Taking In Mississippi

I realized quickly, taking in all of Mississippi is impossible.  Guess I'll have to make another trip...gladly.

 

The Humane Among Us

delivering kisses instead of Retweets
across state lines, wearing his star spangled bandana
Gander be his name

he rescues humans, every day
stepping beyond the Twits in the world, with soulful chocolate colored eyes
he touches wounded hearts     face-to-face     the old-fashioned way

saved from death by a kind hearted Veteran
how lucky we are to have him, for even one day
truly, he's the Favorite we all want in our Inbox

hugs and smiles for every child and soldier
there should be a mountain or rainbow named after him...or
a lifetime supply of neon green tennis balls

for those stuck on their iPhones
something humane awaits to dismantle your heart
sleep well boy, your hero's journey begins again tomorrow

 

Give me books...

Give me books, French wine,
fruit, fine weather
and a little music played out of doors
by somebody I do not know.

 

~ John Keats

 

MARSH MALLOW ANYONE?

I found this wonderful recipe on www.newlifeonahomestead.com as I was searching for Marsh Mallow root/plant.  Yes, such a thing does exist.  According to Wikipedia, the leaves, flowers, and root were used primarily for medicinal purposes.  But as a confection, it stretches as far back as Egyptian times.  The plant and flower remind me a bit of a poppies, only smaller.  I'd love to make my own mallow and use it as part of a cake frosting, or a dollop on cookies. 

 

 

  Original Marshmallows From Marshmallow Root

• 4 tablespoons marshmallow roots
• 28 tablespoons refined sugar
• 20 tablespoons gum tragacanth (or gum arabic- a natural product which can be bought online)
• 2 cups water (Water of orange flowers for aroma or instead of plain water)
• 1 -2 egg white, well beaten

1. Make sure the mallow roots aren’t moldy or too woody. Marshmallow gives off almost twice its own weight of mucilaginous gel when placed in water.
2. Make a tea of marshmallow roots by simmering in a pint of water for twenty to thirty minutes. Add additional water if it simmers down. Strain out the roots.
3. Heat the gum and marshmallow decoction (water) in a double boiler until they are dissolved together. Strain with pressure.
4. Stir in the sugar as quickly as possible. When dissolved, add the well beaten egg whites, stirring constantly, but take off the fire and continue to stir. Lay out on a flat surface. Let cool, and cut into smaller pieces.

There’s also this one which is similar…

2 egg whites
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup raw cane sugar
1 tbsp powdered Marshmallow (root)
Whip egg whites until almost stiff. Add vanilla and whip until stiff. Then whip in the sugar, 1 tsp at the time. Finally, add Marshmallow and whip again. Place by teaspoonful on cookie sheet. Bake in 325 oven for 1 hour.

COVENTRY EN PLEIN AIR

Spent part of the weekend outdoors with some animals.

Loved watching their personalities shine through my lens.

 

Understanding The Unharvested

On my way to work this morning, I was thinking about my small patch of vegetable and herb garden.  Contrasted to where I work: mostly sitting, in a grey (literally) cubicle, staring at my computer, stuffy office, with no window.  Not what I ever wanted for myself, and something I'm still fighting to change...but I digress.

I was filled with gratitude thinking about my garden, but especially the parts which go unharvested.  So if you will indulge me, today I am allowing myself to be counted amongst the gardeners of the world.  But particularly amongst those who leave it up to nature to do what it knows best.  Though I have much to learn, I believe I understand how precious, and therefore important, it is to care for land, nature and its inhabitants.  By care, I mean protect without disturbance.  While going through some books, I found this simply wonderful poem.  Enjoy.

Unharvested

A scent of ripeness from over a wall.

And come to leave the routine road

And look for what had made me stall,

There sure enough was an apple tree

That had eased itself of its summer load,

And of all but its trivial foliage free,

Now breathed as light as a lady’s fan.

For there had been an apple fall

As complete as the apple had given man.

The ground was one circle of solid red.

May something go always unharvested!

May much stay out of our stated plan,

Apples or something forgotten and left,

So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.

—Robert Frost

A FATHER'S DAY MENU

Saying “I'm tired” doesn’t quite describe it.  I've been on my feet in the kitchen since 8:30 this morning.  Finally, at 8:00pm I sit to reflect on the Father's Day meal I made.

