Supple Cord ~ Naomi Shihab Nye

rugonfalva ©2011 Istvan Kerekes

My brother, in his small white bed,
held one end,
I tugged the other
to signal I was still awake.
We could have spoken,
could have sung
to one another,

rugonfalva ©2011 Isvan Kerekes

we were in the same room
for five years,
but the soft cord
with its little frayed ends
connected us
in the dark,

ujkepek ©2011 Istvan kerekes

gave comfort
even if we had been bickering
all day.

Rugonfalva ©2011 Istvan Kerekes

When he fell asleep first
and his end of the cord
dropped to the floor,
I missed him terribly,
though I could hear his even breath

After dinner © 2011 Istvan Kerkes.

and we had such long and separate lives
ahead.

~Naomi Shihab Nye

(for rebecca with love)

 

~~

About the Photographer

Istvan Kerekes

In His Own Words

I have been a photographer since 2007. My favourite subject is The Man. I would like to show the souls behind the faces. Everyone has feelings, everybody loves and breathes. My subjects are usually ordinary people. My main aim is to show their personalities through my images. One of William Albert Allard’s thoughts on photos and photography is just like mine, I truly believe in it: “the good portrait is about the eye, the look, since the human soul is reflected in it the most purely.”When taking photos it is my heart that leads me. After I have tuned to the subject I act instinctively.

~Istvan Kerekes

Istvan’s website: http://www.kerekesistvan.hu/

*Copyrighted images are posted with kind permission of the photographer.

somewhere I have never travelled

I Love the Girl With the Sun in Her Eyes Some rights reserved by Thomas Hawk

(Poem #619) somewhere i have never travelled

 somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
 any experience, your eyes have their silence:
 in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
 or which i cannot touch because they are too near

 your slightest look easily will unclose me
 though i have closed myself as fingers,
 you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
 (touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

 or if your wish be to close me, i and
 my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
 as when the heart of this flower imagines
 the snow carefully everywhere descending;

 nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
 the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
 compels me with the colour of its countries,
 rendering death and forever with each breathing

 (i do not know what it is about you that closes
 and opens; only something in me understands
 the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
 nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

-- e e cummings