saravasti’s shakti (meditation on Antoine de Chandieu I I)


sarasvati’s shakti

(shiva chants to sarasvati)

“Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can
Her heart inform her tongue,—the swan’s down-feather,
That stands upon the swell at full of tide,
And neither way inclines.”

-Shakespeare

my other self so my darker beloved

all our other names do us but flatter

as you vanish into my purity

so my fire burnishes your limpidity

your chanting is something beyond mere chatter

such thunder as i am not is this place

disappointment still seeking satisfaction

resentment still not finding gratifaction

such folly frustrates our idealistic race

so lead me in with relativistic cant

cloudless skies staining my mind etch darker truths

quench my mind’s eye with dualistic untruths

so lead me in a cabbalistic chant

to the place where trees are pomegranates

it is we or us transfiguring our lust

what purpose has a siren deprived of musk

either path or both one radiant mind ignites

passion to more compassion loving more

those unbroken harts not dreaming are both mine

and yours still but not yet two lovers divine

transgression kissing transfiguration

your oracles our shakti my brighter stars

bursting suchness sails on seas of boundless bliss

one hart seals all harts in a mystical kiss

suchness wounding love cauterizes our scars

my darker beloved so my brighter self

so in such mystery an endless shiver

consecrating limpid harts where purer good dies

one hart gains by such tears wherein panting shakti lies

nothing conceals love in something if not water

mark emmanuel christopher valentine

(© 16 november 2012)

Antoine de Chandieu  (1534-1591)

Qu’as tu ? pauvre amoureux…

Qu’as tu ? pauvre amoureux, dont l’âme demi morte

Soupire des sanglots au vent qui les emporte.

N’accuse rien de toi.

Ton mal est ton désir,

Et ce dont tu te plains, est ton propre plaisir.

Tu n’as autre repos que ce qui te tourmente,

Et t’éjouis au mal dont tu vas soupirant,

Buvant ce doux-amer qui t’enivre et qui rend

Ton plaisir douloureux et ta douleur plaisante

what do you have? poor lovers…

what do you  have? poor lovers, whose souls are half dead

sighing such sobs as the wind carries away

i blame you for nothing

your evil is your desire

and your desire gives both pain and pleasure

you have no other rest than this which torments you

and your joy in the pain that gives you sighs

drinking on such bitter-sweetness makes you drunk

and your pleasure bitter and your sorrow sweet

(translation mecvalentine 11 november 2012)

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