Love the Sweetest, Angel Love - Quotes and Poems from Friends and Strangers

What is Love, if not a trip to Paradise? What is Paradise if not the place/time or time/place beyond place, beyond time, spent with those we love? So here's another Valentine's Day post, one in a series, with love poems and beautiful words of reassurance, compassion, and affection received from friends and strangers.

Jessica and Juan Cardenas celebrate with guests, February 6, 2016

First, friends.... Last weekend, I hosted the second anniversary party for the love-birds, Jessica Wilson Cardenas and Juan Cardenas at my home, a garden-party on a beautiful, sunny afternoon, filled of affection, music, poetry, and joy....

Jessica Wilson Cardenas and Juan Cardenas with their brand new T-shirts "Feel This Love"

We read poetry, and my poem "On Divine Commedy and Ice Cream" was inspired by illuminations for Dante's Il Paradiso by Giovanni di Paolo, a contemporary of Giotto. One of our guests, Victor Sotomayor recorded my reading and made a beautiful video of the performance, with a mini-lecture introduction about Il Paradiso and what it means for us.




On Divine Comedy and Ice-Cream

My Muse has chocolate eyes and a goatee.
Disabled by grief, he looks for me in the dark,
touching. His hands outline the contour
of my hips as he sighs and says “that’s right”
in this deep baritone of his, the sweetest of voices. 

What next? I wonder as we sit on the leather sofa
sticky in the heat, eat almonds and ice cream,
watch silly comedies about aliens and time 
machines, friends being excellent  to each other... 
as we leaf through the thick volume 
of other Comedy, the Divine one: 
Il Paradiso illustrated by Giovanni di Paolo,
medieval illuminations for the end of time.

Submerged  in the Earth’s shadow, the Moon 
is the haven for the likes of us, inconstant,
waxing and waning, not keeping their vows.
Dante and Beatrix, the poet and his beloved,
rise up to Mercury and Venus, the Garden 
of Earthly Delights where we stay 
as they ascend from the Fourth Sphere
of the Sun through the Eight of Fixed Stars.

Left behind, we sigh and look up at them
floating to meet the wise, the virtuous, martyrs,
saints, the multitude of angels in Primum Mobile
and the blessed, don’t forget the blessed
of the Tenth Sphere, the divine Empyrean –
in the heart of Paradise where gold rays 
of light always permeate everything, 
where saints sleep in rose petal pods, 

like babies by their mothers, 
or splash in and out of the waters of grace,
the river of serenity that flows under
the buzzing of heavenly bees, making 
timeless honey – sweet, translucent, 
gold honey, only honey, forever and beyond time, 
honey….

(C) 2016 by Maja Trochimczyk

After this visit to Paradise, Juan played some of his songs, Jessica read her sensuous poem about Grapefruit, mmm, so goood... and we had such a blessed afternoon, in Paradise, the Garden of Earthly Delights...

Me encanta las toronjas,

the blossom of fragrance makes its way into my hands,
unfolds like petals upon my skin.
The weight of its shape is heavy
with intention,
to release its galaxy, an ointment of pleasure
sparkling in a rippling tide. 
This is the fruit of the sun, 
its sunshine dripping off of my lips,
squeezed into realness, of comfort.
Juicy nature jugs me from the inside,
pulling my belly up into my throat,
until it lays flat on my tongue.
so few things are as gratifying as this orb of citrus,
so perfectly awake and wide for me to taste.
Ah, me encanta la fruta hecha de las manos 
de los dioses, y tan perfecto en circulo
como las caras de la luna y sol.
Yo toco el sabor con la esperanza
del mundo donde la gente hacen la paz de simplicidad 
y la naturalesa de Pachamamma por siempre,
donde nuestros labios nunca tienen sed
y las pansitas viven llenas. 
Oh let it be, that this dream will see us through 

to our eternity.             - Amen y por siempre, Amen. 

(c) by Jessica Wilson Cardenas

Then the "love-birds" had two cakes with two candles each, for the second year together: a white cheesecake for the day, and dark chocolate ganache cake for the night... Sweet, with a multitude of fruit, that belongs in paradise where every one is loved and loves.

