You are the most sleepiest man I ever seed.
Jean ToomerWe learn the rope of life by untying its knots.
Jean ToomerWe do not posses imagination enough to sense what we are missing.
Jean ToomerTags: imagination
Her Lips Are Copper Wire”
whisper of yellow globes
gleaming on lamp posts that sway
like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog
and let your breath be moist against me
like bright beads on yellow globes
telephone the power-house
that the main wires are insulate
(her words play up and down
dewy corridors of billboards)
then with your tongue remove the tape
and press your lips to mine
till they are incandescent
Dusk, suggesting the almost imperceptible posession of giant trees, settled with a purple haze about the cane. I felt strange, as I always do in Georgia, particularly at dusk. I felt that things unseen to men were tangibly immediate. It would not have surprised me had I had a vision.
Jean ToomerThank everyone who calls out your faults, your anger, your impatience, your egotism; do this consciously, voluntarily.
Jean ToomerTags: rabp
If you have heard a Jewish cantor sing, if he has touched you and made your own sorrow seem trivial when compared with his, you will know my feeling when I follow the curves of her profile, like mobile rivers, to their common delta.
Jean Toomerزهرة قطن نوفمبر
سوسة القطن في طريقها، وبرد الشتاء،
أضفى على سويقات القطن لون الصدأ، كمواسم فات أوانها،
والقطن، شحيح كثلج جنوبي،
الغصن يتهاوى؛ رخواً شديد الذبول،
لا يصلح أن يكون مجرفة لأوراق الخريف؛
التربة اجتاحها القحط مسبباً بانجرافها
جفاف كل مياه السواقي؛ طيورٌ ميتةٌ وجدت
في الآبار على عمق مائة قدم تحت سطح الأرض
و هذا هو الفصل الذي تفتحت فيه الزهرة
الدهشة أصابت كبار القوم، وسرعان ما حلوا اللغز
الخرافة رأت
ما لم تره من قبل قط:
عيون بنية وقعت في حبها دونما وجل،
حُسْنٌ لا يخطر ببال أحد في مثل ذلك الوقت من السنة.
Jean Toomer
1894-1967
Tags: poems jean-toomer
Happy, Muriel? No, not happy. Your aim is wrong. There is no such thing as happiness. Life bends joy and pain, beauty and ugliness, in such a way that no one may isolate them. No one should want to. Perfect joy, or perfect pain, with no contrasting element to define them, would mean a monotony of consciousness, would mean death.
Jean ToomerTalk about it only enough to do it. Dream about it only enough to feel it. Think about it only enough to understand it. Contemplate it only enough to be it.
Jean ToomerPage 1 of 2.
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