"I am not one who was born in the custody of wisdom. I am one who is fond of olden times and intense in quest of the sacred knowing of the ancients." Gustave Courbet
Showing posts with label Machado. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Machado. Show all posts

23 November 2025

Guess.


FOURTEEN POEMS CHOSEN from MORAL PROVERBS and FOLK SONGS

1
The eye you see is not
an eye because you see it;
it is an eye because it sees you.

2
To talk with someone,
ask a question first,
then -- listen.

3
Narcissism
is an ugly fault
and now it's a boring fault too.

4
But look in your mirror for the other one,
the other one who walks by your side.

5
Between living and dreaming 
there is a third thing.
Guess it.

6
Look for the other half
who walks always next to you
and tends to be what you aren't.

7
In my solitude
I have seen things very clearly
that were not true.

8
Form your letters slowly and well:
making things well
is more important than making them.

9
What the poet is searching for 
is not the fundamental I
but the deep you.

10
Beyond living and dreaming
there is something more important:
waking up.

11
Pay attention now:
a heart that's all by itself
is not a heart.

12
If it's good to live,
then it's better to be asleep dreaming,
and best of all,
mother, is to awake.

13
When I am alone
how close my friends are;
when I am with them
how distant they are!

14
But art?
It is pure and intense play,
so it is like pure and intense life,
so it is like pure and intense fire.
You'll see the coal burning.

Antonio Machado

Thank You, Jessica.

27 March 2017

Discover.


A VARIATION on MACHADO

I worry much about the suffering
of Machado. I was only one when he carried
his mother across the border from Spain to France
in a rainstorm. She died and so did he
a few days later in a rooming house along a dry canal.
To carry Mother he abandoned a satchel
holding his last few years of poetry.
I've traveled to Collioure several times
to search for Machado's lost satchel.
The French fed him but couldn't save him.
There's no true path to a death —
we discover the path by walking.
We turn a corner on no road
and there's a house on a green hill
with a thousand colorful birds sweeping in a circle.
Are the poems in the basement of the house on the hill?
We'll find out if we remember earth at all.

Jim Harrison

21 March 2017

Seen.

Obata, Evening Moon, 1930


II

I have seen in my solitude
very clear things
that are not true.

Antonio Machado