I hope my car starts tomorrow,
That I can leave my street Charles de Foucault,
That I can go write a poem, or almost,
I love walking an hour in the fresh countryside.
I hope that I can cross the bridge, the harbor,
To buy milk, port and natural fruits,
That I can leave my city for a few hours,
I love to think of you, in the silence of the countryside.
I hope my car starts tomorrow,
That I can go to the cinema to see a Romanian film,
That I can go flower Mom’s grave,
You see, I’m nothing without my car.
Pourvu que ma voiture démarre demain,
Que je puisse quitter ma rue Charles de Foucauld,
Que je puisse aller écrire un poème, ou presque
J’aime marcher une heure dans la fraiche campagne.
Que je puisse aller traverser le pont, la rade,
Pour acheter du lait, du porto et des fruits naturels,
Que je puisse quitter ma ville quelques heures,
j’aime penser à toi, dans le silence de la campagne.
Pourvu que ma voiture démarre demain,
Que je puisse aller au cinéma voir un film roumain,
Que je puisse aller fleurir la tombe de maman,
Voyez-vous, je ne suis rien sans ma voiture.
Categories:
foucault, appreciation, car, freedom,
Form: Free verse
Love so you may understand, says Aristotle
I read this with a vague startle.
Love's no ordinary knowledge, says Foucault
who made power/knowledge into an occult.
Love thy neighbor, says the Lord
I'm in complete accord
but with the caveat
he changes his old coat.
Love is absurd, says Camus
an existential muse.
But for Sartre love is joy in action
a fine contraption.
For Luther it meant divine agape
in tension with eros's landscape.
I settle with Plato's art of beauty
and Rousseau's free will instead of duty.
All that's best in theology of love
particularly Dr. King's gift of love,
yet beware of perils of self-love.
Categories:
foucault, true love,
Form: Free verse
...inspired by the song 'Northbound 35' by Jeffrey Foucault
Three hundred miles and counting,
Kansas blacktop, battling snow,
visibility's poor, his sadness is mounting,
from here to there he has nowhere to go.
Lela left, took the kids and the horses,
hostility raging and angry goodbyes,
broken dishes and old, shattered promises,
nothing but highway and tears in his eyes.
Wichita, Lawrence, there's nobody waiting,
mile upon mile with no real destination,
no one to call, his memories grating,
thinking the while of self elimination.
Motels and hotels, the marks of community,
churches that urge you to come on inside,
Salvation Army, use them with impunity,
doctors and hospitals serving with pride.
Hope springs eternal, that's what they say,
confidence builds as he goes on his way,
to gather himself, shake it off, that is all,
grace the true measure, the cure for a fall.
Categories:
foucault, inspirational,
Form: Quatrain
...inspired by the song 'Northbound 35' by Jeffrey Foucault
Two hundred miles and counting,
Kansas blacktop, battling snow,
visibility's poor, his sadness is mounting,
from here to there he has nowhere to go.
Lela left, took the kids and the horses,
hostility raging and angry goodbyes,
broken dishes and old, shattered promises,
nothing but highway and tears in his eyes.
Wichita, Lawrence, there's nobody waiting,
mile upon mile with no real destination,
no one to call, his memories grating,
thinking the while of his elimination.
Motels and hotels, the marks of community,
churches that urge you to come on inside,
Salvation Army, use them with impunity,
doctors and hospitals serving with pride.
Hope springs eternal, that's what they say,
confidence builds as he goes on his way,
to gather himself, shake it off, that is all,
grace the true measure, the cure for a fall.
Categories:
foucault, sad,
Form: Verse
...inspired by the song 'Northbound 35' by Jeffrey Foucault
Two hundred miles and counting,
Kansas blacktop, batttling snow,
visibility's poor, his sadness is mounting,
from here to there he has nowhere to go.
Lela left, took the kids and the horses,
hostility raging and angry goodbyes,
broken dishes and old, shattered promises,
nothing but highway and tears in his eyes.
Wichita, Lawrence, there's nobody waiting,
mile upon mile with no real destination,
no one to call, his memories grating,
thinking the while of his elimination.
Motels and hotels, the marks of community,
churches that urge you to come on inside,
Salvation Army, use them with impunity,
doctors and hospitals serving with pride.
Hope springs eternal, that's what they say,
confidence builds as he goes on his way,
to gather himself, shake it off, that is all,
grace the true measure, the cure for a fall.
Categories:
foucault, community,
Form: Quatrain
Postmodernism’s the fashion ne’er manque.
We must study Foucault and his scribes.
Get reason trapped and do not court delay.
You need to find your intellectual tribe.
Where is the goose which laid the golden egg..
Invented meta-talk and fairy tales?
Which narrative is balanced on a peg?
Which philosopher gets re-homed by a whale?
Where is the whole truth and the nothing but?
Whose ‘ the eye which sees reality?
Who ‘s the judge who makes the final cut?
Where is the God to whom we owed fealty?
Now nothing is what anyone can say.
I understand it’s meaningless to pray
Categories:
foucault, philosophy, satire,
Form: Sonnet
This is the story of my madness, which flung into rage.
I was no longer allowed to that free zone,
a mind off my own.
All off a sudden, I was owned.
Owned by doctors, judges and nurses,
believe me, I have seen their curses.
They killed the free-thinker in me.
I met you the killer of thoughts, the blindfold, the veil.
I had no longer acces to my own head,
I met the zombie instead,
The blank I had wedded.
Owned by doctors, judges and nurses,
believe me, I have seen their curses.
They killed the free-thinker in me.
Up and down, up and down, the same corridors
Those hospital hallways, so endless and long,
in there I belong.
And I no longer belonged.
Owned by doctors, judges and nurses,
believe me, I have seen their curses.
They killed the free-thinker in me.
Grief, rage and despair that's what you brought
I do not care about your college-degree,
Maybe one day you'll see,
me and Foucault agreed.
Categories:
foucault, abuse, anger,
Form: Rhyme
...inspired by the song 'Northbound 35' by Jeffrey Foucault
Three hundred miles and counting,
Kansas blacktop, battling snow,
visibility's poor, his sadness is mounting,
from here to there he has nowhere to go.
Lela left, took the kids and the horses,
hostility raging and angry goodbyes,
broken dishes and old, shattered promises,
nothing but highway and tears in his eyes.
Wichita, Lawrence, there's nobody waiting,
mile upon mile with no real destination,
no one to call, his memories grating,
thinking the while of self elimination.
Motels and hotels, the marks of community,
churches that urge you to come on inside,
Salvation Army, use them with impunity,
doctors and hospitals serving with pride.
Hope springs eternal, that's what they say,
confidence builds as he goes on his way,
to gather himself, shake it off, that is all,
grace the true measure, the cure for a fall.
Categories:
foucault, adventure,
Form: Quatrain
...inspired by the song 'Northbound 35' by Jeffrey Foucault
Two hundred miles and counting,
Kansas blacktop, batttling snow,
visibility's poor, his sadness is mounting,
from here to there he has nowhere to go.
Lela left, took the kids and the horses,
hostility raging and angry goodbyes,
broken dishes and old, shattered promises,
nothing but highway and tears in his eyes.
Wichita, Lawrence, there's nobody waiting,
mile upon mile with no real destination,
no one to call, his memories grating,
thinking the while of his elimination.
Motels and hotels, the marks of community,
churches that urge you to come on inside,
Salvation Army, use them with impunity,
doctors and hospitals serving with pride.
Hope springs eternal, that's what they say,
confidence builds as he goes on his way,
to gather himself, shake it off, that is all,
grace the true measure, the cure for a fall.
Categories:
foucault, sad
Form: Quatrain