I know the language of the mirror –
its perplexities and mine
spring from one race
our roots can be traced
to the ancient tribe of truth
Kabul
February, 1994
(with thank to the Poetry Translation Centre)
I know the language of the mirror –
its perplexities and mine
spring from one race
our roots can be traced
to the ancient tribe of truth
Kabul
February, 1994
(with thank to the Poetry Translation Centre)
“There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on… we must take the current where it serves or lose our venture.”
—Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
Posted in journal
The mangrove holds the ocean back,
but takes the sea into its nostrils.
Roots reflected in the water,
a spiny möbius
sipping the tea colored sea.
The night sky bends down under my kayak,
a man in a mosquito tent buffaloes all night next to me.
The prince of storms
is tuning up to the south
like a chorus in Aida
or Sikorsky helicopters shuffling cards.
Tomorrow my pea pod vessel
must bear the weight of my fears.
If there is a world a hundred years from now, it will be in part because of banjo.
–Pete Seeger, 1919-2014
Posted in journal