he en lisant sml
TRANSCRIPT
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
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pamela swan
www.poetpam.
le philosopheen lisant
Rembrandt - Philosopher Readingphilosophe en lisant
...these poems came together from a poster that gracedmy walls for many years...
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
2/19
2
pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
I
a print -i stare within white bordersto enter cobwebs of a hidden room -yellow-brown reections whisper inthrough a window somewhere out of sight -
gathering the musty scent into my hairi seean old man sitting -dark brown robeloose bootsa softbound book that needs two arms for full support -bony hands collect the open pagein nger bent protectionalmost white -
pale face in play of light and shade -downcast eyes intent
on words i cannot see -
world within a world within a world -he does not know i stare -he does not see his room -white balding headwhite beard -as if his life lived in the printed wordand clothing light and chair were but an afterthoughtthat grew around his world like a dream -
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
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pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
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lisant
i knew him once in sleep
as grandfather who smiled distantly -then as fathersilent solemn guide -between the years he grew to self-reectionof a life i lived within my rooms -not me - yet of mecarrying my mindout of confusions to pursue a searchfor answers that no questions could explain -
beyond me in his silences -within my opening dreams -the yellow warmth of solitude my own -the hidden corners of his room recedegathering the shadows of the oorin secrets that surround himin a prayer of challengesi do not understand -these i enter like a novice
to absorb and penetratethe growing mystery.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
4/19
4
pamela swan
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ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
II
halfway caught between realitiesthought-images emerge within my headas if the old man spoke and yet did not -and i am bound againwithin the tunnel of my sight -
white hair and face merge into halo light -an old and holy mansitting on a stoolback supported by a wooden beam -
he holds a bible carefullypages worn and curled -
abovebehind his heada wooden shelfthrown to loose straw and clothin bedding for a night he has not found -
an evening hour of solitude
a barren dim-lit room -a brown robed monkin meditation of the holy book -
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
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pamela swan
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ph
ilosophe
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lisant
a lion that is almost lambgrows in a mirage from shelf to wall -faint outline brown on brownthat spirals yellow into circulating walls
like a melody of distant hymns -
withinbeyondhe reads -no conict arguing the worth of breathor quality of cloth -
he sits apartas if the room was circled
timeless in the knowledgeof the deathless lifethat roots in every man.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
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6
pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
III
tonightthe hermit studieslonely and obscure -nine lives of tarot walk within his brain -incense of cinnamongathers from the oortowards a hidden source of gold brown light -
sorcerer of truth
master of the nighthe rides the shadows into golden dawn -the book of prophecy lives in his handshis eyes consumeelude the printed word -mind diving deep between the linesto penetrate the mystic root of power -
his whisper weaves as in a closing prayer -out of - into
hypnotic silences -...de profundus
a maximus ad minimaet ad extremum...
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
7/19
7
pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
IV
as an image of my psychethe old man reads -a silent guidewho draws me to explorethe shadows of a secret room -
i see the moving walls in redgoldbrownas energy as calm as camouage -his wisdom isolatesilluminates
until out of my blindness i perceivethe chair of my beliefsthe shelf that hides the dreams i dare not speakthe book that writes in centuries around my lifewith words i know but do not understand -
the old man sitsreading through my mind
pivoting my energiesto penetrate the darkest corners
of the earthen oor -
and when i barricade myselfto cancel violent streets and screaming storeshe sits as company for lonelinessuntil the room grows deepabsorbed withinhis white gold silences.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
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pamela swan
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ph
ilosophe
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lisant
V
print of a paintingyellow brown
light and dark in ow -the only ickering of whitecatches between an open book of handsand the sudden forehead of a sage -
the aging scholar sitsstooped in philosophies -knowing his roomas the creation of his mindthat wraps him earth in dampness
like an obscure puzzle to be solved -
listening carefullythe ear can catch the bristles of his breathingbeardwhen it rasps the woven brown that is his robe -no other sound -the stillness rises like a tidethat plans to suffocate -
ancient concepts rise in moleculesto know that nothing is without its opposite -to balance light the darkness grows immense -
the outward eye swims through a golden seaof wall escaping into scent of straw -a small shelf warps towards a blackened oortill sight is caught inside an easing shadeto nd againthe old philosopher -
he studies brown in depthreecting gold -an alchemist of thoughtforever trappedexploring the penumbra of eclipse.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
9/19
9
pamela swan
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ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
VI
book of agesonion skinin gold edged conictwith the cover -faded cloth bent dulldarkened into years of ngerprints -
out of the silenceout of black calligraphysymbols pierce the pupilsof an old mans eyes -heavy lidscircled dark from lack of sleephe reads -
a worn and lonely manhead bentback slouched into shadows -chair and oor absorbed in almost night -
shnet cobwebs eat the dustinto wooden beamsthe wooden shelfthe straw -in a quiet symphony of red and goldthe dying sun withdraws -
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
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pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
when was he young?white hair and white-grey beard -his brown robe wornsplit open at the kneefalling to loose shadows and loose shoes -
where did he grow -this white haired ghost of childhood?what ambitions carried him
a solitary searchtrying to dene the camouageof violent thoughts he locked within his skull?