Thank God for friends for all times... Several weeks earlier I received an invitation to participate in an email "chain letter" - something I studiously managed to avoid for so long! Despite the curses and threats and vain promises made by authors of missives assuring me of good or bad luck, depending on whether I forwarded the silly note within five minutes to twenty people.  Here's an example. I did not email it to 20 people; instead I'm posting it here:

This is for u x Read till the end! I sent an angel to watch over you last night, but it came back and asked "why?" The angel said, "angels don't watch over angels!" twenty angels are in your world. Ten are sleeping, nine of them are playing and one is reading this message. The universe has seen you struggling with some things and says it over. a blessing is coming your way. If you believe in Karma send this message to 14 friends including me, if I don't get it back I guess I'm not one of them. As soon as you get 5 replies, someone you love will quietly surprise you... Not joking. Pass this message on. Please don't ignore it. you are being tested and Karma is going to fix two big things tonight in your favor. If you believe in Karma drop everything and pass it on TOMORROW WILL BE THE BEST DAY OF YOUR LIFE. DON'T BREAK THIS. SEND THIS TO 14 FRIENDS IN 10 MINUTES IT'S NOT THAT HARD. WHOEVER SENT THIS TO YOU MUST CARE ABOUT YOU!!!

That other one was different, there were no threats of "breaking the chain" and punishments for it. Instead, it entailed sending a friendly, encouraging note to just one person and inviting twenty to do the same, so one person would receive twenty notes of friendship and encouragement from complete strangers... This seems interesting... what would people come up with? So I sent my favorite Irish blessing of light, and waited...

May the blessing of Light be on you. 

Light without and light within, 

May the blessed sunlight shine on you. 

And warm your heart till it glows like a great peat fire...

Not much later, I received my first words of encouragement. I like this phrase so much I put it on my own "candy rose" - covered entirely in water droplets - and sent it to the poet who blessed me with this insight:

Then, I got a poem by Rumi:

Beyond ideas of

right and wrong

there is a field,

I will meet

you there.

                                ~  Rumi

from Maria Elena B. Meyer

Another poet I hardly know send me a quote and his own poem:

Here is a quote and "short" play-with-a-sweet-word poem by me to you.

 “Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.” – Henry Van Dyke

*************************

SHORT AND SWEET

by Ken Frankel

Butter ....is sweet!

Ice cream ....is sweet!

Beauty ...is sweet!

Love is the sweetest.

*************************

Hard to argue with that final statement!. Finally, a poem from Lulu Abramian came my way:

Measure

Do not measure up

Life is not quantity

Value what you have

Life is quality

Where you are going

Will always be there

Treasure the moments

Will help you get there

 By: Lulu Abramian

Finally, I got a comment from a poet, who decided against participating in the email chain, but sent me her favorite prayer:

The Lord is my shepherd, 

I shall not want;...

in green pastures...

beside still waters 

He restoreth my soul.

While looking for the text of the Irish Blessing of Light cited above, I came across a full text of what appears to be a folk-song, of love, connections to nature, the sun, the living things, and the earth and, in short, connection.  People are social animals, without other people they wither and die inside. The connection of love is vital for life. Maybe that's why the two words in English differ only by one consonant?

Here's the entire Irish Blessing Text from a Folk Song:

1. May the blessing of Light be on you
Light without and light within,
May the blessed sunlight shine on you
And warm your heart till it glows like
A great peat fire, so that the stranger
May come and warm himself at it,
And also a friend.
And may the light shine out of the two eyes of you,
Like a candle set in two windows of a house,
Bidding the wanderer to come in out of the storm.

2. And may the blessing of the Rain be on you
The soft sweet rain. May it fall upon your spirit
So that all the little flowers may spring up,
And shed their sweetness on the air.
And may the blessing of the Great Rains be on
You, may they beat upon your spirit
And wash it fair and clean,
And leave there many a shining pool
Where the blue of heaven shines,
And sometimes a star.

3. And may the blessing of the Earth be on you
The great round earth; may you ever have
A kindly greeting for them you pass
As you're going along the roads.
May the earth be soft under you when you rest upon it,
Tired at the end of the day,
And may it rest easy over you when,
At the last, you lay out under it;
May it rest so lightly over you,
That your soul may be out from under it quickly,
And up, and off, and on its way to God.

