Troubled Water

"Since, however, it would be very tedious, in such a volume as this, to reckon up the successions of all the Churches, we do put to confusion all those who, in whatever manner, whether by an evil self-pleasing, by vainglory, or by blindness and perverse opinion, assemble in unauthorized meetings; [we do this, I say,] by indicating that tradition derived from the apostles, of the very great, the very ancient, and universally known Church founded and organized at Rome by the two most glorious apostles, Peter and Paul; as also [by pointing out] the faith preached to men, which comes down to our time by means of the successions of the bishops. For it is a matter of necessity that every Church should agree with this Church, on account of its pre- eminent authority, that is, the faithful everywhere, inasmuch as the apostolical tradition has been preserved continuously by those [faithful men] who exist everywhere." Book III, Chapter 3 "For if what they have published is the Gos...

For several months my name and socialism have appeared often together in the newspapers. A friend tells me that I have shared the front pages with baseball, Mr. Roosevelt and the New York police scandal. The association does not make me altogether happy but, on the whole, I am glad that many people are interested in me and in the educational achievements of my teacher, Mrs. Macy ( Anne Sullivan ). Even notoriety may be turned to beneficent uses, and I rejoice if the disposition of the newspapers to record my activities results in bringing more often into their columns the word Socialism. In the future I hope to write about socialism, and to justify in some measure the great amount of publicity which has been accorded to me and my opinions. So far I have written little and said little about the subject. I have written a few letters, notably one to Comrade Fred Warren which was printed in the Appeal to Reason . I have talked to some reporters, on of whom, Mr. Ireland of the New York Worl...

“Once one has survived something then survival itself interferes with understanding, and you don't even know which lives came before and which is your life of today, you even mix up your own lives.” “A single tear forms, just in the corner of one eye, but it doesn't roll down my cheek; it merely crystallizes in the cold air, it grows and grows into a second giant globe that doesn't want to orbit with the world—it breaks off from the planet and plunges into infinity.” “There are people who think that Malina and I are married. We never considered that we might be married, that such a possibility could exist, nor even the idea that other people might think that we were married. For the longest time it never crossed our minds that, like other people, we appear as man and wife wherever we go. This was a complete surprise for us, but we had no idea what to make of it. We laughed a lot.” Malina (1971) Said it, and the toad leapt onto the table, blew the match out and the lightning...

Il est du moins au-dessus de la terre Un champ d'asile où monte la douleur ; J'y vais puiser un peu d'eau salutaire Qui du passé rafraîchit la couleur. Là seulement ma mère encor vivante Sans me gronder me console et m'endort ; O douce nuit, je suis votre servante : Dans votre empire on aime donc encor ! Non, tout n'est pas orage dans l'orage ; Entre ses coups, pour desserrer le coeur, Souffle une brise, invisible courage, Parfum errant de l'éternelle fleur ! Puis c'est de l'âme une halte fervente, Un chant qui passe, un enfant qui s'endort. Orage, allez ! je suis votre servante : Sous vos éclairs Dieu me regarde encor ! Béni soit Dieu ! puisqu'après la tourmente, Réalisant nos rêves éperdus, Vient des humains l'infatigable amante Pour démêler les fuseaux confondus. Fidèle mort ! si simple, si savante ! Si favorable au souffrant qui s'endort ! Me cherchez-vous ? je suis votre servante : Dans vos bras nus l'âme est plus libre encor...

   When with the skin you do acknowledge drought, The dry in the voice, the lightness of feet, the fine Flake of the heat at every level line; When with the hand you learn to touch without Surprise the spine for the leaf, the prickled petal, The stone scorched in the shine, and the wood brittle; Then where the pipe drips and the fronds sprout And the foot-square forest of clover blooms in sand, You will lean and watch, but never touch with your hand. September 1934 Desert by Josephine Miles    L’autre soir, il tonnait, et sur la terre aux tombes j’écoutais retentir    cette réponse à l’homme, qui fut brève, et ne fut que fracas.    Amie, l’averse du ciel fut avec nous, la nuit de Dieu fut notre intempérie,    et l’amour, en tous lieux, remontait vers ses sources.    Je sais, j’ai vu : la vie remonte vers ses sources, la foudre ramasse ses outils dans les carrières désertées,    le pollen jaune des pins s’assemble aux ...

