pen (Del Allan)

To Sigh

posted Apr 21, 2009 4:38 PM by Del Allan [ updated Apr 21, 2009 4:46 PM ]

In these moments we wait

for light

for hope

for the wings of some great bird to glide overhead

to feel again.

We pant

our breathing, as our steps

has become uneasy.. we are awkward

we lumber

the slow and unsteady inhalation hurts

our lungs bleed

our feet bleed

our eyes no longer focus

We hear water nearby

the calling of small birds from branches

voices going into air cutting through

nothingness with pitch and timber

the warbler

the dove

a freshwater stream and liquid moving over a small rock

And now we tell ourselves to breath

And we tell ourselves to let go

And we allow ourselves to sigh.

Del

I took the above photo in San Francisco this year. It's from the graveyard of an old mission Church, the oldest mission Church in California, in fact.

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Protection (March 2009)

posted Mar 27, 2009 7:46 AM by Del Allan [ updated Mar 27, 2009 9:18 AM ]

From Day 4 San Francisco

Then, in winter

when you drew your coat around

and tied your scarf,

the taxi cab was a warm place.

When it left you cold and windy,

I tried to find the words.

I had to stay awake.

I kept candles lit all night.

There are no gut instincts.

I do not trust emotion.

We stay clearest when the blankets keeping us warm are

Mathematics and Science kept in bottles and books;

Where winter days and nights are measured and divided

With the precision of a vivisectionist.

No drops of emotion hit the glass.

These things are clear; clean.

Now when cabs leave,

doors close...

and shades are pulled...

and generators hum in rhythm,

keeping the lights on.

Words (2007)

posted Mar 22, 2009 9:57 AM by Del Allan [ updated Mar 24, 2009 3:08 AM ]

I found these three pieces when I was cleaning up my old blog.
Peace,
Del

In this evening stillness I stop and listen to the voices I’ve recorded throughout the day; clear now is that sigh that was speaking volumes when I did not hear it - now I could turn and face - but too much time has passed.
I press on with a resolve not to hold it against myself
—
create
Awkward things i say muddle me… mud me… turn my face red
tie me up…
They are the first to represent this likeness of me: the most outrageously inaccurate - yet most recognizable caricature i drew using hb#2 while referencing that snapshot you took of me…
That day I was running away from the camera saying something just below my breath; or was I thinking something you would only read if you could look in my eyes…
you took the picture anyway, i love you for it
—
As I get older I find myself wishing it was 1955:
- I know how it ends
- They wore better clothes
- My favourite movie would be released in two years
I would be turning 95 in 2007…

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A Change of Language (March 2009)

posted Mar 21, 2009 6:46 PM by Del Allan [ updated Apr 21, 2009 4:47 PM ]

Here
A million miles above, it seems
Yet still in touch with you... somewhere a homing device bleeps and calls...
On those infrequent occasions that I am there in body
we are aware of a sense of loss and of anger and frustration and bewilderment...
... I can’t understand it any more clearly thirty years on

... the connections don’t work
... I can’t make sense and you can’t apprehend
... I am reminded that I have to be grateful for the start and the genes and the unique outlook

... I’ve moved on and pushed out once again

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Those Days (March 2009)

posted Mar 21, 2009 6:38 PM by Del Allan

I sometimes feel like this guy.....
perched......
aware of my weight and that of my words
and the delicate art of shifting
without slipping off...
but only after the fact.

And I come back asking forgiveness

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Starboard

posted Mar 21, 2009 6:34 PM by Del Allan [ updated Mar 22, 2009 5:16 AM ]

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The First Move

posted Mar 21, 2009 6:32 PM by Del Allan

I am here
Older and wiser
Aware of what can go wrong
but standing anyway

Is this what it is to grow?
Is it to move to a place where I am not sheltered from the elements?

With my persistent expectancy?

With my reluctant trust?

Able to accept the sleet and the rain with the assurance that I will greet the morning?

I can make the first move

I have made the first move

I am reminded of a Jane Siberry lyric that captures how I feel:

“and then we moved through a
dark valley and then up into the
sky and I said LOOK! LOOK! but there
was not a speck to be seen...” *

* Jane Siberry, Vladimir Vladimir

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Waking Up

posted Mar 21, 2009 6:30 PM by Del Allan

you've moved back to the water - too long parched
in the busy land where one can forget what gives
life - back to the sweet water's edge...
the land of notebooks and "mindfulness amidst"
and the true economy of weighing words.

and in the stillness of these waters you can
become healthy again; will learn the fine art of
breathing, clearing, regenerating, thinking -
looking: will find your simple path as you
whisper its coordinates in your own ear.
Will learn what to value and what to discard and
find that there is less of the former -
its radiance increasingly more powerful
as you peel away life's chaff-
leaving precious stones on the water's edge;
your soul.

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