Viewing entries in
Erasures
I swell through
the quiet
where birds
watch over
silhouettes
rummaging
through what
needs of movement
speak and
answer morning.
My chest all
warmth and serious.
It mattered.
From page 175 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
Morning close
to stretch
and vanishes
in sight.
I have
made up
everything,
hypnotized
by the
surges
of a word
being heard.
From page 90 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
All useless
loneliness
decided
to carry
the least
breath, that
forgotten
quiet worth.
From page 5 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
My head
nervous
as the
hurry by
knives close
to waste.
The most
beautiful
rushes
repeat
myself
from all
this obeying
that I
do not
understand.
From page 101 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
Feathers,
go back
to bed.
I magic on
as if
moonlight
that drew
a clumsy
wing between
sky and sea.
The sweet
flutter I give
with my call.
From page 79 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
Watch memory as a movie ease
my faded weeks to shore.
Nothing shows trouble tempted
to forget the beautiful,
that I give to the days after.
From page 21 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
Stretched morning
left yesterday forgotten
between night,
the chorus of wind,
clouds the colour of petals
in a climbing sleep.
From page 13 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
If you have written
ship, ask a fish to
finish my coffee.
You need my
hand to sweep
time and dare
to mirror flying.
From page 7 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
I understand my heart,
a little red boat
thought a muscle
with want from habit.
I unhook tomorrow,
not its shadows
that I look for.
From page 23 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
I let the
strange
with the
squalls,
under my
knees
without
blame.
From page 46 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
With the slight
truth still
as a painting,
the birds wake
to wonder.
All give and
swing do not call
each time I save
sleep in wings.
From pages 72-73 of The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, translated by William Rodarmor (Sheridan House, 1995).
This work can be
desire, which means
to be present for failure.
In the Upper Peninsula of Michigan
beyond the last fish, it doesn't matter
how sudden a snow squall or
thin the ice, I would die
if I fell and miss a good dinner.
I think about food, listen
to the swirling snow and each
swoosh of oysters I had for lunch.
From page 15 of The Raw and the Cooked: Adventures of a Roving Gourmand by Jim Harrison (Grove Press, 2001).
