Sunday, March 18, 2018

The Door by Miroslav Holub

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to (wo)man as it is, Infinite." ~William Blake

The Door by Miroslav Holub

Go and open the door.
          Maybe outside there’s
          a tree, or a wood,
          a garden,
          or a magic city.

Go and open the door.
          Maybe a dog’s rummaging.
          Maybe you’ll see a face,
or an eye, 
or the picture
          of a picture.

Go and open the door.
          If there’s a fog
          it will clear.

Go and open the door.
          Even if there’s only 
          the darkness ticking,
          even if there’s only
          the hollow wind,
          even if
                  nothing
                           is there,
go and open the door.

At least
there’ll be 
a draught.

~*~*~*~*~*~

from: Poems Before & After: Collected English translations (Bloodaxe Books, 2006)

from: Staying Alive: Real Poems for Unreal Times, page 69, edited by Neil Astley

2 comments:

Suldog said...: I like this poem a lot. Thanks for sharing it. There's always so much to explore if we open something, whether it be a door or our minds.; March 18, 2018 at 9:10 PM
audrey said...: Hi Marion!!
Happy Spring to you, too, and bless you for your visits to my blog.
Sorry I haven't been leaving comments for a LONG time. Life has been hectic with health issues and more. Plugging along and hoping to do a little more writing rather than just posting photos on my blog all the time. I refuse to give up on it. It's still important to me. It makes me happy to see others, like you, still blogging faithfully.
♥; March 20, 2018 at 4:34 PM

I Love Lorrie Moore!!

“You’re not a poetess, I hope,” said the English geologist next to her. “We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us.”

“Really.” After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

“Yes. She kept referring to insects as ‘God’s typos’ and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line ‘the hairy kiwi of his balls.’”

From: “Birds of America” by Lorrie Moore, page 266, ‘Terrific Mother’

Miranda July's Best Book:

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise." From: "No One Belongs Here More Than You Stories by Miranda July", Page 11

A Dreamy, Drug of a Book

"The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat night and day, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town." ~Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume", page 240