יום רביעי


יום חמישי


    I spent
    Four thousand years
    Locked in
    Before emerging
    As the Bird of

    Gather now
    My pebbles
    Escape too
    From the body,
    Black night
    Under our wings -
    The wonder
    Of Orion.



יום שלישי

~ I.D.

    I am present without warning
    I show my true self only in the dark
    But I belong neither to night nor day
    I am intricate and whole
    Not art but wrought passion
    Excellent deep delight of essentialities
    I am the extreme purity of virginal thirst
    I neither show my truth nor conceal it
    My innocence is described dimly
    As the unborn flower of nothing

יום חמישי


    In this universe of mirrors and metaphors,
    I reflect and parallel all realities.
    All realities are in each mind,
    But deep.
    The infinite process
    Is made finite
    In each thing,
    A cross section of eternity.

    The end of all evolution is dissolution.
    This is not absurd, I tell myself.
    It would be absurd if the end of evolution
    Was the perfect state.
    It would be absurd if evolution
    Had any other end but dissolution.
    Evolution is therefore meaningless
    If it is evolution towards.
    It is now or nothing.
    A better state, a better design,
    A better self, a better world.
    I tell myself.

    The whole is not a chain,
    But a spinning top.
    The top spins,
    But stays in one place.
    One can point to a link
    In the chain or a point
    On the road and say
    'That is the best place to be';
    But a top is always in the same place.

    The weight of the top
    Must be distributed evenly
    About its central axis,
    Or the top will tilt and wobble.
    All those tendencies to think and
    Persuade away from the present life,
    From the now;
    Those attempts to make us
    Put the great weight and energy
    Of our belief and hopes
    In some other world
    Are erratic movements of weights
    Inside the top.
    I disperse my powers centrifugally,
    While remaining centripetal.
    The real meaning of life
    Is close around the axis
    Of each now.
    Now I go.
    Now, I hope.

יום שבת


...but now the birthing pains...

A 4-hand composition in 4 movements
by Renu & Daubmir

I am swept into the core of existence
from which all things arise and
into which all things converge

I am churned by the waves of light
and the husk of worldly wisdom parts
revealing the core of my soul

I am atomised into molecules of love
where satisfaction cannot reside
and despair mutilates the senses

I am hurled into the temple of fire
where my dusts are burned
And the true splendor of love disclosed


    side One:

    Memorials of vivid bliss
    Transported by fugues and choirs
    Titillate the phrases of
    My idiosyncratic rapture,
    As I muse on an interior ocean
    Spurting through a capricious strophe.

    side Two:

    Spirited transit
    Into nullification
    Foretells each night
    The one abysmal night
    When the tomb of heaven
    Opens its stoned portals
    To the dark comedian
    Carrying my gifts of dross

    side Three:
    ~ SEEING

    Out of my window
    I see how the planets
    Like leaves
    Turning in the gales.
    I see how the night
    Like a blackcurrant
    Covering my face.
    I feel afraid
    Remembering the cry
    Against the twilight.

יום חמישי



je te prie de m'écouter

The power of man's imagination is greater than all the poisons –
No need for cocaine. Everything is a drug for the man
Who chooses to live on the other side.

    A poetic force leads the phantoms of reverie
    My poetic force animates all my senses;
    Reverie becomes for me polysensorial.
    From the poetic passage,
    I receive a renewal of the joy of perceiving,
    A subtlety of all senses -
    A subtlety which bears the privilege
    Of a perception from one sense to another,
    In a sort of aroused Baudelarian correspondence.
    Awakening, my heart beats
    Ah! How a passage which pleases me can make me live!

    I learn that the poorest objects are sachets of perfume,
    That, at certain times,
    Internal lights render opaque bodies translucent,
    That every sonority is a voice.
    How the cup from which I drank as a child rings!
    From all over, coming from all objects,
    An intimacy lays siege to me.
    Yes, truly I dream while composing,
    I soar highest, no one can reach me!

    The reverie which works poetically
    Maintains me in an intimate space
    Which does not stop at any frontier
    – a space uniting the intimacy
    Of my being which dreams with the intimacy
    Of the beings which I dream.

