December 09, 2012
Sunday Poem
Finding FlowersNow I dreamt of you sleeping and dreaming,
beside me, in my bed, and of how it all was,
nothing happened except you sleeping and dreaming,
beside me, in my bed, and my looking at you,
and seeing how inexorably and all-pervasively
beautiful you were, how you were: all sleep and
dream and time, which gave itself ample time,
and how I knew that this immaculate waking
needs no kisses of shushing nostalgia,
when we think we’re dreaming of dreams
and religiously do the work, unseen by anyone.
by Pieter Boskma
from Het violette uur
publisher: Prometheus, Amsterdam, 2008
translation: 2012, Paul Vincent
Posted by Jim Culleny at 08:48 AM | Permalink
Comments
o o o genius !
and may your dream come true, O poet ...
but has already come loveful on the page
to life; if not already a memory sweetly aged
gifted you a Now and you gifted us for all time
to remember ...
Posted by: Sumiran | Dec 9, 2012 12:51:02 PM
This poem sounds a little bit like a poem of the old poet from Japan, Ryokan.
Posted by: Aron Levi | Dec 11, 2012 12:23:56 PM
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