a golden warm creeps easily into his skin -he readssomewhere at peaceas if the truth he soughtwas captured in the wordshe saw too many times to understand -
he stares through the reectionsof a life he never sawand yet it seemshe searched too long to care.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
11/19
11
pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
VII
staring at the print -the old man -as through a window framei wonderif his wall holds a print of mesitting at my deskfrozen in an image two dimensional -
perhaps i grew somewhere within his head
projected in full historyuntil i lived -or maybe both of us existas separate livesas pictures on the wall -
when i am not here -he nishes his reading -stretches -grabs an apple for a midnight snack -
pulls his bedding off the shelfand goes to sleep -and when i am spaced deep within a bookhe stares at mewondering my nameand my reality.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
12/19
12
pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
VII
as i watch it seemsthe wandering jew lives quietlysilentlywithin the picture frame -
two thousand years of wanderingto bethe rebel born to some forgotten cause -grown old and agelessin solitary thought
that holds him exile to the common ow -
all names are his -unbelieverwho knew where not to believe -once called hereticuntil he disappeared and someone else was foundto take his place -
then called eccentric
except the rich alonehold the excuse for eccentricity -owning nothing but his robeand one worn bookthe world called him crazyand let him be -
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
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pamela swan
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ph
ilosophe
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lisant
now he lives in solitudesomewhere forgotten in a corner of the earth -nothing owned leaves nothing to be lost -mellow gold and brownwith sun for company -a cave made room for sheltera stump for stool -a shelf for strawloose stufng for a mattresssomewhere invisibleand his needs are met -
for luxuryone bookin which his mind can travelthe dimensions of word metaphor -
nothing lost
nothing gained -he waits some miracle of starsto be recalled to wanderingas lonely prophetechoing deaf ears.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
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pamela swan
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ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
IX
who is he?this old manthat someone painted to createa world once removed?
is he a god?the fringe of hair that wraps around his headlike fuzzed remnants of white wool -the grey white beard that rests upon his robe -the puckered forehead
bony ngersgather to project illusions of antiquity -
the hidden sundenes a wrinkled wallto collect an eerie trinity of lightin white to yellowbrown to black -the black predominates -
what does he read?the book rests heavily between his handsas if the weight of words had curled page and coverin omens of a shadowed destiny -
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
15/19
15
pamela swan
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ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
this is no book for sun -it gathers darkness like a promiseunfullled -a strange mythology recalling sui-cides
between the heroes history denied -
above the old mans heada shelf half emptywaiting between straw and shadeto hide the book from eyesuntil the fragile pages crumble intodust -
face worn beyond his years
the old man reads-one step outside of time -his knowledge threading secretsthat leave imagination blind.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
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pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
X
riddle put to light and shadelike old man of the moongrown between refractionsthat disturb a nowhere sun -
his earth wall pivots memoriesof ridge and pit reliefyellow-brown-red-black emergewhere colour never lived -
stray smoke gathers slowlywhere no re can be foundgathering as in a cloudthat has no word for rain -
there is no age without the childno word for sleep where sleep is notno voice within the echoof a silence born in thought -
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
17/19
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pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
the old man reads an empty bookone nger drew in blood -where no one traced the death of lifelife is not understood -
straw that is not straw recallsa shelf above his headtrapping wooden memoriesof shape without a form -
he rides the shadows like a chairno eyes have ever seen -weaves a robe from darknessthat his knowledge never owned -
somehow a shoe that knows no toeout of a time that time forgot -somewhere a oor that never was -he is where all is not.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
18/19
18
pamela swan
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
XI
tonight the picture burnsred gold smouldering -wearyomnipotentthe old man does not move -
tonight he is prometheusthat great father of the godswho createdform out of the formless
making men -he gave them reto hide their helplessness -
now he sits in haze of smoke and heatthe human world burns -he does not turn -out of his stillnesssmoke eats into cloudbalance out of chaos
re bound by ood -
the book of destiny is in his hands -he marks the centurythat writes him cruciedfor creativity.
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8/4/2019 he en Lisant Sml
19/19
19
le
ph
ilosophe
en
lisant
XII
just an old mansittingreading -
no familyno friends -those he knewhave died or disappeared -
too tired
to begin againhe readsto escapethe connes of mortality -
he is wisebut none ask for his wisdom -he is oldbut no one notices -
secludedin his austere roomforgottenby the world -
not happynot unhappyan old man reads.