Prayer For a Marriage

Prayer for a Marriage

When we are old one night and the moon
arcs over the house like an antique
China saucer and the teacup sun

follows somewhere far behind
I hope the stars deepen to a shine
so bright you could read by it

if you liked and the sadness
we will have known go away
for awhile – in this hour or two

before sleep – and that we kiss
standing in the kitchen not fighting
gravity so much as embodying

its sweet force, and I hope we kiss
like we do today knowing so much
good is said in this primitive tongue

from the wild first surprising ones
to the lower dizzy ten thousand
infinitely slower ones—and I hope

while we stand there in the kitchen
making tea and kissing, the whistle
of the teapot wakes the neighbors.

“Prayer for a Marriage,” by Steve Scafidi, from Sparks from a Nine-Pound Hammer (Louisiana State University Press).


Do not talk of him

[My horse] is a creature that I teach to fight,

To wind, to stop, to run directly on,

His corporal motion governed by my spirit;

And in some taste is Lepidus but so.

He must be taught, and trained, and bid go forth—

A barren-spirited fellow, one that feeds

On objects, arts, and imitations,

Which, out of use and staled by other men,

Begin his fashion. Do not talk of him

But as a property.

(Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare – IV.i.31–40)


So as not to he the martyred slaves of time […]

The Drunk Poet, Artist: Shitao, 1690

The Drunk Poet, Artist: Shitao, 1690

Be Drunk

You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it–it’s the
only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks
your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually

But on what?  Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of
a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again,
drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave,
the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything
that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is
singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and
wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you:”It is time to be
drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be
continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”

Charles Baudelaire

What is sacrificed?

“Only he can understand what a farm is, what a country is, who shall have sacrificed part of himself to his farm or country, fought to save it, struggled to make it beautiful. Only then will the love of farm or country fill his heart.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Let’s get conscious.

“If we begin to unpack the general laws of perception, we will see that as they become habitual, actions become automatic. Thus do all our practical skills retreat into the realm of the unconscious-automatic; whoever remembers the sensation he had holding a pen in his hand or speaking in an alien tongue for the first time, and compares that sensation with the one he experiences while doing it for the ten thousandth time, will agree…So, unheeded, does life fade away. Automatization swallows up things, dress, furniture, one’s wife, and the fear of war. And if the whole life of people passes unconsciously, it is as if that life had never been.”

From “Art As Device,” by Viktor Shklovsky1959 Flood Ohio

How faint the tune

Somewhere there’s music
How faint the tune
Somewhere there’s heaven
How high the moon
There is no moon above
When love is far away too
Till it comes true
That you love me as I love you

Somewhere there’s music
How near, how far
Somewhere there’s heaven
Its where you are
The darkest night would shine
If you would come to me soon
Until you will, how still my heart
How high the moon

Somewhere there’s music
How faint the tune
Somewhere there’s heaven
How high the moon
The darkest night would shine
If you would come to me soon
Until you will, how still my heart
How high the moon