It's the first father's day dinner I've ever made in my life.  The short of it: outside of a few second-hand stories, I never knew my father.  He never read me a bedtime story, taught me how to throw a ball or ride a bike.  There are many reasons he was never in my life, and by the time I was old enough and willing enough to seek him out, he had already died six-months prior to me finding him. At the ripe old age of 88, Parkinson's got the best of him.  Because the reasons for his absence are too many, too awful and too personal, I won't go into them.  But I can tell you it's taken a bit to move past resentment and anger, and to just accept him for who he was.  Doesn't mean the pain has completely gone away (no magical potions here), but what do they say?  Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.  Today, on this Father’s Day, I opted out of suffering.  Something my dad couldn't do, with such an awful disease as Parkinson's.

So at 8:00am, I started by getting desserts out of the way. Yup, plural, deeeesserts.

DESSERTS:

Macadamia and White Chocolate Chip cookies
Walnut Brownies with a Raspberry drizzle and fresh whipped cream

Both of these desserts are really quick to make but truly, if you only have time for one, go with the brownies.  I used Pamela's Gluten Free Brownie Mix, making the Cake-Like Brownies version per the back of the bag.

Because the main course was going to be made from scratch, I needed to keep dessert simple.  However before serving the brownies, I had to raise the bar by making a fresh Raspberry reduction, topped with fresh whipped cream.  If you can't make the Raspberry reduction, serve the brownies warm with one small scoop of vanilla ice-cream.  Now who won't love and appreciate that...

At the bottom are the recipes: Beet/Orange Salad and for the main course, Lamb Stew.  I juggled both at the same time (it’ helped to have all the ingredients ready in advanced - thanks to my sous chef husband), but do what suits you best.  I'm proud to say all of the fresh ingredients came straight from my garden.

I cooked my heart out today, not just for my dad (the truth is I don’t know if my father would have ever liked this meal), but for all dads: the ones who show up, the ones who can’t...and what about the ones who won’t?  Well, they're missing out on knowing some great sons and daughters.  And who was the benefactor of this meal?  One of the nicest dads I’ve ever met: my husband.

His own son, a grown man by all rights (a great "kid" in my opinion), living in another state, healthy and getting wiser by the day, couldn't make it down to visit.  But no worries!, his call came in first thing in the morning wishing his dad a happy day.  So yesterday, I looked into my husband's eyes, and despite all the personal adversities he's gone through, I saw a good father.  It was then I decided we both deserved to celebrate.

So, did he like tonight’s meal?  Well let’s just say, he didn’t walk away hungry. 

STARTER: FRESH BEET AND ORANGE SALAD

4 medium beets
1 tbs sherry vinegar
2 medium oranges
2 tbs orange juice
½ tsp orange zest
½ tsp salt
2 tbs lemon juice
2 tbs olive oil

Preheat oven at 400.  Trim and scrub beets – don’t peal them. Wrap each beet in foil and place on baking sheet.  Into the oven they go for 40 minutes, or until tender.  While beats are still roasting mix your dressing.

Dressing – Prep your oranges: Get 1/2 tsp worth of orange zest before pealing the orange. Pith and remove membrane over separate bowl to catch the juice (this is where you collect your 2 tbs worth of juice).  Separate spears into halves.  Place in serving bowl.

In another bowl combine: sherry vinegar, orange zest, orange juice, salt, lemon juice, and gradually whisk in olive oil.

Once beets are done, cool under cold water until easy to handle and rub off skin. Cut beets approx. ¼ inch size pieces and place in bowl with oranges.  Drizzle a little dressing over beets and oranges then chill in the refrigerator.  Serve when ready.

MAIN COURSE: SHREDDED LAMB STEW

1 ½ pounds of boneless butterfly leg of Lamb
4-5 cloves Garlic (use amount that suits your pallet)
1 tbs fresh parsley chopped
1 tsp fresh orange thyme stripped
1 ½ fresh rosemary finely chopped
1 ½ tsp fresh basil chopped
1 ½ tsp fresh oregano chopped
4 shallots chopped
1 small onion, chopped
1 stalk of celery, thinly sliced
2 medium sized carrots, chopped small
10 baby potatoes, cut in half
1 small can of fire roasted diced tomatoes
2 tbs olive oil
½ tsp sea salt
½ tsp cracked-smoked pepper
½ tsp of paprika
2 cups of vegetable stock
2 cups water
3 fresh mint leaves, small
1 dry bay leaf

Heat olive oil in large pan or Dutch oven, over medium-high heat.  Working in batches, brown meat on all sides. Set aside in bowl.  