    It is within these composite intimacies
    That a poetics of reverie is coordinate.
    The whole being of the world
    Is amassed poetically around the
    Mind of the dreamer: my mind,
    A beautiful mind.

    I am a dreamer, and through my fantastic dream
    I reach my creative ecstasy.
    With or without you. With you, if you so wish…
    See me flying among clouds of heaven? See me?
    I’m gone.

    Like a painter who likes to live
    The object in its ever particular appearances,
    I will be able to return the dream
    To the picturesque life of my mind,
    A manifest psychic activity
    In a world homogenous with my being,
    Where everything is welcome
    And my imagination travels the universe.

יום רביעי


1. Floored Rhyme In Pondering State

Very clearly I remember
As each separate dying ember
Wrought its ghost upon the floor
In my last bleak December.

Vainly I had sought
The hopeful morrow
Deep in darkness of all sorrows -
Doubting, dreaming
Peering, steering
Away from long inner fearing,
But the silence was unbroken
And the stillness gave no token.

Then my soul
From out that shadow
Got engaged in a new guessing
But no syllable expressing:
This and that I sat divining
With my head at ease reclining
And the pallid bust of Pallas
Just above my studio door
Threw its beauty on the floor.

2. Forming Thought

There is the end
And the means,
Which is the prescribed task:
One can rise
Above the heaviest leaden clouds
To touch luminous taut pellicles
Of mental ceilings,
Translucent forces
In delicate abandon
For the final luxury
Of a promised achievement.

3. Semantic Hill

It makes no difference
Whether I write or not:
Words will look for
Other meanings,
Even in my silence.
That's how they are,
Blind to revelation
Deriving another obscure theory
And spending another eternity
Trying to decipher
The secret message
Hidden behind my breathing.
Conveys directives
Through its oblivion,
So I might as well still my pen
And look at the hill:
It's so beautiful.

4. Penetration

In a dazzle of rubies
I entered my woman,
In a flash of sapphires
I insufflated love
Into a semblance of pathos
Where passion
Lay dormant with

5. My Menhir
For sunshiny girl...!

Standing up for life,
Down for ennui -
Erect it works
And prone it rests.
The vertical position
Pointing sunward -
An obelisk of power
Against the horizontal posture
That is sleep and death.

6. Refrain

Concert's night
Stars alight
My song to blame
For notes aflame
The heart is proud
But I cry aloud
Ignite the other
And I find a brother

7. ...Y...

Open Cosmos
To my cry
And sense
The profundity
Of yearning
For an expanding

יום ראשון


...Are you listening?

My words
Create my rhapsodic rapture
And trigger enchantment
To the synaptic junctures
Of my brain cells.

My words
Are absolute flashes
Of orgasmic bliss
Catapulting flights
Into the quadrosensor realms
Of pure imagination,
Tactile vibration of
Seismic awe.

יום שבת


    Roof of the world
    Is the tallest mountain
    In the reflective peak
    I am now scaling

יום שישי


Man grows from his smallest
To his greatest
By removing excess
And remedying deficiency.
What is not cannot come into being.
From where will it come?
All diminishes and increases
To the greatest possible maximum
And the least possible minimum.
'Becoming' and 'perishing'
Are really 'mixing' and 'separating'.
Becoming and perishing are the same thing,
Mixing and separating are the same thing;
Increase and diminution are the same thing;
They are all the same thing
And so is the relation of the individual to all things,
And all things to the individual;
Yet in spite of appearances
Nothing of all things is the same.
What shall I do? Call Heraclitus to my rescue?
No, perhaps not.
It is not better that men should have all they want.
I had much, and much I rejected.

Man, like a light in the night, is kindled and put out.

I want to talk to the Infinite,
I want to take it all in and explode.
The big bang of my unlimited microcosmos.
My phoenix infinity,
Keeps resurging into my heart
In a continuous effluve of discontent:
I am who I am,
And that's my catastrophe.

יום רביעי


~ Love me, love me not...

Genuine love
Is selfishness:
Love doesn't mean
To sacrifice yourself
For others.
It is the exact opposite.
It is truly the most selfish
Experience possible:
It benefits your life in a way
That involves no sacrifice
Of others to yourself or
Of yourself to others.

