• Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Introduction
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Chapter 10
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
    • William Carlos Williams
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • wormholes

mlewisredford

~ may the Supreme and Precious Jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so …

mlewisredford

Tag Archives: listening

– creak —

10 Thursday Oct 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2019, 6*, church, dome, echo, hoping, kleshas, listening, mind, passing, quiet, sitting, sound, talking, time

                                                sitting
                in St. Ludwigskirche again
                      five years on

                                                hoping
                for the quiet of mind free of overlapping conversations
                      passing like pedestrians

                                                someone
                explained something quietly echoing
                      across the dome

                                                so I listened
                to the German vowels and consonants
                      proliferating everywhere

                                                understanding
                nothing, I sat comfortable in the pew
                       – creak —

 

a return to: St. Ludwigskirche all those years ago

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

church & mind wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Sky
echo wormhole: breakfast
listening wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – valley
passing wormhole: distance
quiet wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Rain
sitting wormhole: eyes like petals
sound & time wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – An Old Piano
talking wormhole: ‘don’t look at it …’

 

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Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – valley

24 Tuesday Sep 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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7*, black, bracken, brother, curtains, dark, doors, evacuation, eyes, faces, hills, horizon, house, listening, London, morning, opening, ponies, rock, rooks, sky, sleep, sound, streets, sun, time, truck, valley, Wales, water, wheel, wind, windows, World War

valley

we were evacuated during the war
from London to the Rhonda Valley
it was dark when we arrived

the sound of rocks woke me in the morning
I hadn’t heard them before
in such numbers

I looked at the strip of sky between the curtains
while my brother slept
a small cross a wooden chest minutes

ticked …
until he moved eyes already open
then two faces at the window gaping at bare hills

and one house
with three ponies in the paddock manes in the sun;
downhill was a black tower holding enormous wheels black

and then cables down to
a blacked hut and trucks and shacks dotted everywhere black
save the rail lines; shuntings

between the constant hisss, psssh
hooves in the street below pulling a float
‘cark’ of rooks above;

in time
doors opened: crystal streams before
racing the bracken which dipped and waved out to the next horizons

 

read the collected work of ‘Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]‘ as it is published: here
this is an appliquiary to: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – The Valley

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

black & faces & hills & house & London & morning & sleep & valley & windows wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – The Valley
curtains wormhole: at Kreukenhof
doors wormhole: there will be ovations
eyes & wind wormhole: breakfast
horizon wormhole: Candaka
listening wormhole: …zzh-vvttP*–… … …
sky wormhole: blue sky high
sound & water wormhole: psssssh
streets wormhole: THE ATTIC WHICH IS DESIRE: by William Carlos Williams
sun wormhole: ‘don’t look at it …’
time wormhole: everything is caused by something, which / something is caused by something else, nothing / stands alone where all pass as phantoms

 

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…zzh-vvttP*–… … …

06 Wednesday Mar 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, reflectionary

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2018, being, Bodhisattvacharyavatara, identity, listening, love, mind, reliance, smile, sound, walls

                splitting
                headache

love me, love me, need me, need me, hold me, hold me, smile me, smile me, feed me, feed me, let me, let me, worship me, worship me, obey me, obey me, listen to me, listen to me, insist on me, insist on me, let me be, let me be, rely on me, rely on me, be me, be me, remember me, remember me-nng, nng, nng, nngzz…

                                …zzh-vvttP*–… … …

                just woofer
                after-rumble
                and tweeter
                tinnitus
                between six
                precisely-
                crafted
                and hi-fi-
                reverberating
                wallszz…nng nng nng nng

 

Bodhisattvacharyavatara Chapter VI, verses 57-59: [57] Consider: a person sleeps and dreams of encountering happiness after happiness for a hundred years wherever they go; and another has a dream in which they experience pervasive happiness for just an instant. [58] Surely once they have woken from their dreams, their happiness will also just disappear for them both. Similarly, everything is lost, whether life was long or short, when the time of death arrives. [59] Likewise too, having long savoured all of my many, stored-up pleasures and acquisitions, having enjoyed my long life to the full, at the time of death, just like that, I shall nevertheless have to leave this life as though I had been stripped bare and broken by thugs, left to go forth with empty hands and naked.