Next, in the same pan, add your onion.  Use a wooden spoon, cook onions making sure you scrape the brown bits stuck to the bottom of the pot.  Cook until onions are soft, about 5 minutes.  Add garlic and cook another minute.

Return meat to pan then add water, vegetable stock and the remainder of your ingredients.  Let boil, occasionally stirring. Cover, lowering heat for 5 minutes, then place in oven.  When your meat and vegetables are tender, take two forks and shred some of the meat in the pot.  Add salt to taste, stir, place bay leaf and mint leaves on top and let sit for 5 minutes.  Remove mint leaves. Give it another stir, then serve with rustic bread if you like.

LOOKING FOR SOMEONE?

You can search throughout the entire universe for someone

who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself,

and that person is not to be found anywhere.

You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe,

deserve your love and affection.

~Gautama Buddha~

TUESDAY TRANSFORMATIONS: This involves...

“Transformation always involves the falling away of things we have relied on, and we are left with a feeling that the world as we know it is coming to an end,

because it is…

When we can free up our sense of needing to arrive in a certain place,

we lessen the weight of being lost.

And once beneath arriving and beneath our fear of failing to arrive,

the real journey begins.”

~ Mark Nepo

IF I WAS A WORK OF ART

If I was a work of art

I would be a picture of the wind

blowing fast.

The wind, sort of light blue,

really hard and strong.

I would be blowing away

from hatred,

blowing toward love.  

When people see the picture

they would know

I was going the right direction

instead of the wrong one.

Anthony Manago - 3rd Grade

Thorndyke Elementary After School Program
Writes of Passage Poetry Class with Vicky Edmonds - May 2003

http://www.couragerenewal.org/blog/103/614?utm_source=May+2013+Words+of+EnCOURAGEment+%2323&utm_campaign=May+2013+newsletter&utm_medium=email

Where is this young poet now, a decade older?
In 2003 Anthony participated in an after-school poetry writing class taught by Vicky Edmonds. Vicky brought Anthony to a 2003 Gathering of Courage to Teach participants in Seattle with other young poets to share his poem and it continues to be used by teachers and Courage & Renewal facilitators who were in that room that day.
We were so curious about how this wise young soul is doing a decade later, we tracked him down. Anthony is now a freshman on an athletic scholarship to Trinity Lutheran College and studying to be an athletic trainer. Though he hasn’t written another poem, he has excelled as a track and field athlete, winning awards in long jump in particular. When he signed on to Trinity’s team, his coach Matt Koenigs told reporters “To find this combination of character, work ethic and athletic ability in someone is not common – Anthony fits so well with the vision I have for what we are building. I could not have asked for a better person in our first jumper.” And now, a year later, Koenigs tells us “He's been fantastic to have on the team--he brings a great work ethic and a wonderful attitude with him to practice every day.”
We asked Anthony where he finds his courage and strength.
“My dad’s a big motivation in my life. With everything I’m doing, he helps me and gives me the strength to do things. Without him I wouldn’t have gotten this far.”
We never know how our contact with others ripples out into the world over many years. Even for a nine year old.
Thank you, Anthony!

OH DEAR, OH DEER!

Guess who I found in my backyard a couple of days ago...amazing animals I have to say.  Last fall, though I never caught them in the act, we realized how many plants they love to nibble on.  So we searched for an animal and environmentally safe product and found a spray which seems to be working so far.  It doesn't stop animals from showing up in our backyard, which is not what we want, but at least they don't nibble on the plants/flowers we want to preserve...especially after just buying them.  It seems some animals, especially deer, don't care for the smell of rotten eggs, garlic and lime juice put together.  Can't say I blame them. 

 

FLOWERS IN MY GARDEN

I'm so happy with my choice of bulbs, they are really coming along spectacularly.  Though I will miss them when I eventually move to Canada (hopefully, crossing my fingers).  I need to do further research, but I know there are some restrictions into Canada from the U.S. when it comes to plants.  Understandably so.  In any case that's ok, as a first time gardener this has been a wonderful learning experience.  And will only help me get ready for the next garden.  And who knows, I may be able to find them out there?  In any case, I'm enjoying them while here.

