distance
Coming out from behind a large rock
In the middle of the sea.

I stare at the bright halo.
I wonder what I can't see.

Maybe a heroic gesture,
Beasts I can't imagine,
Blonde waves,
A virgin body,
A silent agony.

I step back inside the lighthouse,
Lie down.
Shadows dance on the ceiling,
They tell an epic tale
That survived time and storms.

The face of a serious knight
Watches me fall back into a dream
In which I live in a lighthouse
And hear the wind constantly.

[Show French Version]

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Painting Inspired 2

Forma negra sobre quadrat gris, Antoni Tàpies, 1960

Dust off your human nature,
It's time.
If negativity clouds your truth,
Rest your head on my shoulder,
Let me play with your hair,
Maybe it will go away.

If it doesn't,
We'll make a big fire,
Sleep around it for days
Until your smile is real again
And your hands warmer.

I won't ask questions,
Won't step on your darkness
But I'll put a firefly in your breast pocket,
Just in case one day
You need light.

That day,
You will look around for a while,
Walk on puddles of sadness,
Anger dripping from your clenched fist.
Then in despair
You will put a hand on your heart
And realize
You had light all along.

Dust off your human nature,
It's time.

[Show French Version]

Saturday, April 20, 2013

The Cats / Haiku 12-16

My door stays open,
The neighbor's cats are welcome.
One sleeps on my bed,

Another one looks
Through my window at his home
Across the courtyard.

They show interest
In my bag, my books, my shoes.
They lie on their backs.

I build simple toys
With tape rolls and some thick string.
They don't want to leave.

The neighbor once asked:
"They like you! Do you feed them?"
I said: "No, we play."

[Show French Version]

Friday, April 19, 2013

Painting Inspired 1

Morning Sun, Edward Hopper, 1952

Parenthetical time
In the slowly buzzing city.

A windless square.

Dreams faded by the light
Warming the sheets.

[Show French Version]

Thursday, April 18, 2013

The Father

Opening my eyes
In the incubator
Far from my mother's breast
I saw him first,
Mon Papa,
Reassured to see me alive,
Eager to hold me.

Since then,
That look on his face,
Protective and loving,
It is even more apparent
With time passing,
Him aging,
Me growing.

There is mystery
And depth
In the relationship
Between the father
And the daughter,
Between my father
And me.

This umbilical cord
That we can't see,
Can't cut,
Is at times discreet
Or so present and obvious
That it brings tears to my eyes
And enlivens
My fear of losing him.

I can't watch his tears
Of emotion,
Of sadness
Or of joy
Without the Loulotte in the incubator
Being awoken
And wanting to be held
And hold him.

His vulnerability
Is the most moving thing
I know.

I love him
More than he knows
And never feel more secure
Than when he says goodnight
To Céleste and I
And kisses our foreheads.

[Show French Version]

Sunday, April 14, 2013

The Distance

Five thousand
Six hundred
And fifty two miles
Separate me from him.

My night is his day,
Our skies are different.
I witness his morning
And smile at his bed hair
While the moon slowly rises
In my courtyard.

I hear what he would say
About that tree,
About that painting,
About that shadow,
If he were beside me.

He always is.
The void of his absence
Whose expansion I feared
Got filled,
With his undeniable
And omniscient presence.

The vast land
And the deep ocean
Between us
When he reaches my soul
With three words.

I experience my life
Through the filter
Of his existence.
It has colors
I have never seen before.

My mind can't comprehend
How far he is
And how close he feels.
Distance does not alter,
Affect or change
The us we became.

I'm not alone anymore.

[Show French Version]

Monday, April 8, 2013

Untied 6

crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets
crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets
crickets crickets      me    crickets crickets
crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets
crickets crickets crickets crickets crickets

Phobia is a living thing,
As invading as it's irrational.

I should stop playing with it.

My words jump too high.

[Show French Version]

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Haiku 11

A bruise on my knee.
If I walk slowly enough,
Will I fall again?

[Show French Version]

Haiku 10

Morning solitude,
Just a fleeting coral sky
And my thoughts of you.

[Show French Version]

Friday, April 5, 2013

The Voice

I listen to Chet Baker.
His voice replaces his trumpet
And he's there,
Breathing silently in my ears
Between "in the evening" and "when the day is through",
His mouth full of broken teeth and honey,
As sweet as he was beaten.

The voice is alive,
Still warm,
Unaware of death,
Existing only in its own sound space
And 02:46 minutes.

I put my hands on the earphones,
Push them deeper.

I capture the sound of the recording studio
Chet Baker is standing in.
I hear the color of the walls,
The instruments,
The souls,
The smoke,
The time of day,
The spring weather outside,
The lunch break approaching.

I want to go further,
Hear his thoughts,
Hear what he's wearing,
His side-swept hair.

I can't.
I slowly go back to realizing
I am listening
To the voice of a man
Who does not exist anymore.
I shake my head at that thought.

I am listening
To a man
Whose voice exists.

[Show French Version]