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being wormhole: horizon
identity wormhole: faulteous beings
listening wormhole: {Ellen Terry’s house}
love wormhole: prose piece 2 from POEMS 1927 by William Carlos Williams
mind wormhole: SPRING AND ALL XI by William Carlos Williams
smile wormhole: travelling / back
sound wormhole: and … // … sound
walls wormhole: La Route, Effet d’Hiver, 1872

 

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{Ellen Terry’s house}

18 Wednesday Apr 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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'scape, 2017, 4*, birds, church, death, Ellen Terry, eyes, light, listening, sound, time, trees, windows, wood

                {Ellen Terry’s house}

                                there are
                slanting shafts of light
                and death mask eyes
                      closed

 

                                     there is
rifling through papers in wooden
drawers somewhere at the back of
      the church

 

                                                                    while
                                birds cheep in the trees alternate
                                and outside and either side of
                                      plain windows

 

… both was, and is, Smallhythe Place

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

birds & church wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
death wormhole: Pilot 125 … // … being excursion in the interludes
eyes wormhole: to arms, then;
light wormhole: turned backs of saddened victory
listening wormhole: green and / luminant / to behold
sound & trees wormhole: where did the silence go
time wormhole: perspective
windows wormhole: the turtle and the yoke
wood wormhole: St. Edmund’s / Parish Church / Castleton

 

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green and / luminant / to behold

02 Friday Feb 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2012, 5*, balance, being, breakdown, coffee, communication, diagram, distance, ears, eyes, father, fingers, fracture, gardening, gathering, glass, green, holiday, home, listening, looking, luminous, people, school, service station, society, suit, summer, table, talking, terrace, thinking, thumb, woman, work

                                first day summer
                                holiday service station
                                100 miles away from
                                home thinking I
                                don’t fit in with the
                                way things
                                are played

                always looking
                                fractured
                                cracked
                                                from in at the side

                                green and
                                luminant
                                to behold

                                on the terrace
                                two businessmen sit
                                with ledgers coffees
                                the woman listening

                to one
                                                to the other

                                agreeing
                                the diagram
                                on the table

                                the elder sits back
                                dark suit large ear
                                plump throat tanned
                                skin upturned hand
                                emphasising gently
                                beside the diagram
                                thumb to fingers

                slightly gathering
                                like a father
                                                like a gardener

                                occasionally
                                talking with
                                still young
                                green eyes

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

balance wormhole: ‘still …’
breakdown & society wormhole: after all
coffee & woman & work wormhole: Pilot 125 … // … being excursion in the interludes
communication wormhole: Infantino KO
eyes wormhole: two profiles
father wormhole: looking ahead
glass & people wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
green & looking & thinking wormhole: Batgirl –
holiday wormhole: when the rain has settled / the dust
listening wormhole: buttercups
school wormhole: step
table wormhole: immeasurable love
talking wormhole: and // do your ears burn red?

 

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buttercups

04 Monday Dec 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

'scape, 2015, 3*, buttercups, children, cricket, listening, Sunday

                on a Sunday
                watching cricket
                take itself too
                seriously listening
                to children
                chasing games
                until a twig is
                in someone’s face
                … thank
                goodness for the

                buttercups

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

listening wormhole: Cocktails in 1951
Sunday wormhole: in the Java ‘n’ Jazz

 

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Cocktails in 1951

20 Friday Oct 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

1951, 2014, 6*, air, black, cars, clouds, grass, green, grey, leaves, listening, loneliness, moon, ocean, passing, pine, pink, sky, sound, speech, Sylvia Plath, talking, trees, white, writing

                Cocktails in 1951

                down below, that half-curious
                half-comical world on the terrace
                up here the air blurs the syllables
                of conversation like sky-writing

                from a clear pencilled line to a
                puffy cloud; green of grass
                grey of ocean and a deepening
                sky faintly pink; always a roaring

                of sound, cars whirring along
                the turnpike; the moon, now,
                over the green-black tops of pines
                chalkily white, third quarter lunar phase sphere

                amputated optically and neatly;
                below a thick voice, “The moon’s out.”
                The reply ravels and threads
                on the leaves and is lost to you

 

dug into, dug up, found, carefully dusted off and pieced together from entry 87. of The Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962, but written by Sylvia Plath before the moon really came out

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

air wormhole: and I lose sight of her into memory
black wormhole: slightly / uphill
cars wormhole: a nice grey woollen picnic blanket
clouds & pine wormhole: volcanic rock
green & trees wormhole: Tara mantras
grey wormhole: ‘charcoal grey-slate sky …’
leaves & moon wormhole: between
listening & talking wormhole: reating & wriding
loneliness wormhole: wakeoutofadream
passing wormhole: duty free // chastened
pink wormhole: pink and orange
sky wormhole: good going into / that gentle night
sound wormhole: place
speech wormhole: h’rk ‘eh ‘heh ‘hair ‘yeah ‘eh?
Sylvia Plath wormhole: ‘God, who am I …?’
white wormhole: greedy
writing wormhole: is there anything to write?