Isn't it delightful, and full of sweet, gracious sentiments, connecting us to the earth, the air, the sunlight? Yes, I say, as I celebrate my new Italian nickname, courtesy of erudite and wise poet and editor Margaret Ute Seine: "Una Donna Solare" - the Sunny Lady....

And here we are, all smiles: sisters in spirit, in poetry, in art... after the LoveLoveLove reading (Spectrum 3, edited by Don Kingfisher Campbell) in Pasadena, with the inspired Ambika Talwar, who knows secrets of ancient wisdom and unties hidden knots... she had 22 photos in the book, I had just one poem ("Many Happy Returns"), and a bell, let's not forget the bell....

The Year of the Fire Monkey, the Year of Burning Bright

What is the brightest light? What is that burning, burning, burning bright in the silence of the night?
Not the Fire Monkey, not yet ... For the start of the Chinese Zodiak Year we have to wait to February 8, 2016. Officially we are still in the year of the Goat, after the years of Horse, Snake, Dragon, Rabbit, and Tiger, the last one back in 2010.

purple highlights

cutout the brilliance painted

on the black

The Tiger

William Blake

Tiger Tiger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

I find not-so-fearful symmetry in the burning melting golden leaves of the liquid amber tree, so similar to the maple, yet so different, with its colors from pale yellow, through orange, to scarlet, bronze and black purple.

the tree stretches

his leafy fingers to the sun

begging for light

In contrast, the symmetry of the cactus is quite fearful, indeed.  Imagine falling on all those pricks and needles!  That would not have been as comfortable as it might look, the barrels of cactus resembling puffy pillows...

a noon illusion -

spheres of  the softest velvet 

in the field of cactus

call of the Wild West -

bewitched by the turquoise sky

gold of the cactus

Some cactus fields at the Huntington Garden look sinister, ominous, as underwater seabeds, or twisted masses of snakes. Snakes with thorns, and evil teeth, straight from a Halloween movie set...

sea anemones

with spiky hairdos on the rocks

of Gibraltar

horror of horrors -

the twisted mass of nail-toothed limbs

engulfs me

a grey mutant rose

the agave opens its steel spiked petals

to pierce the light 

where are thou, 

my crocodile of sharp teeth

tears lying in wait? 

cactus flowers

stretch their scarlet tongues like flames 

licking the white light

But all horrors pass, and so does the cactus garden ... I walk through a meadow to one of the most astounding and majestic trees I have ever seen, an eucalyptus reaching high, high, high into the sky.  If I were a monkey, maybe I'd be able to climb up its smooth trunk. I can only look up from the ground, admire the multicolored bark.  Imported from Australia, it lives in a foreign landscape. 

tree bark canvas

records droughts and storms

of centuries

above cough drops

eucalyptus leaves stretch up 

to perfume the sky

A Tree Epiphany

 ~ for Kristin who saw a whale in a tree

I want the solid serenity of trees
the sighs of their boughs in the wind

roots reaching to the core of the earth

An oak perhaps, or a grand plane tree

that majestic one in Descanso Gardens

a whale of the tree, floating on waves of air

I could be, perhaps, that regal eucalyptus

with multicolored bark  — a canvas for centuries

shedding memories of droughts and storms

Or liquid amber, oh my liquid amber

melting gold and bronze at my feet

nourishing the roots, seeds, new leaves

Wait for the sleeping earth to awaken

the boughs sigh in the northern wind

the roots reach deeper, still deeper

I adore the trembling of birches in the breeze,

whispering: quiet, quiet, now listen  — before

leaves fall, bare branches shiver in the snow

Am I an apple tree, comely and fruitful

in an abandoned orchard by the crossroads

that shyly offers gifts to all passers-by?

I want the serenity of trees

to fill my heart with their sighs, with their

whispers, with their sleep.

(c) 2016 by Maja Trochimczyk

she said it's a whale

this grand plane tree with white bark

swimming in the air

with spotted whale's skin

half dove-grey, half steel, charcoal 

the plane tree stands tall 

I end the walk, admiring the symmetry of rose petals, and their burning flame in the afternoon sun.

symmetry of petals - 

an incandescent rose flame

mirrors the sun

What a delight it is, and so much hard work of "rosarians" had gone into crafting the perfect rose flame, a rainbow of yellows, tangerines, and fuchsias ... It is a living flame of love, as St. John of the Cross would say... 

