#poetry


Meditation by Chief Tecumseh

So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trou­ble no one about their reli­gion; respect oth­ers in their view, and demand that they respect yours.

Love your life. Per­fect your life. Beau­tify all things in your life.

Seek to make your life long and its pur­pose in the ser­vice of your peo­ple. Pre­pare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide. Always give a word or a sign of salute when meet­ing or pass­ing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all peo­ple and grovel to none.

When you arise in the morn­ing give thanks for the food and for the joy of liv­ing. If you see no rea­son for giv­ing thanks, the fault lies only in yourself.

Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision.

When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a lit­tle more time to live their lives over again in a dif­fer­ent way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.

Chief Tecum­seh (1768–1813), Shawnee Nation

The Backstory of “The Laughing Heart” Post

It all started with this animation/short film by Bradley Bell:
YouTube Preview Image

In which he inter­preted “The Laugh­ing Heart”, a poem writ­ten by Charles Bukowski, and spo­ken by Tom Waits. This should have been an easy cut-and-paste video/text post on my Tum­blr, where I usu­ally store quick-strike things of inter­est and inspi­ra­tional value. But part of the being of what has been a prod­uct of a Poetry class back in my Undergrad/University days just couldn’t let it go and be done with. The tex­tual for­mat just didn’t have a resound­ing echo to me as it should.

A part of me just wanted much more to come out of each line.1 “Much more,” but not too much; though I have always been intrigued with a lit­tle bit of con­crete poetry.2

Con­tinue reading →

  1. What is a line in Poetry? []
  2. What is con­crete poetry? []