Friday, November 28, 2014

How To Spend The Afternoon

to justify the sky by each new cloud
I find the how, as a series of waves

—they are a clamor of ways given to
a manner of speaking with love through you:

for these our states at once imply
good-bye yet how will you deny

the shroud of a cloud
as never there, how

who took a longer path
past the open door

who hops the easterly wind to do
how spilling moonlight over who

how mountains overturned reply
a longing, breathless sort of sigh

and how in the bustle and roar of a storm door you appear
to cast a light

at how,
like holding your lamp above your breast,

how come I to peal under an open sky,
little bell, and why—

how we in the ring of syllable stress
how loosen the straps of a blackless dress,

how down on my knees
I'm inclined to confess:

the sky-light now cast in how
admits this mix of lapis hue and reverie

avow in you, humble view
who asks in the whisper of a Westerly now

to tame some unclaimed destiny here,
and how?

© 2014 Jeffrey Patrick Bennett

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Flourish of Tracks in Every Direction

How does your garden grow?  I have missed your fragrance here.
Echoes of your sweet songs play in the trees
who whisper them still, and it occurs to me as I while away my days
that the trees do not forget a song,
and so all worry escapes me.

Flush with moss and the river's displays of gurgling noises,
with the buzzing flies, not anything like Rimbaud's velvety coat
but a luminous collective mind,
empty of all but the currency
of the breeze.

I find in your absence I am filled with you, and in the fullness of you
I am empty of all things,
and only the fullness remains.
Living as appetite, there is no hunger.
Living as thirst, there is no drought.
Your gift is a silence

That is born to all life,
and to all life it knows to return.

And so to you, I return, to you
and to all life, which is within you.

In the Sun, who spends his day at games,
chasing Night around the heavens
—turning this way, a cloud of lapis unleashed

in the birth of a star, turning that way
a pool becomes the deep track
of the Old Father.

There is a spirit of play today and even as you give the world breath,
some small corner of it billows within me as laughter.

When at last this emptiness is full, you and I are one again.

© 2014
Jeffrey Patrick Bennett

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Exposé on Want(ing)

Today a good companion of mine has offered me a few good questions,  to which I have made the following response.  Given that each of us has a unique perspective, I'm interested to know what your own responses might be.

Warning: I have used one "F Bomb" in the making of this exposé.

Disclaimer:  This is in no way meant to be comprehensive, rather it is a means to open dialogue, healthy discussion and to promote Me getting to know You a little better.

To that end, I encourage you to copy the questions here and formulate your responses your own post.  Link back to the original post so that everyone can review the various responses!


Do you have a 'Theory of want(ing)' ?

('a want' to be taken here as the noun for to want (desire)

—Why do we want ?
—What do we want ?
—Do we have to have our wanting fulfilled ?
—Right away ? Later ?
—Does waiting enhance the pleasure ?
—Do wants last ?

Wanting. . .it's a good question that you ask.

Why do we want?
I think the simple answer is that we are creatures of expression.  We want what we do not fully understand.  We are attracted, as a species, to some aspect of the unknown when it expresses itself in a way that we find we embody but have not been able to express in a satisfactory way.

What do we want? is as specific a question as "Where are you right now?" or "What is happening?"  What we want is part of why we want it.

Perhaps what we want is a better understanding of the nature of existence, not just my existence, but yours as well—we struggle to desire that which we cannot hope to hold, but our desire isn't intended to result in property, in holding, owning, containing . . .I know I won't find my happiness in you.

We do not want in order that we have.

This is a very common source of confusion, and everyone has to sort this confusion out for themselves.  The way out of it is the way through it.

And to finish, that is important: all said, it is the journey, not the destination that is important.

Do we have to have our wanting fulfilled?
Do you?  What happens when you cease wanting?  This question is about personal experience.  It's also about integrity, when I make my journey to understand what I have been exposed to and that has changed or excited my attraction, how long will I hold on to my desire before I grow disinterested, before I am given in to the resolution that what I move to understand began as an illusion?

That I'm chasing a reflection, or a ghost?

Me?  I don't cease wanting, I only come to understand the risk versus the reward of my journey.  I'm not going to explore territory if it will damage me.  I desire to share myself, and I cannot accomplish that by walking into harm.

Fulfilling want Right away or Later, the satisfaction one receives ( or gives ) by waiting is directly proportional to the intent of the giver to give, multiplied by the intent of the receiver to receive.

Want, like sex and food and all the rest of life, is a union of the doer and the thing done.  An agreement.

In the case of two people and their desire or lack thereof for each other, the two either agree, or they don't.  The skies do not rain ash and choke out all life when the willow seed falls on the thorny bramble.  It is why the willow makes thousands of seedlings each and every season.

As humans, with reasoning and free will, I believe that we have an ability to discern intent.  We can be discerning about where our seed lands.  We are able to choose a mate to share time, experience life, share food and shelter and the raising of young.

