Correspondence

The letter lies unanswered, thus free of lies.
The light all day has travelled the crowded pages,
Shifting the shadows, changing the hue of ink.
The truths, if truths there are, are stationary.

Now night comes on, from your time zone to mine.
The moon is tentative, not wholly herself,
And the owl bells, and the owl's mate bells back,
A dialogue of sorts, questions and answers,

The answers being but the questions asked.
East of your sleep, deep in the zodiac,
Tomorrow is already chronicled.
Oh, I shall write you what you want to hear.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

by Henri Coulette

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

They used to tell me I was building a dream
And so I followed the mob
When there was earth to plow or guns to bear
I was always there, right on the job

They used to tell me I was building a dream
With peace and glory ahead
Why should I be standing in line
Just waiting for bread?

Once I built a railroad, I made it run
Made it race against time
Once I built a railroad, now it's done
Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once I built a tower up to the sun
Brick and rivet and lime
Once I built a tower, now it's done
Brother, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, ah, gee, we looked swell
Full of the Yankee Doodle Dum
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell
And I was the kid with the drum

Say, don't you remember?  They called me "Al"
I was "Al" all the time
Why don't you remember? I'm your pal
Say buddy, can you spare a dime?

Once in khaki suits, ah, gee, we looked swell
Full of the Yankee Doodle Dum
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell
And I was the kid with the drum

Oh, say, don't you remember?  They called me "Al"
I was "Al" all the time
Say, don't you remember? I'm your pal
Buddy, can you spare a dime?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

lyrics by E. Y. Harburg
music by Jay Gorney

My love, if I die and you don't ---

My love, if I die and you don't ---,
My love, if you die and I don't ---,
Let's not give grief an even greater field.
No expanse is greater than where we live.

Dust in the wheat, sand in the deserts,
Time, wandering water, the vague wind
swept us on like sailing seeds.
We might not have found one another in time.

This meadow where we find ourselves,
O little infinity!  we give it back.
But Love, this love has not ended:

just as it never had a birth, it has
no death: it is like a long river,
only changing lands, and changing lips.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

by Pablo Neruda

translated by Stephen Tapscott

Bar Time

In keeping with the universal saloon practice,
the clock here is set fifteen minutes ahead
of all the clocks in the outside world.

This makes us a rather advanced group,
doing our drinking in the unknown future,
immune from the cares of the present,
safely harbored a quarter of an hour
beyond the woes of the contemporary scene.

No wonder such thoughtless pleasure derives
from tending the small fire of a cigarette,
from observing this glass of whiskey and ice,
the cold rust I am sipping,

or from having an eye on the street outside
when Ordinary Time slouches past in a topcoat,
rain running off the brim of his hat,
the late edition like a flag in his pocket.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

by Billy Collins

September 6, 1846, in the desert.

from Tamsen Donner: a woman's journey


Go light go light I must walk lightly

as I moved from one life to another
more and more followed me:
gowns books furniture
paints notebooks

now the seven of us - even the little girls -
must have substance
to carry into the new country

we are transporting a houseful:
barrels of flour stuffed with porcelain
pots tin plates silver service quilts
salt meat rice sugar dried fruit
coffee tea
                the wagon sags
and the oxen falter
                                   one wagon founders

what shall I let go? books:
                                          the least
needed for survival: in the cold
desert night
                  George lifts my heavy
crate of Shakespeare, Emerson, Gray's
Botany, spellers and readers for my school

and hides it all in a hill of salt
while the children sleep parched
and the cows and oxen stand mourning:
I put aside my desk with the inlaid pearl
our great fourposter with the pineapple posts
my love my study

what else can I part with?
I will keep one sketchbook one journal
to see me to the end of the journey

go light
go light
I must walk lightly

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

by Ruth Whitman