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.

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

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