 

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reating & wriding

01 Friday Sep 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2014, 5*, beauty, being, boy, breathing, girl, grass, irony, Lewes, listening, phone, reading, talking, words, writing

                                reating & wriding

                                in
                through the words to the being
                out from the being between
                                words

                                why
                isn’t there beauty that can talk
                in locus and suffusion
                un-trapped in seem and word

                                even

                                even this
                has never existed

                                because
                the girl sat on the lawn and
                made her soliloquy
                                whatever

                                to the boy
                (who had the boxers who had the phone
                 and the tattoos and was not afraid
                 to sit on the grass and use them) who listened
                to every meaningful judder of her low cut top

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

beauty wormhole: weight
being wormhole: the sitting room
breathing wormhole: breathing through hypnagogia
girl wormhole: and I lose sight of her into memory
Lewes wormhole: Mark & Jon at the coffee shop IV: right angles
listening wormhole: just saying, is all VII: // `spolitical
reading wormhole: singsong chant
talking wormhole: … vague / thunder
words wormhole: Mark & Jon at the coffee shop II
writing wormhole: Mark & Jon at the coffee shop I

 

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just saying, is all VII: // `spolitical

21 Sunday May 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2013, 4*, accountability, career, compromise, expertise, just saying, listening, managerialism, message, politics, principle, production, public service, responsibility, work

                just saying, is all VII:

                the drive to de-power the worker
                in public service; you cannot
                call-the-shots-because-you-are-an-expert
                … because you are the worker

                if you are calling the shots you must be
                a manager of some thing so that
                you can then be held accountable
                for the shots you call – kept on message.

                If You Are not a Manager you Cannot
                Call the Shots. Even if you are a genius;
                ‘take a responsibility, then we’ll listen
                to you’, I wouldn’t on the principle they

                wouldn’t listen to, they didn’t listen on the
                principle that I had no voice without responsibility
                compromise; de-experting workers
                is inexorable to production, in fact

`spolitical

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

career wormhole: wakeoutofadream
compromise wormhole: gone black
listening wormhole: within
managerialism wormhole: seen but not heard
politics wormhole: this sodden land
work wormhole: weight

 

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within

05 Wednesday Apr 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

'scape, 2013, 4*, flying, garden, ivy, listening, music, pigeon, radio, song, trees, wind

                                              listening to the song
                                stepping the crescendos
                with the professionalism of hundreds
                                to recognition
                                O save me
                from the top one hundreds

                                not even the pigeon
                                nor the wind chimes
                                nor even the waving tops of trees
                can assuage this acrid spore on the breeze

                                but no
                                there
                                the ivy
                has climbed up one fence post
                                and shaped itself
                                square and fast
                                that I can see
                the pigeon dive and pull up adjust tail feathers
                                turn to land
                                on a branch
                                within the
                                tree precisely

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

garden wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
listening & trees wormhole: the bench
music wormhole: No
radio wormhole: magnetic field
trees wormhole: what wounds have you got?

 

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… Mark; remember …

"... the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful; it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe to find ashes." ~ Annie Dillard

pages coagulating like yogurt

  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 10
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Introduction
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • William Carlos Williams
  • wormholes

recent leaks …

  • “…and may the great elements…”
  • paisley // implicitly
  • this pocketed being
  • the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes
  • time
  • the simple prayer // the tattered poem // the bitter lament
  • taking birth
  • mirror
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  • ‘in my car I pass…’

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  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
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tag skyline

'scape 2* 3* 4* 5* 6* 7* 8* 20th century 1967 1979 1980 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019 acceptance afternoon air Allen Ginsberg anxiety architecture arm in arm attention awareness Batman beach beauty bedroom being birds birdsong black blue Bodhisattvacharyavatara books Bowie branches breakdown breathing breeze brown Buddha buildings career Carol cars change child childhood children city clouds coffee shop colour combe end comics communication compassion compromise crane creativity curtains dancing dark death distraction divorce doing doors dream Dr Strange earth echo Edward Hopper Eglinton Hill emergence emptiness evening eyes faces family father feet field floorboards garden Genesta Road girl giving glass gold grass green grey growth haiku hair hands Have hedge hill hills history holiday hope horizon house houses identity kitchen leaf leaves lemon letting go life lifetimes light lime listening living London looking lost love management managerialism mauve meaning mind mist moon morning mother mouth movement Mum muse music night notice open openness orange others park passing pavement people performance management pink Plumstead poetry pointlessness politics portrait posture power practice professionalism purple purpose quiet rain reaching reading realisation reality red requires chewing river roads roof rooftops samsara sea searching seeing settling shadow shops silence silhouette silver sitting sky skyline sleep smell smile snow society sound space speech step stone streetlight streets sun sunlight superhero table talking talking to myself teaching teaching craft Thames thinking thought time train travelling trees true nature university voices walking walls water waves white William Carlos Williams wind windows wood Woolwich words work world writing years yellow zazen

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