ANGELIQUE DOUBLE LATE TULIPS

 SUNLOVER DOUBLE LATE TULIP

 



SPLIT CORONA NARCISSUS

I Remember You

My memory sometimes works in odd ways.  I'm sure I'm not unique.  To others I often seem to remember the most obscure, insignificant details.  I often remember incidences which have nothing to do with me...and yet they do, and yet they don't...but I remember them nevertheless.

I was on the train last week looking at these photos on my phone.  A particular variety of tulips newly sprung in my backyard.  I picked and planted these bulbs because they were not the traditional kind, at least not to me.  They looked more like roses.

 

 

They are called Angelique, double late tulips.

The intensity, perfection of their beauty suddenly brought back a memory.  A memory at least twenty years old, and no more than five minutes long.

Going to meet some friends, I boarded the #4 train at Grand Central Station in New York.  I was only going as far as one stop.  The car I entered was relatively empty, and sitting across from me was a woman.  If you asked me what she was wearing I'd have to reach far back to remember, and even then I don't know if I could with any certainty.  I do recall a brown pouch, with its long strap across her chest.  A woman perhaps in her late 30s, early 40s, with short black hair, olive skin and dark brown eyes. 

I sat, the train doors closed and within seconds she slipped her hand into the pouch.  The sadness crossing her face in that moment was indisputable.  She placed an already opened envelope on her lap, and gently pulled a letter from within.  I followed her gaze.  By the third line, a deeper level of sadness surfaced.  She began to sob.  She brought her hand to her lips, but could not contain the powerful emotions.  So powerful I looked away, embarrassed.

Why was I embarrassed?  And for whom?  I've received the same reaction from others when I've shown this level emotion.  As if there's anything wrong with crying in public...as if there's anything wrong with crying.

Truth is I couldn't stop watching.

With her hand still on her lips, she shook her head.  Twice her head fell back, then realigned as she continued to read through now muffled whales.  I watched placing my hand on my chest, overtaken by the amount of pain I was witnessing.  She managed to fold the letter with one hand, place it on the envelope, and slip them both back into the pouch.  Was it the loss of a parent, a child, a lover?  I will never know.  She held her gaze on the pouch.

I wanted to quietly, gently, offer her my hand, but I was afraid she'd run away.  At such a moment, I know, a gentle hand could feel unbearable on ones skin.

My stop was quickly approaching and I did the only thing I could think of: I stood up, simultaneously pulling a small pack of tissues from my bag, and balanced them on her left knee.  Surprised, she looked toward me and managed an almost inaudible thank you.  Traces of salt now on her cheeks.  I turned, got off the train and walked down the platform, but not without wiping my own tears on my sleeve.

Conversations over dinner that evening were just background noise.  In front of me, cold food sat as I recalled the encounter.  I realized later what I really saw when I first sat down in that train car, was a woman desperately trying to hold on to her composure, until she couldn't.  I also realized, we were the only two people sitting on that end of the car.  A moment that was just meant for her, as much as it was just meant for me.

What was it about these tulips that brought back that memory?  I was stunned by the tulips, I found them to be quite striking.  Their beauty, assaulting.  And perhaps that's it?  On a similar level, that woman's emotional rawness, pureness, dare I say beauty, stunned and assaulted me. 

Whatever it was, I know today there is more life in one minute than most of us are aware of.  The catch is to remember this, and be present enough to see it.  I didn't board the train that day, expecting to see so much life.

Narcissus & Other Friends

I spent the day planting, moving things around.  It was a cool day but the sun was perfect, warming us all.  Us?  Well yes, my hubby was there moving the heavy stuff, but I'm talking about someone else.  These sweet Narcissus.  They survived the winter and are now stretching up to the sky, slowly reaching their bloom. As did others...

Pansies: many huddled remind me of the olde barbershop-quartets.

But these I bought yesterday...fell in love immediately and had to bring them home.  They're called Borias Koppe Begonia - or - Rhine Begonia.  I find their soft, pale cream/pink to be quite Victorian.  They are fascinating and gorgeous.  I don't understand why they have to be  annuals, instead of perennials...sigh...such is life.  I want to be near them all the time, and just stare...a cup of tea in hand, and some 1930s/40s instramental tune in the background.  Nostalgic?  Perhaps...it was an intense week.

