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

Monday, March 4, 2013

be this intimate life



the first and the last shuddering cry
of the great seduction
the amaranthine body turned inside out
your organs on your sleeve

the first tragedy would be in not being
all other tragedies, in being

submit
then rise

7 comments:

  1. this reminds me of our first, physical birth into this world, and then, if we are lucky, a second birth done while living, where we can finally see.

    submit, then rise. oh yes.

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  2. Now that is what I mean by "alignment"...

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  3. Power in these brief lines, scalding power. Does being really contain so much?

    Yes. Yes I think it does. It is as hard and as soft as we think it is.

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  4. I returned and returned here, cloudy in what I perceived and felt.
    Yet...
    Am I resisting looking out this window?
    Am I resisting the submission?
    Then, I have submitted. Did I rise? Did I rise to accept and to thrive, to create?

    submit then rise







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    Replies
    1. rosaria, i fought with myself on those two last lines. i considered changing then to and but even this does not reflect the truth. it is not a linear succession. it happens simultaneously, our submission and our ascension, it happens one through the other. it might not happen easily in our hearts, but can be lighter if we acknowledge and accept the two dimensions of human being. or so i think, but i am at a great distance and therefore luxury from death. closer to it and... i would hope my philosophies might maintain.

      love)))

      xo
      erin

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  5. body turned inside out
    submit rise (right now i feel the urge to leave out any prepositions or such)

    have i ever mentioned to you one of my favourite songs (and poems)?

    here:
    http://www.nicolepeyrafitte.com/Sound2.mp3

    and here another version, with the voice of the poet himself, Pierre Joris

    http://vimeo.com/43001870

    (though i like the first one better)

    ReplyDelete

"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))