  De mãos nos bolso e de olhar distante, Jeito de marinheiro ou de soldado, Era um rapaz de camisola verde, Negra madeixa ao vento, Boina maruja ao lado. Perguntei-lhe quem era e ele me disse “Sou do monte, Senhor, e um seu criado”. Pobre rapaz de camisola verde, Negra madeixa ao vento, Boina maruja ao lado. Porque me assaltam turvos pensamentos? Na minha frente estava um condenado. Vai-te, rapaz da camisola verde, Negra madeixa ao vento, Boina maruja ao lado. Ouvindo-me, quedou-se o bravo moço, Indiferente à raiva do meu brado, E ali ficou de camisola verde, Negra madeixa ao vento, Boina maruja ao lado. Soube depois ali que se perdera Esse que só eu pudera ter salvado. Ai do rapaz da camisola verde, Negra madeixa ao vento, Boina maruja ao lado. Ai do rapaz da camisola verde, Negra madeixa ao vento, Boina maruja ao lado. Negra madeixa ao vento, Boina maruja ao lado. O rapaz da camisola verde - Pedro Homem de Melo  

Miragem, sombra, universo Quarto-camarim reverso Onde ceifam a razão, Por seres fauno redentor, Tentaram esvair a cor Que sangravas de paixão Por anos de noite crua Calaram-te a alma nua, Sonhada livre ao relento, Coragem que se fez morte Num país deixado à sorte De ser apenas cinzento Valentim , livre escultura, Afogaram-te em loucura Nesse crime sem perdão, Cicatriz de dor vincada Na cabeça torturada E amarras no coração Ao peito ergueste bandeiras Foste arte contra as barreiras Do teu injusto destino, Na prisão feita ribalta És dança que aos céus se exalta, Serás sempre bailarino.  Banzo. BÃ ZU.  Do português "banzar": pasmar pela morte. Do quimbundo "mbanza": aldeia. Falta da aldeia. A nostalgia dos negros arrancados de África que levou muitos à morte no Brasil colonial. Banzo.  Escravos com banzo caíam na apatia. Recusavam alimentos. Tomavam veneno. Enforcavam-se. Muitos comiam terra, uma forma arcaica de atenuar a fome que estava ligada à infeções, definhament...

  Baby Jesus with St. Anthony of Padua, Elisabetta Sirani , 1656, Bologna, Italy Regarding the field of satisfaction, Genesis says: Abraham planted a grove in Bersabee, and there called upon the name of the Lord God eternal. And he was a sojourner in the land of the Philistines many days.  [Gen 21.33-34] Note these three things: he planted, he called, he sojourned. Abraham is the just man, who plants in his mind (Bersabee, ‘well of fullness’) the mysterious grove of charity, whereby we love God and our neighbour. The just man’s mind is called a ‘well’ on account of its humility, and ‘of fullness’ because of the sweetness of contemplation. And there he called upon the name of the Lord God eternal. The name of the eternal God is Jesus, which means ‘Saviour’. The just man calls on the name of the Saviour, that he may bestow salvation and keep it for ever. And he was a sojourner in the land of the Philistines. ‘Philistines’, as has often been said, means ‘falling from drink’. They...

Paul and Barnabas in Iconium Paul and Barnabas went to the city of Iconium. As they did in Antioch, they entered the Jewish synagogue. They spoke to the people there. They spoke so well that many Jews and Greeks believed what they said. But some of the Jews did not believe. They said things that caused the non-Jewish people to be angry and turn against the believers. So Paul and Barnabas stayed in Iconium a long time, and they spoke bravely for the Lord. They told the people about God’s grace. The Lord proved that what they said was true by causing miraculous signs and wonders to be done through them. But some of the people in the city agreed with the Jews who did not believe Paul and Barnabas. Others followed the apostles. So the city was divided. Some of the Jews there, as well as their leaders and some of the non-Jewish people, were determined to hurt Paul and Barnabas. They wanted to stone them to death. When Paul and Barnabas learned about this, they left the city. They went to Ly...