THE CREED I BELIEVE

I believe the first language of my senses is art.
I believe art triples the oxygen in my lungs and heart.
Do I not deserve to breathe this much?

I believe when I create, I choose to give my suffering space too.
I believe when I make art in a field, nature and my-self breaks all bondage.
I believe the strength of my artistic rainbow, can be a rainbow in someone else’s life.

I believe as a child-less woman, I have to give birth to art.
And save my sadness in a mason jar for another day.
I believe my hours are my gift to art.



 

VISITING: A Poem

It's been far too long

A few months ago
I found compassion
again

Today I will practice not to
                                                                                          dislike

Sometimes we need the dead
To talk us off the ledge

 

SUNDAY GINGER CHICKEN

A delicious and quick recipe, so let's get to it....

Ingredients:
1-2 inches piece of ginger (cut in small slivers)
2 Tbsp fish sauce
1 Tbsp molasses
1/2 Tsp soy sauce
1 1/2 Lbs boneless chicken thighs
1 Tbsp. olive oil (use 2tbsp if your chicken shows zero signs of fat.  Mine had a little fat.)
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 large shallot, chopped (if your shallots are small use 3, if not, use 1. Trust me it will be enough.)
1/4 cup water

Preparation:

In a large bowl combine ginger, fish  sauce, molasses and soy sauce.  Mix well until you see the molasses has watered down.  Then cut the chicken into cubes (small-medium so you have a variety).  Add the chicken to sauce, making sure the chicken is well coated.  Let chicken marinate for at least 20 minutes (overnight is good but not necessary).  While the chicken is marinating, cut your garlic and shallots.

In a large pan (or wok), heat the olive oil and soften/slightly brown garlic and shallots.  Next, spoon out the chicken from the bowl and add it to the pan.  Keep flame at around medium.  If you have an excess of marinade sauce in your bowl, reserve it until the chicken is partially done.

Once the chicken is partially done, add the remaining marinade to the pan along with the 1/4 cup of water.  Cook chicken evenly, stirring often.  Watch your flame and if need be lower it - you don't want to dry out or burn your chicken.  Once your chicken brown a little and your sauce thickens, sprinkle in some brown sugar.  Literally just a pinch or two.  Don't over sweeten.  Keep stirring for another 5-8 minutes, then serve over jasmine rice with steamed vegetables of your choice. 

Any questions, don't hesitate to ask.  Enjoy!

SUNDAY PECAN PIE

Thank you Native Americans for introducing us to the Pecan.

I give you my first serious attempt at pie.

Yum. 

 

Tai Chi by Chen Man-Ch'ing

One of the most beautiful videos I've seen of Tai Chi  http://youtu.be/vsDPy7zMrA4

Professor Cheng Man-Ch'ing

http://chengmanching.net/

 

Of all the modern Tai Chi masters, none have had the impact of the late Cheng Man-Ch'ing. As a child growing up in China, Cheng suffered from a chronic lung condition and a local doctor suggested that he take up Tai Chi to remediate his condition. Cheng proved so good a student that he not only learned Tai Chi, he also cured himself of his illness through his practice.

In many ways Cheng was a prodigy. He grew up to become renowned in his own country as a master of the "Five Excellences": painting, poetry, calligraphy, medicine and martial arts. When one considers the vast learning and diligent study it takes to master even one of these disciplines, Cheng's achievement becomes even more remarkable. His skill as a physician was said to be particularly uncanny and it is in this capacity that he was brought the the attention of Yang Ch'eng-Fu, the standard bearer and lineage heir to the great Yang Lu-Chan, founder of the Yang Family Style of Tai Chi. It seems that Yang's wife was extremely ill and the most prominent doctors had had little success trying to find a cure for her illness. Yang had heard of Cheng's reputation as a doctor and he agreed to examine her. Cheng was able to successfully restore MadameYang to health and in gratitude, Mrs. Yang persuaded her husband to accept him as a Tai Chi student. Cheng studied daily with Master Yang for years, enduring many hardships to learn the art. Although he later rose to become a great master of Tai Chi himself, Cheng, in typical modesty, always denigrated his own skill with respect to his teacher's. "If Tai Chi was a human body," he was fond of saying, "all I possess is the thumb. My teacher (Master Yang) has the whole body!" No small praise from this highly accomplished individual.

