Adam B

01:16 pm: a book of hours
Manchmal steht einer auf beim Abendbrot
und geht hinaus und geht und geht und geht,—
weil eine Kirche wo im Osten steht.

Und seine Kinder segnen ihn wie tot.

Und einer, welcher stirbt in seinem Haus,
bleibt drinnen wohnen, bleibt in Tisch und Glas,
so dass die Kinder in die Welt hinaus
zu jener Kirche ziehn, die er vergass.


(Rainer Maria Rilke)




Soon she will stop midsentence,
clear her plate and go. And go—
lured by an old and un-sharable vision

(her children boasting that she's dead.)

Another crumbles, an interior
life hedged by bed and mirrors:
So her children cannot resist the world,
their holy vision, which she forgot.

04:05 pm: citywalk, in winter
Somehow
I have crossed
already
into my own
under-
world, in-
between shades
on
salted
streets.

01:00 pm: 25
Six weeks I've watched a rash spangle my hands.
Last night they were covered in water,
Off and on for three hours,
Turning faucets and lifting pitchers of milk,
They pussed ink, and dots of blood.

In those red fields, on my right hand,
I saw one dark eye growing--
a freckle, or mole;
strange code for

new cancer.

12:54 pm: waking songs
Lauren and I spent last night with separate illnesses. She coughed every fifth second, and I came down with a bout of food poisoning. We both slept in fits. She's still resting, but I'm half awake, and a little delerious.
Wake up. Most beautiful wife, wake up. I'm delerious and love you...my sweetest girl.

10:14 pm: 'there is a sign at the sight of thee'
One of my ministers, this past Wednesday, asked me whether I’d ever calculated the number of books one could read in a normal lifetime, given a quota of pages each and so many hours in existence. I spent some time this evening looking at my bookshelves. Not that a single aspect can exhaust us, but in one’s room alone, after an empty walk with Lauren at work, a bookshelf makes a paltry, quite inadequate pastime.


I’ve been listening to Sufjan Steven’s ‘Songs for Christmas,’ many of which are surpassingly tender, untying hard knots in my heart. At his best he expresses what I think so wonderful in Christianity: we look at our shared life, filled with its tough and intractable objects; acknowledge as much, yet not forget that faith, hope and love find us when we least expect them, and need them most. Neither canceling the other, but quietly holding together.



Du Dunkelheit, aus der ich stamme,
ich liebe dich mehr als die Flamme,
welche die Welt begrenzt,
indem sie glänzt
für irgend einen Kreis,
aus dem heraus kein Wesen von ihr weiss.

Aber die Dunkelheit halt alles an sich:
Gestalten und Flammen, Tiere und mich,
wie sie’s erraft,
Menschen und Mächte—

Und es kann sein: eine grosse Kraft
Rührt sich in meiner Nachbarschaft.

Ich glaube an Nächte.

(Rainer Maria Rilke)



Darkness, my first home,
I love you more than flames
fencing this world;
the world flickers in them,
undetermined cycles;
beyond no being, no knowing this world.

But darkness absorbs into itself
forms and flames, animals and me,
hardly a stirring, and we are subdued,
people and power—

Is it possible: a daunting strength
passes near me, touches me?

I believe it entirely.

04:47 pm: naturalism
Incapable hospital
swallowing unstill
bodies and putting up
a small smoke
not covering your secrets.
Beneath vents
swarms of doctors
enfold each
delicate carcass
like
meticulous flies.

11:26 am: mirror
sweetsharp unthinkable dream
slides from between the
teeth of a plastic comb,
uncaught
in the mirror her hand
coils and darts
parting thoughts too nearly known.

12:24 am: salutation
These little limbs,
these eys and hands which here I find,
this panting heart wherewith my life begins;
where have ye been? Behind
what curtain were ye from me hid so long?
where was, in what abyss, my new-made tongue?


when silent I
so many thousand thousand years
beneath the dust did in a chaos ly,
how could I smiles, or tears,
or lips, or hands, or eys, or ears perceiv?
Welcom ye treasures which I now receiv.


A stranger here
strange things doth meet, strange glory see
strange treasures lodg'd in this fair world appear,
strange all and new to me:
but that they mine should be who nothing was,
that strangest is of all;
yet brought to pass.


(Thomas Traherne)





O generation of the thoroughly smug
and thoroughly uncomfortable,
I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun,
I have seen them with untidy families,
I have seen their smiles full of teeth
and heard ungainly laughter.
And I am happier than you are,
And they were happier than I am;
And the fish swim in the lake
and do not even own clothing.


(Ezra Pound)



An agreement in name only. "These brighter regions which salute mine eys, a gift from God I take."

12:27 pm: classics
I just unwrapped Ratatat's latest album. Wondrous and new. (Thanks to Rob for the introduction.)
I've never heard anything so...perfect. I think you'll like it.

11:04 pm: brilliance
hey friends, check out Lauren's new website: it's probably the best on the web, save, of course, for this.