AU - Ida Walked Away music video

After a Death
by Tomas Tranströmer translated by Robert Bly
Once there was a shock that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail. It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy. It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires. One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun through brush where a few leaves hang on. They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories. Names swallowed by the cold. It is still beautiful to hear the heart beat but often the shadow seems more real than the body. The samurai looks insignificant beside his armor of black dragon scales.

Patti Smith - Beneath The Southern Cross

One for the Father- Alice Coltrane.

One for all the healers....

This one for Georgia too.

You will be missed, Georgia Cooke. 11/2/1940-10/9/12

baby pangolin

David Byrne & St. Vincent - 'Who'

Charlie Haden, Egberto Gismonti: Silence

Dry Salvages

People change, and smile: but the agony abides.
Time the destroyer is time the preserver,
Like the river with its cargo of dead negroes, cows and chicken coops,
The bitter apple, and the bite in the apple.
And the ragged rock in the restless waters,
Waves wash over it, fogs conceal it;
On a halcyon day it is merely a monument,
In navigable weather it is always a seamark
To lay a course by: but in the sombre season
Or the sudden fury, is what it always was.

Séamus Ennis - The Bucks of Oranmore. 1972

Tom Waits: Time

Happy birthday, John Gilmore.

Leonard Cohen - A Thousand Kisses Deep

Happy 78th Birthday, Leonard Cohen

light and cloudshadows

‎"So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloudshadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any miseries, or any depressions? For after all, you do not know what work these conditions are doing inside you.” 
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

The full text of the letter from which this quotation comes.

Peggy Seeger - First time ever I saw your face

Azure

Azure

1.

What I want to reach for in the wild

landscape is your body.

The folds of your shirt curved around

your lifted arm, the wings

of your back. Your face turned toward the hillside

horizon troubles me because certainty

is unfamiliar, we are so new.

(I spent ten years

waiting for feeling.

I wanted to leap train to train,

spring up a mountain clawed and crested,

lie in a tent with stones

blading into my hips

all night.)

The bones of my body are welcome in this desert.

(I hate the desert, I said. I hate the cacti. I want to go home.)

You take my blood between your fingertips and roll the cells

like fine thread on a loom. Everything is blooming and it is spring.

2.

Before we ever touched, you returned to me a story

that I had mislaid.

The vast blue of desert sky over my girl-eyes,

back flat on the ground,

runner’s breath into the azure

that pressed me down.

Vast I said. And blue. How do you

know, when you are nine,

that you are touching sacred space?

How do you know, when you are

thirty-nine, or fifty?

: When the lover disappears and the beloved disappears.

When there is nothing but sky.

3.

(The desert scared hell out of me and I was foreign in it,

unfound. Detroit, I chanted. Concrete. Clouds.

I threw out two ice scrapers, a steel snow shovel,

and all of my super-wool up-north socks.

No one listening.

Leather jacket! Bar shows,

gyrations, gasoline.

)

Your face turned toward the hillside horizon is an act of love. Poetry,

I said quietly.

Thirty feet east could be the one.

4.

The desert sings to you and you follow the rituals in the song.

My dark bird self-flung into the canyon,

landing nowhere. Symbols drained, incantations lost

their comfort. Taken down. Your face turned to the hillside.

Horizon your face. We walked together in the desert

and I felt the sky again.

Turned.

(Aging invisible as torn paper,

silence a cotton choke, unseen accretion

crudely swallowed.)

Turned and saw. To the hillside, the plants—

And stones, the first one picked up and carried talismanic,

glinting chips of mica through the knuckles of my fist.

Spines and nodules, tangles, 

mats of bristling defense

in starlike heat exposed. My face raw and recognized.

Beyond ground, we reach the wild landscape.

I open my throat to the hum we make.

Six miles apart, you hold my blood between your fingers.

Welcome, body, home. 

-Amanda Michno

Don Cherry & Terry Riley - the dream - untitled - Koln concert 1975

In memoriam