Haiku # 554

My graying hair…
proud of being
a leaf in the wind

~

Turning to my books again,
to the whirling world of stars.

~

One last haiku
nearing death…
another hike home

~

Monitoring the sales…
out of the window
the falling rain

~

Hazmieh, February 13, 2018
Hazmieh, February 13, 2018

Even an ugly city
can be beautiful…
falling rain

~

Writing to no one
but my future self
and the silence of my grave

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On my struggle with philosophy and poetry

My approach to poetry has always been intuitive, and it is this intuition that lead me to truths that clashed directly with what an intellectual or philosophic grasp on the world might propose. Poetry draws from the source, and philosophy, regarding that, was, rightly, cynical. Which lead me to an impasse — I could no longer surrender to poetry and its source, and yet when I attempted to subjugate myself to the lessons and outlook of philosophy it felt like I was suppressing a huge and essential part of my own self, a part without which I couldn’t be myself. This struggle ate away at a good decade of my life, diminishing the best of what I could offer, philosophically and poetically — I was diminished and weakened in both areas. This struggle is so essential to my identity and to my well being. I’m not sure how to proceed, except to say that an either/or approach to the matter is not in the least fruitful, and that the repression of poetry even at the risk of being “dogmatic” to the rational side in me is also no longer possible. Maybe what is required is a leap of faith, one that does not deny reason and philosophy, but that comes from a deeper place in the heart, a place unconcerned with appealing or being granted the approval of philosophy and reason. This while retaining philosophy and reason as essential tools with which to handle the self in its relation to the world.

Letter, February 07, 2018

Winter solitude…
the camellias of her breath
flowering in my soul

~

Once I needed to touch you in order to feel you. Then the mere thought of you invaded me and soaked my soul. Now I realize, I am a flame rising from that which lies between us, the white chasm of love. Now I realize, to think of you or not to think of you is a false paradox — the sun and the moon, even out of sight, are always in each other’s company; the thread does not bind us outwardly; we rise from each other; in each other we live and die; we are the creative thought of love.