Life is quite interesting enough in its fundamentals, enough to live a life-span and never be in lack for something to wonder about.

I encourage you to hold your own opinion, of course.

Does waiting enhance the pleasure?
Again, this depends on the agreement, does it not?

If two people are anxious to hold each other, will they not anticipate every minute ahead?  Do they not wish to satisfy that desire, every moment, until it comes to pass?

This waiting is a form, an extension of their agreement, of the bond between them which each has chosen to maintain, each knowing that the moment of embrace is well worth the wait.

Ask two people who do not agree to desire each other, and your answer will obviously match the agreement.

Do wants last?
Difficult question, because one would have have experienced every want, and determined which of them endure over time, and which others of them do not.

I bring the example of human sex again, because it provides a clear transmission of my argument: if two lovers embrace, and express themselves in lovemaking, and finish, does the desire to embrace the lover recede?

In my experience it does, of course.  Yet temporarily, for as soon as my lover shares a knowing glance with me I am already filled with her, and being so filled with the gravity of her I am at once desirous, even if that desire, that want, does not satisfy us both permanently ( it has not ever done, in my lifetime ) though again, with a glance, a shared moment, a reconnection to each other, my lover and I are filled again.

So it comes back to the agreement.

A lover who is separated from her mate will choose ( in my world ) to reconnect the energy between them at every opportunity.  The energy is exercised, spent, like turning a burner on to cook food, or setting logs in a fire to provide heat.

Does the fire go out?  Sure.  Do I get more wood?

Fuck yes.

That's the best I have for your questions.  I give my own answers.  I accept that you will agree or disagree as you see fit, and I honor your own answers to these questions.  There you have it.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

An Exploration of the Shoulder

Life in the wild
is fattening on the hogs.

Wattles do not a rookery state.
A Parliament's a parliament's a parliament.

Charlemagne couldn't see the crown coming.
The big surprises come to the light, not the shadow.

All of these acorns
Fallen over free fields
Bound to be a tree or three
For me to sink my teeth in.

You can almost taste the century fox
but here—in your ears do you lick like flames
or hear on your tongue when it spits over stones
or invite the spine to defiance?

Is this making sense?
When should my fences betray me?
I've heard it said a multitude of ways,
always using the passive voice.

Work your hands a little harder.
Draw some water from the pail.
How are you doing for thirst?
Are you hungry at all?  Eat!

Life in the wild is
fattening on the hogs.

Wattles do not a rookery
State—you've seen one parliament, you've seen 'em all.

and Charlemagne?  He never saw it coming—just goes to show you,
there are forces at work even in the quiet places of the world.

image used with permission:
poem © Jeffrey Patrick Bennett

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Fun with a Rimbaud Translation

The original as it was shared with me:

A noir, E blanc, I rouge, U vert, O bleu : voyelles,
Je dirai quelque jour vos naissances latentes :
A, noir corset velu des mouches éclatantes
Qui bombinent autour des puanteurs cruelles,
Golfes d'ombre ; E, candeur des vapeurs et des tentes,
Lances des glaciers fiers, rois blancs, frissons d'ombelles ;
I, pourpres, sang craché, rire des lèvres belles
Dans la colère ou les ivresses pénitentes ;
U, cycles, vibrements divins des mers virides,
Paix des pâtis semés d'animaux, paix des rides
Que l'alchimie imprime aux grands fronts studieux ;
O, suprême Clairon plein des strideurs étranges,
Silences traversés des Mondes et des Anges :
- O l'Oméga, rayon violet de Ses Yeux ! -

My poetic translation, reconstructed out of the straight translation:

—A black—E white—I red—U green—O blue:

I will unveil your secrets!
A: as the black vanguard of brilliant flies
which buzz around the reek,
as gulfs of shadow;

E: evocative of candor
which vapors and tents, lances
of proud glaciers, crowns of kings,
shivers of umbels;

I: flesh-purple, spitting blood—
in the laughter of beautiful lips
in anger or penitent drunkenness
in totems risen to abandon;

U: whose waves betray the shudderings of the divine viridian sea,
the peace of the pasture,
seeded with animals
        their alchemy signs off broad, studious foreheads;

O: sublime trumpet pouring out strange piercing sounds,
O of Omega,
the violet ray of His Eyes—Vowels!
Issued forth by life yet Death's command.

A. Rimbaud

Sunday, November 16, 2014

A Fire In The Snow

I can't find a fire in the snow when I'm searching for you.

Once I believed it was warmth I needed.  I searched out sticks
as thick as an arm.  Others, like a leg, leaned.
Thos're what you find following the old Father.

So I believed
I needed warmth so I followed these holes in the snow
—they were filled with trees.

Hamlet's Father roams the halls, muttering.
Shadows play,
but they can't say where the fire is set.

photo via Géraldine
poem © Jeffrey Patrick Bennett