Dreams that die by Abdellatif Laabi

Dreams Come To Die Upon The Page

One by one
dreams come to die upon the page
They passed the word on
they come from everywhere
to die upon the page
like elephants in their graveyard
I witness their convulsions
am unable to offer them a cup of water
I look at them for the first time
for the last time
before wrapping them in the shroud of my words
and setting them on the tiny craft
which was once their cradle
The current carries them away
and brings them back to me quickly
as if the open sea were not out there
but here upon the page

Abdellatif Laabi

The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock


Shall I part my hair behind?

Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.


We live in a world that does not protect or support poets. What would life be like without them?

Musing on Rilke

For one human being to love another: that is the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test of proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.---R.M. Rilke

Crescent Moon from Glastonbury.

Requiem to a Friend, by R.M. Rilke

Excerpt from, "Requiem to a Friend"

Are you still here ?
Are you standing in some corner?
You knew so much of all this, you were able to do so much; you passed through life so open to all things, like an early morning. I know: women suffer; for love means being alone; and artists in their work sometimes intuit that they must keep transforming, where they love. You began both; both exist in that which any fame takes from you and disfigures. Oh you were far beyond all fame; were almost invisible; had withdrawn your beauty, softly, as one would lower a brightly colored flag on the gray morning after a holiday. You had just one desire: a year’s long work -- which was never finished; was somehow never finished. If you are still here with me, if in this darkness there is still some place where your spirit resonates on the shallow sound waves stirred up by my voice: hear me: help me. We can so easily slip back from what we have struggled to attain, abruptly, into a life we never wanted; can find that we are trapped, as in a dream, and die there, without ever waking up.....

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