Sign in with Facebook Sign in options. Join Goodreads. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read.
|Published (Last):||23 November 2006|
|PDF File Size:||11.55 Mb|
|ePub File Size:||9.5 Mb|
|Price:||Free* [*Free Regsitration Required]|
You ask me how I became a madman. Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more.
And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.
But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief. This poem is in the public domain. Lake Michigan dreamed me, I think, in the winter of , its long currents combing shipwrecks and where. She was wearing a red muumuu. And where was my father, then? He was fishing for steelhead. You wore plaid skirts and bruised your knees and lived across the street from the motorcycle shop.
I remember dropping dimes in the jukebox;. I remember embers in the sand. Once I saw God himself — a small boy running across the RV park with a toy sword in his hand. I dreamed. It took ten thousand years of whispering,. And before that?
Before that I found comfort in the fur of animals and the movement. Before that I was a sonic boom over Wisconsin, and before that, fire. My white therapist calls it my edge , I hear Angry Black Woman. She says, Strength of Willful Negative Focus. She says, Acerbic Intellectual Temperament. I copy her words onto an index card. She wants an origin story, a stranger with his hand inside me, or worse.
We perform rituals on her living room floor. What if anger, my armor, is embedded in the marrow of who I am. Who can I learn to be without it? Wherever you go, there you are. She asks what I will lose if I surrender, I imagine a gutted fish, silvery skin gleaming, emptied of itself—.
After a long madness peace is an assassin in the heart. Where there had been the clenched fist, the strung out sinew, the hamstrung grin, the erect eye and hand on every shadow like a spy, now the river springs from the crystal of its sleep in a sapphire lunge to the sea.
A year of madness is a libation poured out of nettles and boiled herbs, of knives oiled with honey that cut silently to the spine. I was madness's kin, no, more its parent blood, its coursing lymph, its skeleton. I kept company with lunacy, broke bread with him, lay beside him, my head in his arms, felt him draw down the sheet to watch me as I shook and so it was one year till now. Now the rocks become a sweetness in the listless meadow, the lutist brays to the ashes, flowers in the red crystal bowl push against the windowpane and I sleep again, my hands beneath my cheek, legs straight out, eyes shut against the inward stratagem of dream and the bedsheets and counterpane lie upon me no more leaded capes of knobbed steel, but companions of my skin, like the surface of my river is kindred balm to the volcanoes and riven headlands that lie beneath it like pain.
National Poetry Month. Materials for Teachers Teach This Poem. Poems for Kids. Poetry for Teens. Lesson Plans. Resources for Teachers. Academy of American Poets. American Poets Magazine. Poems Find and share the perfect poems. How I Became a Madman Prologue. Love They say the jackal and the mole.
Kahlil Gibran Defeat Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;. The Coming of the Ship Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.
And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld his ship coming with the mist.
Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul. But as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart: How shall I go in peace and without sorrow?
Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city. Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart of his pain and his aloneness without regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache. It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.
Yet I cannot tarry longer. The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark. For, to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould. Fain would I take with me all that is here.
But how shall I? A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that gave it wings. Alone must it seek the ether. And along and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbor, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.
And his soul cried out to them, and he said: Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of the tides, How often have you sailed in my dreams.
Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind. Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward, And then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers. And you, vast sea, sleepless mother, Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream, Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade, And then shall I come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean.
And as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates. And he heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from field to field telling one another of the coming of the ship.
And he said to himself: Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering? And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn? And what shall I give unto him who has left his plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress? Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may gather and give unto them? And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups?
Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence? If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unremembered seasons? If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein. Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern, And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.
These things he said in words But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret. And when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as with one voice. And the elders of the city stood forth and said: Go not yet away from us.
A noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream. No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but our sun and our dearly beloved.
Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for your face. And the priests and the priestesses said unto him: Let not the waves of the sea separates us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory. You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces. Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled. Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.
And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. And others came also and entreated him. But he answered them not. He only bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon his breast. And he and the people proceeded towards the great square before the temple.
It is entirely of the East, with no shading of Western thought or content. It is an expression of the passionate inner life not yet restrained and controlled by the vaster wisdom andcompassion that came to bud in The Forerunner and to full flower in The Prophet. Always he was alien to this planet, to this time and this scene, yet always he battled to reduce this distance between himself and ourselves. His family emigrated to the United States in Category: Poetry. Available from:. Ebook —.
How I Became a Madman
You ask me how I became a madman. Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us. But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief. This poem is in the public domain.
The Madman Quotes
We apologize for this inconvenience. Your IP address has been automatically blocked from accessing the Project Gutenberg website, www. This is because the geoIP database shows your address is in the country of Germany. Blocked at germany.
- LE SINISTRE SECRET DE SALTMARSH PDF
- ARYEH KAPLAN THE LIVING TORAH PDF
- ACURA MDX 2008 USER MANUAL PDF
- LIBRO REHABILITACION NEURO OCLUSAL PEDRO PLANAS PDF
- CORALIFE SUPER SKIMMER MANUAL PDF
- RAMON DE LA FUENTE PSICOLOGIA MEDICA PDF
- AVR MICROCONTROLLER AND EMBEDDED SYSTEMS BY MUHAMMAD ALI MAZIDI PDF
- HAYATUS SAHABAH ARABIC PDF