mis canciones

[Whitebird Sings]

mis canciones...

yesterday
your smile
a tree
the wind

full moon
a glance
streetlights
a wave

arriving late
walking away
the house
long road

...mis canciones

[Whitebird Sings]

"his" canciones,
Noyes,
in part
was this...


...all is toned at a turn of the tide
To a calm and golden harmony;
But I—shall I wonder or greatly care,
For their depth or their height?
Shall it be more than a song in my sight
How many wandering waves there were
Or how many colours and changes of light?
It is your eyes that see
And take heed of these things: they were fashioned for you, not for Me.


...the mystical verse of another,
songs all.

[Whitebird Sings]

among "her" canciones
was the weeping of the children --
the ones in the mines.

and Barrett Browning sang for them...

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers---
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;
The young birds are chirping in the nest;
The young fawns are playing with the shadows;
The young flowers are blowing toward the west---
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly!---
They are weeping in the playtime of the others
In the country of the free.

...still the children work
and still the children weep.

who sings for them now?

i will...
will you join me?

will you listen when i whisper?
will you listen when i shout?

...her canciones
mis canciones...

[Whitebird Sings]

as for love,

Donne's canciones
take my breath away

vibrating
resonating
forever and all-ways...

Yet I thought thee
(For thou lov'st truth) an Angell, at first sight,
But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,
And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an Angels art,
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
I do confesse, it could not chuse but bee
Profane, to thinke thee any thing but thee.

spiritual love
found in physical love

his canciones
mis canciones

vibrating
resonating
forever and all-ways

love for us...

[Whitebird Sings]

Yeats' canciones
were also written
in an octave
that my heart
understands...

he writes of
hearts and trees
colours and fruit
light and night
waves and melody

BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with metry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Joves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the winged sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care...

...this is the image
of love i hold,
the one that weds
body and soul

so far,
i've come close...

mis canciones
the canciones of my heart

lucky me,
lucky you?

[Whitebird Sings]

I long to be as Sappho was,
on an isle...

immersed in canciones

living through canciones
loving through canciones

i close my eyes
and i travel to lesbos,
and sit among the women,
and Sapphos whispers on the wind...

It seems to me that man is equal to the gods,
that is, whoever sits opposite you
and, drawing nearer, savours, as you speak,
the sweetness of your voice

and the thrill of your laugh, which have so stirred the heart
in my own breast, that whenever I catch
sight of you, even if for a moment,
then my voice deserts me

and my tongue is struck silent, a delicate fire
suddenly races underneath my skin,
my eyes see nothing, my ears whistle like
the whirling of a top

and sweat pours down me and a trembling creeps over
my whole body, I am greener than grass,
at such times, I seem to be no more than
a step away from death;

but all can be endured since even a pauper.... *

Come again Sapphos
and sit among us

your canciones
mis canciones



[i]*translation by Josephine Balmer[/i]

[Whitebird Sings]

i sit this night,
by the fires of beltane

i sit in wait
for the holy spark
of amy lowell...

and she appears.

did you hear
me call out to you amy?

did you hear
mis canciones?

amy,
will you join me
as i dance
around
the fires
with alfred
and
sapphos
and
john
and
elizabeth
and
william...

the holy spark of amy smiles
and
we circle round

and amy sings...

and by the light of the beltane fires
our spirits sense what she creates for us --


A Minstrel stands on a marble stair,
Blown by the bright wind, debonair;
Below lies the sea, a sapphire floor,
Above on the terrace a turret door
Frames a lady, listless and wan,
But fair for the eye to rest upon.
The minstrel plucks at his silver strings,
And looking up to the lady, sings: --
Down the road to Avignon,
The long, long road to Avignon,
Across the bridge to Avignon,
One morning in the spring.
The octagon tower casts a shade
Cool and gray like a cutlass blade;
In sun-baked vines the cicalas spin,
The little green lizards run out and in.
A sail dips over the ocean's rim,
And bubbles rise to the fountain's brim.
The minstrel touches his silver strings,
And gazing up to the lady, sings: --
Down the road to Avignon,
The long, long road to Avignon,
Across the bridge to Avignon,
One morning in the spring.
Slowly she walks to the balustrade,
Idly notes how the blossoms fade
In the sun's caress; then crosses where
The shadow shelters a carven chair.
Within its curve, supine she lies,
And wearily closes her tired eyes.
The minstrel beseeches his silver strings,
And holding the lady spellbound, sings: --
Down the road to Avignon,
The long, long road to Avignon,
Across the bridge to Avignon,
One morning in the spring.
Clouds sail over the distant trees,
Petals are shaken down by the breeze,
They fall on the terrace tiles like snow;
The sighing of waves sounds, far below.
A humming-bird kisses the lips of a rose
Then laden with honey and love he goes.
The minstrel woos with his silver strings,
And climbing up to the lady, sings: --
Down the road to Avignon,
The long, long road to Avignon,
Across the bridge to Avignon,
One morning in the spring.
Step by step, and he comes to her,
Fearful lest she suddenly stir.
Sunshine and silence, and each to each,
The lute and his singing their only speech;
He leans above her, her eyes unclose,
The humming-bird enters another rose.
The minstrel hushes his silver strings.
Hark! The beating of humming-birds' wings!
Down the road to Avignon,
The long, long road to Avignon,
Across the bridge to Avignon,
One morning in the spring.

...who else will join our dance
and sing to us your canciones...

by the fires of beltane.

[judih]

ears open in the waves of the fiery song
heat emanates
shoulders bathe in lyrical truth

no cold, sister
no chance for chilly loneliness
around hands, sudden beauty
welcoming words of gratitude

another miracle
poetics trim the trees
as mother earth hums the bass line

[Whitebird Sings]

dialogue with spirit
senses awakened...
the goddess revealed
naked before her stag

the lyric of their merging
fans the flames --

the miracle of beltane
in-word (inhale)
in-deed (inhale)
in-heat (inhale)

their canciones -
are our canciones