I too have my perfect multicolor rose, mostly yellow, with touches of apricot and plum. The last survivor of the blight caused by weedkiller accidentally added to the soil...

gold petals unfold

the day fades into shadows - 

my last winter rose

I picked the photograph and wrote the haiku for this haiga to give it out as a gift at the annual Southern California Haiku Study Group post-New Year party at Debbie Kolodji's welcoming house. A rose filled with light, yet speaking of shadows seemed a perfect choice for the year of the Fire Monkey. No, I could not write about monkeys, not even Shakespeare's Monkeys...

As a vain and energetic "Fire Rooster" I have great hopes for the year of the Fire. I will end this tour of the Huntington with a selfie among fuchsia and violet flowers. May your year of the Fire Monkey flower with positive energy and creativity! 

Happy New Year 2016!

On Polish Christmas in the Notre Dame Cathedral,and Ladies, and Cherries, and Music Boxes

The Cathedral floats up 

above  my leopard prints and faux fur

its stones polished by time 

There was a surprise waiting for me at the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris this November. After I waited in a long line in the rain, with colorful umbrellas and a watchful eye of fatigue-clad soldiers with machine guns, the clock struck one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gPa4eWk8Sg (read about it in the previous post, Thanksgiving in Paris).

Then, inside the stone monument defying the passage of time, I saw the stained glass windows, the breathtaking heights of the main nave.  I walked around and listened to the music, swirling beneath blues and reds of the stained-glass windows: I heard the Kyrie Eleison, Christ Have Mercy, Lord Have Mercy: https://youtu.be/2ZsOBsT-pwo

Finally, a  medieval Alleluia filled the air.... I walked around the back of the main nave, from one stained-glass window chapel to the next.

Why "stained"-glass?

There are no stains on the rubies and cobalts

of Notre Dame air

Is the twirling ribbon

of stone embroidered with more finesse

than the lead-framed glass?

See more pictures on the Picasa Web Album:

 https://picasaweb.google.com/Maja.Trochimczyk/NotreDameCathedralInParis2015

And here it was, my delightful surprise. A tinfoil and paper monument of massive proportions: Szopka Krakowska, the Nativity Scene in a fantastic scenery of multi-towered Castle or Gothic Cathedral as envisioned by folk artists from Krakow, Poland.  The minuscule Nativity scene in the heart of the building, surrounded by Polish folk dancers, and characters from folk tales. Pan Twardowski on his rooster, flying to the moon... Angels, three Kings, everyone...

I find Poland in Paris

bright tinfoil towers of a Nativity Scene 

among the grey stones of Notre Dame

I was in Paris for a reason: to read a paper, research, talk... (my Szymanowska Conference Report is on the Chopin with Cherries Blog). At end of the 3rd International Symposium "Maria Szymanowska and Her TIes" was the closing salon, "An Invitation to the Dance," I read poetry by 19th century Polish poets, and verse of my own. I loved being accompanied by improvisations of extraordinary pianist, Edoardo Torbianelli, who has music spilling from under his fingers. I was going to say: from his sleeves, but he rolls them up tightly, so that nothing can spill....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5AlQMa9NlEo. Poetry Reading at the Salon "Invitation to the Dance" at the close of the Maria Szymanowska Conference in Paris, November 27, 2015. Edoardo Torbianelli improvises on Johann Alois Graff pianoforte from 1825 and I read my poem "A Study with Cherries" in Polish, from the Chopin with Cherries Anthology (2010).  Recorded by Alicja Bialek-Guillemette.

Here are the words, in English and Polish:

"A Study with Cherries"

          After Etude in C Major, Op. 10, No. 1 and the cherry orchard

                of my grandparents, Stanisław and Maria Wajszczuk

I want a cherry,

a rich, sweet cherry

to sprinkle its dark notes

on my skin, like rainy preludes

drizzling through the air.

Followed by the echoes

of the piano, I climb

a cherry tree to find rest

between fragile branches

and relish the red perfection –

morning cherry music.