«Ao regressar àquela noite ao albergue paterno não podia me recusar a olhar para trás. Outros dez anos se haviam passado desde a primeira prisão… Dos vinte aos trinta anos, eu tinha obedecido às ordens do Partido. Assinara as declarações que me haviam entregue, para assinar sem ler. (…) Então, quando recuperei a liberdade, o partido me condenou: fizeram-me assinar um documento no qual se eximia o Partido de toda a responsabilidade. Aquilo tudo, o conflito e o sangue derramado, fora obra de uma “provocadora”, de uma “agitadora individual, sensacionalista e inexperiente”. Assinei. Assinei, de olhos fechados, surda ao desabamento que se processava dentro de mim. Por que não? O Partido ‘tinha razão’. De degrau em degrau desci a escada das degradações, porque o Partido precisava de quem não tivesse um escrúpulo, de quem não tivesse personalidade, de quem não discutisse. Reduziram-me ao trapo que partiu um dia para longe, para o Pacífico, para o Japão, e para a China, pois o Partido se cansa...

  (Nocturno de Battery Place) Se quedaron solos: aguardaban la velocidad de las últimas bicicletas. Se quedaron solas: esperaban la muerte de un niño en el velero japonés. Se quedaron solos y solas, soñando con los picos abiertos de los pájaros agonizantes, con el agudo quitasol que pincha al sapo recién aplastado, bajo un silencio con mil orejas y diminutas bocas de agua en los desfiladeros que resisten el ataque violento de la luna. Lloraba el niño del velero y se quebraban los corazones angustiados por el testigo y la vigilia de todas las cosas y porque todavía en el suelo celeste de negras huellas gritaban nombres oscuros, salivas y radios de níquel. No importa que el niño calle cuando le clavan el último alfiler, no importa la derrota de la brisa en la corola del algodón, porque hay un mundo de la muerte con marineros definitivos que se asomarán a los arcos y os helarán por detrás de los árboles. Es inútil buscar el recodo donde la noche olvida su viaje y acechar un silencio q...

Venho de longe, de rios e igarapés de águas claras, estradas bonitas, luares estrelados, duma cidade flor, cheirosa a jasmins e malva rosa. Venho da terra formosa de serenatas, violões, açaí, madrugadas lindas e crepúsculos incomparáveis! Sinto ainda, como num sonho feliz, a caricia do banho de água salgada, a alegria dos passeios, em barcos à vela, o encanto das margens verdes, pelas quais corre, assustado, o guará bonito de pernas vermelhas. Na saudade, volto à minha infância venturosa, ouço alegremente o sino da igreja, soando Ave Maria, quando eu, criança ainda, rezava à Virgem Maria do Céu! Venho de campinas floridas e gorjeios da passarada azul, da terra de meus pais, a minha cidade flor – Vigia! Fui e sou ainda como a árvore frondosa! Floresci, dei frutos e sombra. Meus ramos, viçosos, multiplicaram-se em flores e ainda hoje há um sol que os afaga, nos sorrisos de meus netos e netas. Cresci à sombra de carinhos e afetos, fortaleci-me na beleza dos campos, ao ar livre, pisando, d...

At woods' end we hear the grind and roar. See toothed shovels forcing soft green into chunked brown rubble, three bulldozers shoving field into mall. But this egret still standing in its pond, unruffled by the rumbling wheels, staring into blue air, locked there in its thin white uniform. The Guard (from Bottomfish , Spring 1998) On a grabbed notepad we scribbled messages to your face, forced your eyes open, waited for a nod, a squeeze, scribbled more, torn between letting you sleep, making you see our words not sure we'd said enough through the years, scrawling, tearing sheet after sheet. The Stroke  (from Poetry , August 2000) Today as you talked miles away on the phone I heard my own voice coming back, remembered our trick as kids, switching beds, my giggles Mom and Dad thought were yours in the dark, then what Mom said, that even the doctor with his stethescope examining her was fooled listening forty years ago to our hearts in the womb, certain we were one and an echo. Twi...

[...] When they had nearly reached the top of the great West Hill the clocks in the town struck eight. Each gave a start at the notes, and, walking onward yet a few steps, they reached the first milestone, standing whitely on the green margin of the grass, and backed by the down, which here was open to the road. They entered upon the turf, and, impelled by a force that seemed to overrule their will, suddenly stood still, turned, and waited in paralyzed suspense beside the stone. The prospect from this summit was almost unlimited. In the valley beneath lay the city they had just left, its more prominent buildings showing as in an isometric drawing—among them the broad cathedral tower, with its Norman windows and immense length of aisle and nave, the spires of St Thomas's, the pinnacled tower of the College, and, more to the right, the tower and gables of the ancient hospice, where to this day the pilgrim may receive his dole of bread and ale. Behind the city swept the rotund upland ...