The best time of the day

Cool summer nights.

Windows open.

Lamps burning.

Fruit in the bowl.

And your head on my shoulder.

These the happiest moments in the day.

Next to the early morning hours,

of course. And the time

just before lunch.

And the afternoon, and

early evening hours.

But I do love

These summer nights.

Even more, I think,

than those other times.

The work finished for the day.

And no one who can reach us now.

Or ever.

Tekst: Raymond Carver, "The best time of the day"

Foto: Rosa, http://www.flickr.com/photos/dadiva/

This word love

I will not go when she calls

even if she says I love you,

especially that,

even though she swears

and promises nothing

but love love.

The light in this room

covers every

thing equally;

even my arm throws no shadow,

it too is consumed with light.

But this word love-

this word grows dark, grows

heavy and shakes itself, begins

to eat, to shudder and convulse

its way through this paper

until we too have dimmed in

its transparent throat and still

are riven, are glistening, hip and thigh, your

loosened hair which knows

no hesitation.

Gedicht: Raymond Carver, "This Word Love"

Foto: Rosa, http://www.flickr.com/photos/dadiva/

Total Strangers

Those beautiful days

when the city resembles a die, a fan and a bird song

or a scallop shell on the seashore

- goodby, goodbye, pretty girls,

we met today

and will not ever meet again.

The beautiful Sundays

when the city resembles a football, a card and an ocarina

or a swinging bell

- in the sunny street

the shadows of passers-by were kissing

and people walked away, total strangers.

Those beautiful evenings

when the city resembles a rose, a chessboard, a violin

or a crying girl

- we played dominoes,

black-dotted dominoes with the thin girls in the bar,

watching their knees,

which were emaciated

like two skulls with the silk crowns of their garters

in the desperate kingdom of love.

Gedicht: Jaroslav Seifert, Wet Picture

Foto: Rosa

Two Worlds

In air heavy
with odor of crocuses,

sensual smell of crocuses,
I watch a lemon sun disappear,

a sea change blue
to olive black.

I watch lightning leap from Asia as
sleeping,

my love stirs and breathes and
sleeps again,

part of this world and yet
part that.

Raymond Carver, "Two Worlds"
Foto: Jan-Willem Wolf
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ingeliefhebber/

A person's live purpose

"A person's live purpose is nothing more than to rediscover, through the detours of art, love, or passionate work, those one or two images in the presence of which his heart first opened".

Charles Bowden

Tekening: Rosa