Satiated, sleepy,

I hide in the dusty attic.

I crack open the shell

of a walnut to peel

the bitter skin off,

revealing white flesh –

a study in C Major.

Tasted in reverie,

the harmonies seep

through light-filled cracks

between weathered beams

in Grandma’s daily ritual

of Chopin at noon.

_________________________________________

in Polish translation by Maja Trochimczyk

"Etiuda z Czereśniami"

 Inspiracja Etiuda C-Dur, Op. 10, No. 1 i wisniowym sadem mojego dziadka i babci, Stanisława i Marianny Wajszczuk

A ja chcę czereśnie

Słodziutkie czereśnie

Chce poczuć ciemne nuty soku

Na mojej skórze

Jak krople deszczowego preludium

W mżawce poranka

W obłoku fortepianu

Wspinam się na czereśnię

Szukam ukojenia wśród kruchych gałęzi

Cieszę się doskonałością czerwieni

Czereśniową muzyką od samego rana

Nasycona, śpiąca

Chowam się w ciemnościach strychu

By łupać orzechy, obierać gorzką skórkę

Odsłaniać biały miąższ

Studium w tonacji C-dur

Smakuję marzenia

Akordy płyną przez szpary

Starych belek wypełnione światłem

To codzienny rytuał mojej Babuni

Popołudnie z Chopinem

(c) 2010 by Maja Trochimczyk

English version published in Chopin with Cherries: A Tribute in Verse (Moonrise Press, 2010)

Photo by Alicia Bialek-Guillemette

I also read 19th century poems  written to Maria Szymanowska by Count Henryk Rzewuski (A Menu of her Dinner) and Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz (Praise of Szymanowska's Talent).  I read them in Polish with a summary in English. The first one was quite funny, a full humorous menu, the second properly laudatory.  Here they are: https://www.youtube.com/edit?video_id=g7NnuFrBtDQ

And, of course, at the end, I read my poem inspired by Leonardo da Vinci's "The Lady with an Ermine" and the theme poem for the salon, "An Invitation to the Dance" -  a lovely trifle, written in the form of a dialogue, on the  intertwined themes of love and dancing...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TI-LHJYgwbk




Below are the texts of the two poems recited at the Salon, the closing event of the 3e Maria Szymanowska Colloque, in Paris at the Academie Polonaise de Sciences, on November 27, 2015. I am accompanied on Johann Alois Graff pianoforte by Edoardo Torbianelli,who improvised renaissance style music for the Leonardo poem, and some sweet arpeggios for the Dance poem. Recorded by Alicja Bialek-Guillemette on November 27, 2015.

The Lady With An Ermine

~ after Leonardo da Vinci's portrait of Cecilia Gallerani, in the Czartoryski Museum in Krakow

Her eyes follow me around the room
with that secretive smile she shares
with her famous cousin.

Filled with the knowledge of what was, what will be
she slowly caresses the smooth warm ermine fur.

"Tesoro, amore mio, sii tranquillo, ti amo"

Leonardo’s brush made a space for her to inhabit,
a grey-blue sky painted black much later –
she was pregnant, her son – a Sforza bastard,
the white ermine - the emblem of her Duke.

Sheltered by Polish royalty, she revealed
her charms only to their closest confidantes.
In 1830, exiled in a precious wood box, to Paris,
In 1919, returned to taste the Polish freedom.

"Amore mio, sii tranquillo, ti amo"

In 1939, hidden again, found by the Nazis
for Hitler’s last dream, the Linz Führermuseum,
Art among red flags and swastikas, flourishing
in the dark cavern of his mind. Never built.

Berlin, occupied Krakow, Governor Frank's
hunting lodge, Bavaria. The Red Army's closing in.
Train tracks. Crisp winter air. American soldiers,
The cameras of Monument Men.

"Sii tranquillo, ti amo"

Back home in Krakow, she is safe
in the recess of a museum wall. Under a muted spotlight,
Children play a game:Walk briskly from right to left,
don’t let your eyes leave her eyes, see how she is watching you.

Her eyes follow me around the room
Filled with the knowledge of what was, what will be
she slowly caresses the smooth warm ermine fur.
She knows that I know that she knows.

