Tuesday, June 30, 2009




If you believe in the magic of language,
then Elvis really Lives
and Princess Diana foretold I end as car spin.

from Anagrammer by Peter Pereira





Little Mayans, European blondes—
let us follow the route of the thunderbird that
flies before the storm,
Let us toss the ball,
Let us outwit history,
At last, at last, let our game begin,

Eleanor Lerman





Mahalia Jackson

« I sing the LORD'S songs »
(palms once tough to stay alive,
alarm clock on five).

Cinnamon cheeks, Lord,
cornbread smile. SONGS feed your ribs
when you're hungry, chile.

Washboard certainties,
soldierly grace, text and style
in her brimming face.

Your hand on your heart,
her voice in your ear: pilgrim,
rest easy. Sit here.

James A. Emanuel


Thursday, June 25, 2009




I want a country

i want a country
let the sky be blue, the bough green, the cornfield yellow
let it be a land of birds and flowers

i want a country
let there be no pain in the head, no yearning in the heart
let there be an end to brothers' quarrels

i want a country
let there be no rich and poor, no you and me
on winter days let everyone have house and home

i want a country
let living be like loving from the heart
if there must be complaint, let it be of death

Cahit Sitki Taranci- translated by Bernard Lewis


Wednesday, June 24, 2009

The Way of Wisdom




In this vapid, mundane world,
wise men take two courses:
they spend some time with minds
submerged in the fluid elixir of wisdom,
the rest with tender woman
whose breasts and hips enjoy the pleasure
of hiding men's eager hands
in their laps of ample flesh.

Bhartrihari

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

The Touch Of The Master's Hand




The Touch Of The Master's Hand

'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start the bidding for me?"
"A dollar, a dollar. Then two! Only two?
Two dollars, and who'll make it three?"

"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three..." But no,
From the room, far back, a grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?
Two thousand! And who'll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,
And going and gone," said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.

A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,
A game -- and he travels on.
He is "going" once, and "going" twice,
He's "going" and almost "gone."
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the touch of the Master's hand.

-- Myra Brooks Welch

Spanish Dancer




Spanish Dancer

As on all its sides a kitchen-match darts white
flickering tongues before it bursts into flame:
with the audience around her, quickened, hot,
her dance begins to flicker in the dark room.

And all at once it is completely fire.

One upward glance and she ignites her hair
and, whirling faster and faster, fans her dress
into passionate flames, till it becomes a furnace
from which, like startled rattlesnakes, the long
naked arms uncoil, aroused and clicking.

And then: as if the fire were too tight
around her body, she takes and flings it out
haughtily, with an imperious gesture,
and watches: it lies raging on the floor,
still blazing up, and the flames refuse to die -
Till, moving with total confidence and a sweet
exultant smile, she looks up finally
and stamps it out with powerful small feet.

-- Rainer Maria Rilke

Monday, June 22, 2009

Arbole, Arbole



Arbolé, Arbolé . . .
by Federico García Lorca
Translated by William Logan

Tree, tree
dry and green.

The girl with the pretty face
is out picking olives.
The wind, playboy of towers,
grabs her around the waist.
Four riders passed by
on Andalusian ponies,
with blue and green jackets
and big, dark capes.
"Come to Cordoba, muchacha."
The girl won't listen to them.
Three young bullfighters passed,
slender in the waist,
with jackets the color of oranges
and swords of ancient silver.
"Come to Sevilla, muchacha."
The girl won't listen to them.
When the afternoon had turned
dark brown, with scattered light,
a young man passed by, wearing
roses and myrtle of the moon.
"Come to Granada, muchacha."
And the girl won't listen to him.
The girl with the pretty face
keeps on picking olives
with the grey arm of the wind
wrapped around her waist.
Tree, tree
dry and green.

Arbolé, arbolé,
seco y verdí.