To love a person is selfish
Because it means that
You value that particular person,
That he or she makes your life better,
That he or she is an intense source of joy
- to you.

A disinterested love
Is a contradiction in terms.
One cannot be neutral
To that which one values.
The time, effort and money
You spend
On behalf of someone you love
Are not sacrifices,
But actions taken
Because his or her happiness
Is crucially important to your own.

Those who argue
That love demands self-denial
Must hold the bizarre belief
That it makes no personal difference
Whether your loved one is healthy or sick,
Feels pleasure or pain,
Is alive or dead.

It is regularly asserted
That love should be unconditional
And that you should
Love everyone as a brother,
- hate the sin, but love the sinner!
Which would have you condemn death camps
But send Hitler a box of swiss chocolates.
Most would agree that
Having sex with a person
One despises is debased.
Yet somehow,
When the same underlying idea
Is applied to love,
Most consider it noble.

Love is far too precious
To be offered
It is above all
In the area of love
That egalitarianism
Ought to be repudiated.
Love represents
An exalted exchange,
- a spiritual exchange -
Between two people
For the purpose of mutual benefit.

You love someone
Because he or she is a value
- a selfish value to you,
As determined by your standards
- just as you are a value to him or her.

It is the view
That you should be given love
Unconditionally -
The view that
You do not deserve it
Any more than some random bum,
The view that it is not a response
To anything particular in you,
The view that it is causeless
- which exemplifies
The most ignoble conception
Of this sublime experience.

The nature of love
Places certain demands
On those who wish to enjoy it.
You must regard yourself
As worthy of being loved.
Those who expect to be loved,
Not because they offer some positive value,
But because they don't
- are parasites.

A person who says:
Love me just because I need it,
Seeks an unearned spiritual value
- in the same way that
A thief seeks unearned wealth.

יום שלישי


~ Dedicated to my frozen creativity

Feel the genius in me
It wants to get out,
Just like the birth
Of Athena from
Zeus' head.

Opening my brain
With a scalpel and
Getting the genius out!
It's there, I know it.
I'm sure.
I am a genius,
no doubt about it.

So, how come
I cannot create?
What evidences
The soaring splendour
Of my genius?
Hidden still in the foetal status,
Ready to explode and
Illuminate the world
With the immensity
Of its genial beauty.

My genius thrives incognito.
My brain is of such excellence,
That it cannot include itself
And express openly.
The entrails of my sympathetic
Indicate the brightness
Of a genius' personality –
Although his productive approach
Defies the normal channels of proof.

What else is there to say?
A genius' work is never done.
Mine was never, and never is nor will.
Content with its state of geniality,
Ingenuousness, genially.

If Genius is the power of lighting
One's own fire,
I forgot the matches –
If Genius is an African
Who dreams up snow,
I am an Italian
Who dreams up gelato.


~ Two gemellated miniatures, dedicated to the dearest friend who got lost in a snatched dream...


Wandering drifter
You've burnt yourself out -
Seeker of peripatetic dreams
You reached for the sky
And ended up
With a fistful of flies.


You stole my sinuous chimera
In the evening of youth
Not to return it
But with its skin molted
At the twilight of life.


~ My ultimate duet...


I hope
For total
Into my


A musical note
Discloses my gate
To heavenly alteration,
Providing the key
To the highest concerto
Whereby every
Ecstatical tone
Is receding from
All evocative others.


My death
Cannot change the fact
That I had a life

My life is a member
Of a larger context
And forms part of it

The larger context
Is the Universe
Because my thoughts
And emotions
Are not extended
In space and time
Unless they travel
To my outer world

Therefore they have the same nature
As the Universe as a whole
And so my thoughts and emotions
Are added to the Universe as a whole
In the logical field of the Universe


Piano playing
Notes of sublimest melody
Whilst I walk
On clouds
Nude and insentient
Feeling cotton pods
In my head.

Split my skull
And extract a sonata
A million cherubim
Cannot compose
In God’s lifetime
And demons

Copyright © Daubmir 2007-All contents.
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
All rights reserved.

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