Outside my window lives a chickadee,
he loves snowy green pine,
and has a family of about twenty-three;
he loves the snow and falling snowflakes divine,
and each morning the whole family sings for me.
Sometimes they scatter on clamous whirling wings,
off to a park nearby,
my heart is sad for their songs are like violins;
then, the beat of their wild swirling wings multiply,
they have brought home many, many friends I sigh.
On warmer days I bring them some seeds,
I put the seeds on my hand,
and am always in awe with their fluttering speeds;
I love each created by God delicate painted band
helping the birds helps me to grow and transcend.
They huddle together when it is very cold,
at times they lift a foot,
I think God not only gave them beauty but a soul;
each morning I must go to my window to have a look
I find them twittering, and tweeting in a clamor bruit.
When life is full in my throat,
I pray with an embryonic want.
I hear the needs
of the innocent and dragons,
they do not seem
so different to me.
The plaintive calls of the lost,
the tigers panting bruit
are not so different.
I am what the egg wants.
I want a pulsating engine
that crashes through the tangle
of this worlds face.
I want a hammer-bright orison
to challenge with a shell-breaking voice.
At night, when the moon
in my throat is full,
I listen - an embryo want
in my own nest.
I hear the needs
of worms and dragons.
They do not seem
different to me.
The hunting calls of angels,
the tigers panting bruit
does not seem dissimilar.
I am what the egg wants.
I want a spirit that crashes through
the ever changing face
of this world.
I want the shell-breaking desire
of all fledgling gods.
M-ix not things up,
I-n a fight or dispute;
L-et all be in order,
A-llow not the brawl or bruit.
B-oisterous bluster and blare
R-uin the serenity;
A-im not to utter clamor,
C-all not attention raucously.
E-ngage not in contest,
R-age or anger must stop,
O-n the fifth of September, mix not things up.
C-omplete silence is deafening,
O-nce it reaches your ears;
R-oar runs away from you,
A-s the loud noise disappears.
Z-one of complete silence
O-bliterates the bruit;
N-either blare nor bluster breaks the quiet mute.
C-omplete silence of the mind
R-emains in meditation;
I-t lets the deepest thinking
Z-ealously do the contemplation.
A-llow the stillness to show,
L-et it make some better sense;
D-ay twenty-four of September,
O-pen your heart in complete silence.
Blank pages stare back at me
waiting for my mind to pour
its' heart out.
I grab my pen, throw on my
headphones wait, wait for my
mind to give my heart words
that need to be written.
I make my mark, withdraw my hand, I stare.
This is all you see _____
Months have passed since words have
been written, my mind is hesitant
to reveal what my heart tries to
conceal.
Music plays in my ears in hopes
of encouraging my mind to find
its hidden words.
I stop, quote Jonson in my head
an English dramatist & poet...
"Suns, that set, may rise again
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night. (Volpone)
Yet my mind still remains empty.
Perspiration runs down my face,
my temperature rises, frustration
runs through my veins.
I try yet again
I quote Apollinaire in my head
a French poet...
"Les souvenirs sont cors de chasse
Dont meunt le bruit parmi le vent"
My anger grows
My mind weary
My eyes tire.
As night falls, & its all over
my pages still remain empty
La Paix et le Désert – Translation of Kevin Gilbert’s « Peace and the Desert » by T. Wignesan
Pendant que la braise du campement de feu scintille
J’entendis l’appel
du courlis annonçant la naissance
ou la mort de quelques uns
le vent du désert calmait durant la nuit
et dans une voix
tremblante poussa un soupire à l’entrée interdite des pas
quand on entend le battement des tambours lointain
le petit matin arrive en ne faisant pas trop de bruit
la nuit des premiers âges est en fuite
laissant l’impression frémissante des bruits
du carnage et la puissance des carnivores
immobile, malgré l’espoir d’un roitelet gazouillant
un lézarde qui survive bougeant sur un roché
un émeu, deux cherchant de l’eau dans une source d’eau
les aigles fixent leur regarde en toute intensité
heureux du fait de ce que la nuit pourrait les apporter
les tourbillons s’élèvent inaperçus en remuant
les arènes en convulsions
par les pas d’une danse macabre
s’abandonnant à l’ivresse des derviches
aiguilles qui piquent mes joues mon front
puis lance des cris de rage sur cette mer maintenant morte.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
I sit on a chair
The chair is by the table
The table is against the wall
On the wall is a clock
The clock goes tic toc
As surely as time passes
I, do not move
The chair does not move
The table does not move
The wall just stands there holding up the clock
A bookcase on the other side of life, there full of knowledge
Useless in the antiquity of stagnation
As we are all one, object and man
Not one of us moving
Except for the clock
Tic toc
Passage du temps
L'horloge
Le bruit du silence
Noyade dans la tranquillité
En solo
Parmi tous mes livres
Mort chante à mon oreille
La guerre folingue a largué des bombes sur un cimetière
Les morts,trop absorbés à savonner leurs péchés d'hier,
Ont d'abord pris le bruit pour un tonitruant tonnerre
Nonchalants,ils ont campé dans leurs tanières
Ont eu une pensée pour ceux la haut sur terre
Qui jouillissant de tous arrivent à se taire
Ankylosés devant la machine meurtrière
Désorientés,fourbus et optimistes naguère
Ignares de pioncer que sous somnifère
Une torpeur dècousue aux episodes amères
Humant la phobie,l'aria et la galère
Jalousant les morts,réprouvant leurs misères
Abdelwaheb Dhaou.
I am archaic and forgotten these are my dusty tomes
The perennial deipnosophist verbally alone
With flowing ink my guide, the page my diligent doxy
I capriciously choose my diction and propose my proxy
A peccant periapt around thy neck, I’ll drag thee
Along the hyperborean, yet sullen, road you see
Hoarfrost coated little old me helpless and miserly
Carry on, my linguistics are aged unfortunately
The bruit is that the caducity of my tenure is
The reason for this rhyme; I digress and must stress that this
This, is but a puzzle, it is but a conundrum.
I'll let you decipher amongst the humdrum
New Year
Will there be a new solution
Or old problems’ dissolution
With New Year’s resolution
When to all that we loath
Including hearken to the froth
Bow and take the rebut oath?
Have we learned to jump
Where our toe hit the stump
And unravelled our rump
When, while at flight,
With blazing wanton delight
We cursed lack of foresight?
When we failed to give up
(Like a thirsty lactating pup)
Lecher’s compelling cup
Damning being a Devil’s recruit
And called ourselves blind bruit
Immersed in frolic’s fruit....
Looking forward with a clear eye
(Eye that sees the sky as blue)
Pray for something new.
As older with time we grow
Forward we tend to bow
And, more we tend to know?
JM
02nd January 2014
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