not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

canadian love song

Your body's a small word with many meanings.
Love. If. Yes. But. Death.
Surely I will love you a little while,
perhaps as long as I have breath.

December is thirteen months long,
July's one afternoon; therefore,
lovers must outwit wool,
learn how to puncture fur.

To my love's bed, to keep him warm,
I'll carry wrapped and heated stones.
That which is comfort to the flesh
is sometimes torture to the bones.

Alden Nowlan


  1. my grandma heated bricks and wrapped them in small blankets to place at the foot of my bed when i was very little. i learned about a sort of presence of love that is so magical and uncontained from her. i share it with all who'll listen. steven

  2. steven, then you know this))) i wonder if this was in canada or earlier, in england? that sweet and unthinking, unnswerving love that works at caring for the body and the soul of another. your grandmother))))

    i want to press back my self more and more and have it be so. i think as a society we should work toward this in terms of loving one another.

    thanks rosaria, but the poem is alden nowlan's.

    i'm not sure if anyone can tell clearly, but outside the window is the deep lock of winter's cold and a snow covered lake. this was taken last february.


  3. I have already said to it to you but I find your very sensible centring, they offer a dimension other in the photography.


"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))