Thursday, April 2, 2020

ANTIFA DANCE - Ana Tijoux

Mary Oliver reading Wild Geese

Wild Geese Mary Oliver You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Instructions on Not Giving Up ✕ Ada Limón

Try to Praise the Mutilated World BY ADAM ZAGAJEWSKI

Try to Praise the Mutilated World BY ADAM ZAGAJEWSKI TRANSLATED BY CLARE CAVANAGH Try to praise the mutilated world. Remember June's long days, and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine. The nettles that methodically overgrow the abandoned homesteads of exiles. You must praise the mutilated world. You watched the stylish yachts and ships; one of them had a long trip ahead of it, while salty oblivion awaited others. You've seen the refugees going nowhere, you've heard the executioners sing joyfully. You should praise the mutilated world. Remember the moments when we were together in a white room and the curtain fluttered. Return in thought to the concert where music flared. You gathered acorns in the park in autumn and leaves eddied over the earth's scars. Praise the mutilated world and the gray feather a thrush lost, and the gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns. Sound Link: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57095/try-to-praise-the-mutilated-world-56d23a3f28187

Sylvia Boorstein reads "Keeping Quiet" by Pablo Neruda

Keeping Quiet Pablo Neruda Now we will count to twelve and we will all keep still for once on the face of the earth, let’s not speak in any language; let’s stop for a second, and not move our arms so much. It would be an exotic moment without rush, without engines; we would all be together in a sudden strangeness. Fishermen in the cold sea would not harm whales and the man gathering salt would not look at his hurt hands. Those who prepare green wars, wars with gas, wars with fire, victories with no survivors, would put on clean clothes and walk about with their brothers in the shade, doing nothing. What I want should not be confused with total inactivity. Life is what it is about; I want no truck with death. If we were not so single-minded about keeping our lives moving, and for once could do nothing, perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness of never understanding ourselves and of threatening ourselves with death. Perhaps the earth can teach us as when everything seems dead and later proves to be alive. Now I’ll count up to twelve and you keep quiet and I will go.

Take Jack performs an interpretation of Kathleen Lynch’s poem “How to build an owl”

KATHLEEN LYNCH How to Build an Owl 1. Decide you must. 2. Develop deep respect for feather, bone, claw. 3. Place your trembling thumb where the heart will be: for one hundred hours watch so you will know where to put the first feather. 4. Stay awake forever. When the bird takes shape gently pry open its beak and whisper into it: mouse. 5. Let it go.

Le Boléro de Ravel par l'Orchestre national de France en #confinement #ensembleàlamaison