Sister Across the Water

So perfectly sad:

My sister across the water must

Sleep with a fist for a pillow.

Victim-electric, she may

Have beautiful features:

If you look upon her,

Please do so

Without prejudice,

Without intention,

Be neither intimidated

Nor intimidating

(There can be no honesty there).

Dust from the past is

Still dust,

Still past.

9th July, 2012

… it is not the critic who counts …

 

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

Theodore Rooseveldt

 

 

Wait for Me

Wait for me and I’ll come back,

Wait and I will come;

Wait through Autumn’s yellow rains

And it’ s tedium.

Steel your heart and do not grieve

Wait through winter’s haze

Wait through wind and raging storm;

Wait through summer’s blaze.

Wait when others wait no more.

When my letters stop

Wait with hope that never wanes

Wait and don’t give up.

 

Wait for me! Let those who don’t –

Once I’m back with you –

Let them say that it was luck

That has seen us through.

You and I alone will know

That I safely came,

Spiting every kind of death,

Through that lethal flame

Just because you learned to wait;

Staunchly, stubbornly,

And, like no one else on earth,

Waited, love, for me.

 

Konstantin Simonov

 

 

Tides and Pebbles.

Double-moon insanity,

Diamond-double intensity:

The reflection and the shadow.

He’s working hard on something,

Feeling the constantly rising

Steam-stream pressure –

Any one can see –

But nobody understands, so

We find it hard

To follow,

To get excited,

To join in.

 

A hundred and forty makes

Our noses, our ears bleed;

Frustration is free,

So who-are-you free.

We write letters that

Will never be sent,

Drink each other’s tears.

Silver tape and fireworks

Hold us together,

Push us onto the beach:

Love, love and anger

And the tides and pebbles

Of unconditional reconciliation.

29th June, 2012

The Ticking of Clocks.

I hear the ticking

Of all the clocks,

Begin the unpicking

Of all the locks;

There’s a net

Between us, she’s

So fantasy-glamourous –

But so hard-eyed,

Unattainable, yet she’s

Always there for me.

Sometimes I half believe

There’s a face at my window

Looking in, and

I’m looking at me

twenty years down the road:

Wanting to drink

Every book between

Now and Hell.

I was high and free,

Life unutterably smooth

 Then it wasn’t.

9/7/2012