"Amore mio, ti amo"

_________________

* Tesoro, amore mio, sii tranquillo, ti amo" - fragment of a love letter in Italian, "Sweetheart, my love, be  quiet, I love you"

(c) 2015 by Maja Trochimczyk

Leonardo da Vinci, The Lady with an Ermine

An Invitation To The Dance

And the angels are dancing.

Did you say dancing? Yes, dancing. Making somersaults
and jumping two hundred yards in the air.

Air? Are they here? I thought they lived in infinity,
Or eternity, or the great beyond, or whatchamacalit.
No. Here. They are laughing their heads off.  Giggling,
smiling, smirking, guffawing. Laughing.

What’s so funny? Nic. Nada. Naught.
It is just that they are so happy.
So incredibly,  exorbitantly, blissfully happy.

Why?  Oh, because of that quirky thing
from the country song.

What thing? Don’t you know? Have you not heard
that love conquers all?  That love triumphs
over lies, fear, anger, shame and despair?
That it is? Love is. True love. Our love…

It blossoms in us, through us.
It opens its petals.  The world is more tranquil,
serene in the luminescence of our love.

New stars are born and cherries are sweeter when we
are together, immersed in this love. When we
find it. Return to it. Share it. Cherish it. When we
are not giving up. No matter what. No matter how hard.
No matter how late.  It is soo simple, very simple.

Impossible? Yet, it is here to stay.

So what about these angels, then…
Oh, yes. Would you like to go dancing with the angels?
 Boogie-woogie, waltz, tango or salsa?

(c) 2015 by Maja Trochimczyk

With Szopka krakowska in the Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris

After coming back home, it was time for Christmas and New Year Wishes. I picked a rose, beautiful striped antique one, Rosa Mundi, the Rose of the World that grows in my beloved Descanso Gardens in La Canada. With a green background it was exactly what I needed. Forget medieval cathedrals... here's something real, something that grows:

With the snow and all white

Without the snow and all green

With lights and garlands and spice

May your holidays shine from within!

Happy New Year 2016!

But the stanza I wrote sounded trite and tired to my ears, so unaccustomed to rhyming. Where did this silly rhyme come from?

On a sunny afternoon, I went shopping to my favorite thrift store and found a bunch of music boxes, playing English carols, more or less out of tune. I picked the best ones to add to my ever - growing collection.  Silent night, A little drummer boy, Saint Nick... I thought of the previous owners, who died and left their treasures unattended, waiting to be rescued from the pile of old teddy bears, and damaged Santas. Was it a warm-hearted, cookie-baking Grandma? Was it a lonely, sentimental spinster? Are there still spinsters (what an ugly word!) in 2015?

Time for another Christmas poem, then, this one with music boxes and memories of happy childhood, from one generation to the next...

A Santa music box - snow globe  with toy bird whistles from Poland.

.

A Music Box Christmas

I wind the spring on the music box
Silvery specks swirl in the snow globe

The twinkling of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”
Fills the air. Santa on the rooftop falls into the chimney.
Are you ready for the holidays?  With Scottish whisky cake
Polish makowiec, or American apple pie? Will you cook
Tamales on Christmas Eve, your family gathered
Around steaming pots, laughter mixed with hearty flavors?
Will you roast turkey with fixings on Christmas? Will you
Nibble slices of chocolate oranges, after unwrapping gifts?
Taste walnuts and sesame snaps from your stockings?

I wind the spring on the music box
Silvery specks swirl in the snow globe
Memories of home swirl before me

Sparkling lights shine in the colored tinfoil of Szopka Krakowska,
Its fantastic church towers rise in their Gothic splendor
Above a Nativity Scene and figurines from Polish folk tales.
I make cranberry sauce with diced pears and apples
The way my Mom taught me. Do I still know how
To chop figs and dates into finely-ground poppy seeds
Boiled in milk, re-fried with honey? The favorite flavors
Float away with Ogiński’s polonaise, Farewell to the Homeland.
Under the blazing California Sun, I taste the exotic desserts
Of Poland’s eastern borderlands, where cultures mixed
And worlds mingled – Poles, Lithuanians, Tartars, Jews –
Cornflower blue skies and shimmering gold of rye fields.