After an illustrious career as a physician, senator and martial artist in Taiwan, Professor Cheng emigrated to the U.S. where he ran a large Tai Chi School in New York's Chinatown section. Much to the detriment of us all, the old master departed this life on March 26th 1975, but his legacy lives on through his poetry, his painting, those he healed and those he taught.

Live The Questions...

Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves ...
Don't search for the answers,
which could not be given to you now,
because you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps then, someday far in the future,
you will gradually, without even noticing it,
live your way into the answer.

~Rainer Maria Rilke

 

The Guidance Of The Still

Patience is related to authentic spiritual courage. It is deep faith that the universe is unfolding as it

should, even when things are not happening

according to our own plans or timetables. All we

can do is act with integrity, in accordance with our priorities and the guidance of the still, small voice within.

After that, we must surrender all attachments to the results.

 

From Pocketful of Miracles

     by Joan Borysenko, PH. D

Lest Not Forget Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud

Voyant Letter:

Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who could judge it? The Critics! The Romantics! Who prove so clearly that the singer is so seldom the work, that’s to say the idea sung and intended by the singer.

For I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage.

If the old imbeciles hadn’t discovered only the false significance of Self, we wouldn’t have to now sweep away those millions of skeletons which have been piling up the products of their one-eyed intellect since time immemorial, and claiming themselves to be their authors!

In Greece, as I say, verse and lyre took rhythm from Action. Afterwards, music and rhyme are a game, a pastime. The study of the past charms the curious: many of them delight in reviving these antiquities: – that’s up to them. The universal intelligence has always thrown out its ideas naturally: men gathered a part of these fruits of the mind: they acted them out, they wrote books by means of them: so it progressed, men not working on themselves, either not being awake, or not yet in the fullness of the great dream. Civil-servants – writers: author; creator, poet: that man has never existed!

The first study for the man that wants to be a poet is true complete knowledge of himself: he looks for his soul; examines it, tests it, learns it. As soon as he knows it, he must develop it! That seems simple: a natural development takes place in every brain: so many egoists proclaim themselves authors: there are plenty of others who attribute their intellectual progress to themselves! – But the soul must be made monstrous: after the fashion of the comprachicos, yes! Imagine a man planting and cultivating warts on his face.

I say one must be a seer (voyant), make oneself a seer.

The Poet makes himself a seer by a long, rational and immense disordering of all the senses. All forms of love, suffering, madness: he searches himself; he consumes all the poisons in himself, to keep only their quintessence. Unspeakable torture, where he needs all his faith, every superhuman strength, during which he becomes the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed – and the supreme Knower, among men! – Because he arrives at the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than others! He arrives at the unknown, and when, maddened, he ends up by losing the knowledge of his visions: he has still seen them! Let him die charging among those unutterable, unnameable things: other fearful workers will come: they’ll start from the horizons where the first have fallen! ……………

I’ll go on:
So the poet is truly the thief of fire, then.
He is responsible for humanity, even for the animals: he must make his inventions smelt, felt, heard: if what he brings back from down there has form, he grants form: if it’s formless he grants formlessness. To find a language – for that matter, all words being ideas, the age of a universal language will come! It is necessary to be an academic – deader than a fossil – to perfect a dictionary of any language at all. The weak-minded thinking about the first letter of the alphabet would soon rush into madness!

This language will be of the soul for the soul, containing everything, scents, sounds, colours, thought attaching to thought and pulling. The poet would define the quantity of the unknown, awakening in the universal soul in his time: he would give more than the formulation of his thought, the measurement of his march towards progress! An enormity become the norm, absorbed by all, he would truly be an enhancer of progress!
This future will be materialistic, you see. – Always filled with Number and Harmony, these poems will be made to last. – At heart, it will be a little like Greek poetry again.
Eternal art will have its function, since poets are citizens. Poetry will no longer take its rhythm from action: it will be ahead of it!
These poets will exist! When woman’s endless servitude is broken, when she lives for and through herself, when man – previously abominable – has granted her freedom, she too will be a poet! Women will discover the unknown! Will her world of ideas differ from ours? – She will discover strange things, unfathomable; repulsive, delicious: we will take them to us, we will understand them.

Meanwhile, let us demand new things from the poets - ideas and forms. All the clever ones will think they can easily satisfy this demand: that’s not so! …..