Saturday, August 25, 2012

It's like I'm in a chime. The subtle breeze

After Petrarch's ‘Là ver’ l’aurora, che si dolce l’aura’

It's like I'm in a chime. The subtle breeze
rustles the leaves a bit, the iris flowers
from in the ditch behind the house. A song
comes from a tree somewhere, jostles my soul
from its quiescence. I'm struck by the power
of the Sun and whirling stars, of music

moving in the spheres above me, music
that's manifest in weather. Southern breezes
bring moisture from the gulf, the hidden power
of water in the clouds rewards the flowers
with gentle rain. The flowers have a soul
and so do trees, another bluejay's song

comes out from the green leaves. What is a song
without an author? Can we call it music
if there is no composer? Is the soul
I know myself to have the soul of breezes,
weathers, rains and scents? I give her flowers
and love from in my heart, I have the power

of kingdoms within me. My sovereign power
annihilates all evil, is the song
that Petrarch sang before me. She has flowered
in my bed before, I know the music
of her wide-open petals, on the breeze
I smell her. She has captured my poor soul

and drawn me to an end, my dazzled soul
is powerless before her infinite power.
She moves without instruction like a breeze
that is the work of no one, like a song
that has never been written, like a music
that has no player. She is like the flower

that all men have desired, the young flower
that hypnotizes us. My vagrant soul
is lost within her broad, resplendent music
resounding from all sides. Its vibrant power
moves all of my gross body, makes a song
of me and sends it on the next quick breeze

outward. The chimes catch breeze, the simple flowers
move with the soul of a lazy, verdant song
and give the world powerful, graceful music.

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