"Now" by David Hart
Let us embark now, you and I,
As evening splays out to
The blue-black sky.
Let us proceed through
Particular smooth stoned
To incoherent rowdy
To white table-clothed
Star hotels with mints on
With cherished friends
And expound of noble great deeds,
To dancing streets that
Entice our feet.
And indeed this is now
This gallant moment in
Gales of laughter now
the roof twirling
in the warm dark sky, then bounce
now down to tickle the
tops of our heads.
The time is now
And always will be.
No time for the past.
No time for the future.
They don't really exist.
Now will be the moment.
Now will always be the moment.
poeme de l'amour par David Hart, Artiste Americain
T.S. Eliot poem read by Illinois Artist David John Hart I
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimneypots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.
The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That times resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.
You tossed a blanket from the bed
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed's edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
"Ode to a Sandpiper" by Dave Hart
Cognoscente of ocean
sand and waves
Strafe the sand
in staccacto flecks
quaff an undulating
salt water tope.
©David Hart 2006
Oda para Ave Zancuda Semejante a la agachadiza
---Amado pequeño ave
Chico pico como
raspadura la plaza
Darse un banquete
ola Amado pequeño
''This My Dear Earth'' by Dave Hart
- This My Dear Earth- by Dave Hart
Now, the majestic rivers swell
Rise - flood - and absorb all coasts of land
spews up stentorian
of bright dewy lava
now jettison up
One hundred thousand miles
in a dark blue sky
A myriad of
tiny cheerful stars
Hasten to prickle
Earths long ravaged crown.
''Verse'' by Mr. David Hart
Be not harried by apostasy spates
Surcease ye flux of basilic imprecations
Adhibit ye ,supernal paracletes
The pith of divinity
In this temporal realm
Shun the gaffer's gammon
Avaunt kaleidoscopic zealotry
Bandy a cutlass perfervid
Ex aequo et bono
Beneficence's glaive bandies.
Preside atheling echt
In pharos of Nestor
Bestow succor to the augean Boeothians!
Malign them not--for now come the celestial shower
To halidom, shepard, solace and anele
Ye benighted churls
vocabulary- spate-flood; arcadian-rural/simple; echt-adj.-genuine; Nestor-the god of wisdom; Achaetes-any faithful friend; chatoyant-possessing a changeable luster; rein-v.-to curb or restrain; amative-amatory; anele-v.- to annoint; harry-to torment by constant attack; perfervid-ardent/very fervid; ex aequo et bono-L.-according to the principle of fairness and good; bandy-to beat to and fro; vae victic-L.-woe to the vanquished; gammon-nonsense; gaffer- an old crone; flux-flow; fanfaronade--n.-bragging/ostentation/bluster; congeries-heap; susurrant-adj-whispering; basilic-lowly/base; pith-vigor/force/strength; supernal-celestial; imprecations-curses; halidom-a holy place/holiness; Pallas Athena-Gr.goddess of wisdom; quotha-arch.-indeed! Forsooth!; paracletes-someone who aids and supports; glaive-sword; pharos-lighthouse; atheling-ancient crown prince; adhibit-to let in/admit; benighted-adj-overtaken by darkness; bestead-to aid; anele-to annoint; contemn-v.-to view with contempt; solace-n. comfort in sorrow
"Issue No. B-1610" by David Hart
Black rectangular, quasi-rectangular, plastic half darkened
Now with shades of gray -- reflecting
White steel stalk of tin
Jutting out to a white sheet
Small oval shape - one third severed sphere
Affixed on the apex of a twin stalk - elliptical
Silver and gray tube with a creviced
Sitting staring beaming unrelentlessly
Soft muffled tones whirring the concordant
monotone melody of D flat
No remorse or afterthought just base
exploitation of energy
"An Infant Sighs" by David Hart
Upright in a crib,
an infant sighs.
Windows in the ceiling--a sky light--
a warm radiance
of blues, yellows, and scintillating hues of
courteously down upon this wide-eyed infant.
Upright and attent,
of undulating streams
of sparkling light,
two tiny hands hold firm.
Now with toothless
wee gums press
upon the pleasure
of the smooth
plastic crib railing.
--muffled and muddled--
ooze through thin walls
to the infant's new ears.
Contented within incomprehension
and delighting in wonderment,
an infant sighs.
Roxy Hart at Funny Girls Blackpool - Opening Number
Eros Tyrannos read by David Hart
She fears him, and will always ask
What fated her to choose him;
She meets in his engaging mask
All reason to refuse him.
But what she meets and what she fears
Are less than are the downward years,
Drawn slowly to the foamless weirs
Of age, were she to lose him.
Between a blurred sagacity
That once had power to sound him,
And Love, that will not let him be
The Judas that she found him,
Her pride assuages her almost
As if it were alone the cost--
He sees that he will not be lost,
And waits, and looks around him.
A sense of ocean and old trees
Envelops and allures him;
Tradition, touching all he sees,
Beguiles and reassures him.
And all her doubts of what he says
Are dimmed by what she knows of days,
Till even Prejudice delays
And fades, and she secures him.
The falling leaf inaugurates
The reign of her confusion;
The pounding wave reverberates
The dirge of her illusion.
And Home, where passion lived and died,
Becomes a place where she can hide,
While all the town and harbor side
Vibrate with her seclusion.
We tell you, tapping on our brows,
The story as it should be,
As if the story of a house
Were told, or ever could be.
We'll have no kindly veil between
Her visions and those we have seen--
As if we guessed what hers have been,
Or what they are or would be.
Meanwhile we do no harm, for they
That with a god have striven,
Not hearing much of what we say,
Take what the god has given.
Though like waves breaking it may be,
Or like a changed familiar tree,
Or like a stairway to the sea,
Where down the blind are driven.
Edwin Arlington Robinson
Sweta helps Hart read his short poem in Nepalese
Pragati helps Hart read his poem in Telugu