I wind the spring on the music box
Silvery specks swirl in the snow globe
I make a promise to myself

This Christmas, I’ll read a novel, wrapped in a plush blanket
And a Santa hat. I will walk alone in the park, come back
To the empty house and watch The Lord of the Rings,
The epic battles of the elements, good versus evil,
Good versus evil  - twirling and waltzing like the silvery
specks in my Santa snow globe. I will sing along “We Wish
You a Merry Christmas” and remember a Nativity Play
With my daughter - an angel waving a green pine bough
Singing in a sweet chorus of children’s voices:
“We swish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!”

© 2015 by Maja Trochimczyk

Szopka Krakowska with toy bird-whistles from Krakow, Poland, 

on my mantelpiece in California.

On Dali's Silver Towers of Eyes

Daum Variations on Dali at Espace Dali in Paris

Maja Trochimczyk with Hanna Kulenty and the Crowds of the Basilica Sacre Coeur

Maja Trochimczyk with Alicja Guillemette-Bialek and Dali

So many blessings, so many delights discovered in Paris... in the Espace Dali in Montmartre. While hordes of tourists are satisfied by a trek up the hill to the Sacre Coeur Basilica and down the side streets to the art market square, faux restaurants and all the faux artistes, we took a turn around the corner to an empty street, past an empty restaurant: Espace Dali with a show of modern interpretations of his sculptures in multicolored, liquid glass.

an empty bistro 

silences crowded Paris street

outside of time

In part, I did know what to expect: melting clocks, women with drawers in their bodies, and giraffes on fire.

melting clocks

go on pretending -

too solid for time

"to melt or not to melt" -

this is the question only

snails may answer

bronze leaves

deny the right of time 

to melt in your eyes

wings seen unseen

I multiply into a twin shadow

of a double goddess

I did not know about the eyes, though. I guess, they are too far beyond the ordinary, even the extra-ordinary-ordinary...  There are several drawings and sculptures of multiple eyes on display in the museum. I was fascinated by the Architecture of Eyes, a relief sculpture made of silver metal and blue artificial eyes, some with eyelashes, some without. 

The whole stack of these eyes has an other-worldly, apocalyptic impact, making one think of Cherubim and the Divine Vessel described by Ezekiel, with its wings folding into each other, and the multitude of open eyes on the rim of its wheels... A strange world, a strange world indeed where eyes are buildings and buildings are made of eyes...

After Dali

If your eyelids do not shine silver
In a tower of endless repeats,
If your lips do not bloom in a sofa,
Too pouty to be touched or kissed
If your snails do not grow larger than tigers,
And your clocks do not melt onto your trees,
What are you doing  in the Espace Dali
on Montmartre? Lost in this crooked house
On a crooked alley, up a crooked hill
That twists time into a pretzel of potentiality
Where elephants grow spider-thin legs
Running after endless flames of giraffes.

Eyes watch blue eyes
Folding into the silver
Rings of recurrence

You have to really look to see that reality
Of impossible presence beyond limits
Where Everything is One and One is 
Everything and you are in the leaves 
And petals open in you and the Earth 
Under your feet sighs through your lungs 
And your heart beats with the waves 
of the ocean

Eyes watch blue eyes
Folding into the silver
Rings of recurrence

                                When birds welcome the sun
Rising in your garden that morning, you know
You hear their song, singing Yes, it is always
Yes in the eyeless ears of the birds
In the bluest eyes of silvery turrets
In Dali’s architecture of eyes

When birds welcome the sun
With the waves of the ocean,
You know.  Everything is One
One is Everything
You hear their song, singing Yes,
Always Yes in the bluest of Yes
In the Time’s Yes, the unfolding
Architecture of Eyes.

eyes watch blue eyes

folding into the silver

rings of recurrence

eyes watch blue eyes

folding into the silver

rings of recurrence

And still... Ambika Talwar saw something else:

flashing walls

folding doors

see eyes creep

do not fall asleep

how can you awaken?

_______________________________________________

Photos from the Espace Dali in Paris by Maja Trochimczyk, Photos from Paris by Alicja Guillemette-Bialek and Martin Majoor.  Artwork includes fragments from Architecture of Eyes by Salvador Dali, Paris Espace Dali.

(c) 2015 by Maja Trochimczyk