La niña del bello rostro
está cogiendo aceituna.
El viento, galán de torres,
la prende por la cintura.
Pasaron cuatro jinetes
sobre jacas andaluzas,
con trajes de azul y verde,
con largas capas oscuras.
"Vente a Córdoba, muchacha."
La niña no los escucha.
Pasaron tres torerillos
delgaditos de cintura,
con trajes color naranja
y espadas de plata antigua.
"Vente a Córdoba, muchacha."
La niña no los escucha.
Cuando la tarde se puso
morada, con lux difusa,
pasó un joven que llevaba
rosas y mirtos de luna.
"Vente a Granada, muchacha."
Y la niña no lo escucha.
La niña del bello rostro
sigue cogiendo aceituna,
con el brazo gris del viento
ceñido por la cintura.
Arbolé, arbolé.
Seco y verdé

Water




Water

If I were called in
To construct a religion
I should make use of water.

Going to church
Would entail a fording
To dry, different clothes;

My litany would employ
Images of sousing,
A furious devout drench,

And I should raise in the east
A glass of water
Where any-angled light
Would congregate endlessly.

-- Philip Larkin.

On Giving



On Giving

There are those who give little of the much which they have - and they
give it for recognition and their hidden desire makes their gifts
unwholesome.

And there are those who have little and give it all.

These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their
coffer is never empty.

There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward.

And there are those who give with pain, and that pain is their baptism.

And there are those who give and know not pain in giving, nor do they
seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue;

They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.

Through the hands of such as these God speaks, and from behind their
eyes He smiles upon the earth.

-- Khalil Gibran

A Dream Within A Dream



A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?.

-- Edgar Allan Poe



Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Auguries of Innocence




Auguries of Innocence

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

-- William Blake

Thursday, June 11, 2009



Strawberries

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air

in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

-- Edwin Morgan


Thursday, June 04, 2009

Frankie Manning - Never Stop Swingin'



Watch the entire documentary of Frankie Manning: Never Stop Swinging here on the SundayArts Web site, also to air on May 24th for SundayArts on THIRTEEN.

The documentary features the last major interview of Frankie Manning before his death, as well as precious archival footage of his dancing from the 1930’s to 2009 in New York, Hollywood, Sweden, France, Italy and Singapore. Footage highlights include scenes of Manning’s birthday parties, where he danced with one woman for each year he’d been alive, the legendary dance scene choreographed and headlined by Manning for the film “Hellzapoppin,” and the phenomenal duet with his 76-year-old son, Chazz, himself a professional dancer. Frankie was a born storyteller, with a huge smile and an even bigger laugh.

“Frankie Manning was a man who truly LIVED every moment of his life,” said Julie Cohen, director of the documentary. “Having spent the past two months watching hundreds of hours of footage of him dancing from the 1930’s to the present, I’ve seen the joy he took in every step.”

As a teenager, Manning started dancing in the best venues in Harlem, including the legendary Savoy Ballroom. He became a member of Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers, the energetic, immensely talented group that made the dance a national phenomenon. As a young man, Manning traveled the world, and entertained on stages with Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday. The group developed a large international following, even as they fought the racial prejudice that often barred them from sleeping at the hotels where they performed, or eating in the restaurants where their cabaret act brought in big profits.

Frankie’s performances were captured on film in a number of Hollywood movies. His dance sequence in “Hellzapoppin” is still considered the great swing dance number of all time. And it’s not just the oldtimers who enjoy it; the clip has more than million hits on YouTube. Frankie wasn’t just a dancer; he was a choreographer too, although no one called him that at the time. He devised many of the acrobatic “air steps” that made his Lindy Hopping troupe such a huge attraction.

Frankie stopped dancing for a few years to serve in the Pacific in World War II, then picked it up again after he returned home from the war. When the swing dancing craze died down in the 50’s, Frankie got a day job: he worked in the post office for thirty years. Then in the late 80’s when swing came back into fashion, so did Frankie. He was one of the choreographers of the Broadway smash Black and Blue, for which he won a Tony Award. He also did choreography for Spike Lee’s Malcolm X.

Frankie Manning: Never Stop Swinging, is a half hour documentary produced and directed by Julie Cohen, the producer of the hugely popular shows The Jews of New York and New York Goes to War. The program will also feature an interview with Ruthie Rheingold, a 92 year old Jewish woman, who along with her partner Harry Rosenberg made up the only white couple to dance in Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers, and a reunion between Frankie and Ruthie, caught on film.

http://www.thirteen.org/sundayarts/frankie-manning-never-stop-swinging/291

Afternoon on a Hill




Afternoon on a Hill

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay


Monday, June 01, 2009

Wild Geese




Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

-- Mary Oliver