All posts tagged: weekend

Poem For The Weekend #47

Marriage of Many Years Most of what happens happens beyond words. The lexicon of lip and fingertip defies translation into common speech. I recognize the musk of your dark hair. It always thrills me, though I can’t describe it. My finger on your thigh does not touch skin— it touches your skin warming to my touch. You are a language I have learned by heart. This intimate patois will vanish with us, its only native speakers. Does it matter? Our tribal chants, our dances round the fire performed the sorcery we most required. They bound us in a spell time could not break. Let the young vaunt their ecstasy. We keep our tribe of two in sovereign secrecy. What must be lost was never lost on us. – Dana Gioia

Been There | Black and White Berlin

Germany boasts a smorgasbord of vibrant (and underrated) cities. But there’s nowhere quite like Berlin. My trip to the German Hauptstadt was a whirlwind of seeing and doing and walking and eating and drinking and friend-ing. We marched all over the city until our legs ached (Berlin is HUGE) and enjoyed the brief moments of morning calm in our tiny Kreuzberg apartment before venturing out for the day. We danced through the night and laughed all day; filled our hearts with joy, our stomachs with good food and Radler, and came back with goofy photobooth snaps and new laughter lines. A weekend and a half well spent, dare I say. And, of course, I still have Berlin on the brain. The visit re-awakened my love for Germany and the Germans, for a life there again. One day, maybe. For now I’m content with the memories and the pictures (to be shared in the coming days, without restraint I’m afraid!) and the fact that life in London has picked up just where it left off, at full speed, and I am happy and …

Poem(s) for the Weekend #12

Two poems for the last two hours of your weekend. I always find Rilke’s poetry steeped in a sense of hopeful anticipation; the feeling that the very best is yet to come. For that alone, I adore him. A Walk My eyes already touch the sunny hill. going far ahead of the road I have begun. So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp; it has inner light, even from a distance- and charges us, even if we do not reach it, into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are; a gesture waves us on answering our own wave… but what we feel is the wind in our faces. Moving Forward The deep parts of my life pour onward, as if the river shores were opening out. It seems that things are more like me now, That I can see farther into paintings. I feel closer to what language can’t reach. With my senses, as with birds, I climb into the windy heaven, out of the oak, in the ponds broken off …