I was a shadow child,
prodigal son guided by
the careful hands of Forgiveness,
lost soul made of star dust,
younger brother of words like
orphan and light.
I learned little by little
both from short lives
and long silences.
I finally became
a man of no importance:
I was everyone
and everyone was me.
The starry sky had reminded me
who I really am.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Star of the Hero
(Nicholas Roerich 1936)
Between the end of the day
and the beginning of night
Love is made visible
and the soul-stuff is palpable.
Angled light, lengthening shadows.
Tranquil harmony of purple sounds:
peace and mystery rule the garden,
echoes of the sunset heal all wounds.
Evening Light.
To love is to see.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Elle ressemble à l’étoffe
dont les âmes sont faites.
Les jardins qu’elle inonde
se font miroirs de l’Autre Monde
et quand elle s’unit au Silence
l’Amour rendu visible
soudain n’est plus
indicible.
Lumière du soir.
Aimer c’est voir.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Sunset at Sent Charlez. Eragny
(Camille Pissarro, 1891)
No one sings in the rain.
Colors have died out.
The widowed sky mourns.
Time again to bid
a sad farewell
to the lights of Spring.
How could I hold on?
Angels have flown away.
The rainbow is gone!
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: The Voyage of Life (Old Age) – detail
(Thomas Cole, 1842)
Blessed are those
who hide their name
and humbly kneel before a dog rose
for they spread the Father’s fame.
Blessed are those
who give a candlelight to the Night
for they shall receive the Dawn
as a reward for their gift.
Blessed are those
who ignite the Spark of Love
for the Spark becomes Fire
and the Fire becomes Light,
and the Light is the Word
and the Word never dies:
blessed are those who love
and believe in Life!
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Heureux ceux qui cachent leur nom
et humblement s’agenouillent
devant une rose de chien
car il œuvrent à la renommée du Père.
Heureux ceux qui offrent à la Nuit
la lueur d’une chandelle
car ils recevront l’Aurore
en récompense de leur présent.
Heureux ceux qui allument
la flamme de l’Amour
car la flamme devient Feu
et le Feu devient Lumière
et la Lumière est le Verbe
et le Verbe ne meurt jamais.
Heureux ceux qui aiment
et croient en la Vie !
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Christ in the Sepulchre
(William Blake)
Imagination is a lace maker,
so when you feel down,
go to the seaside of your dreams
and walk along the tallest cliff.
Make a small white handkerchief
from the cotton clouds.
Think about worries and grief, gather
all the little black pebbles you find.
Wrap them in your handkerchief,
then throw it up in the air.
The Wind hears every prayer.
Make a wish, kiss a clover leaf.
You are lighter than a cloud
floating above the Sea.
Now you feel relieved,
now you can wake up.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Falaises à Fécamp
(Claude Monet, 1881)
I build crystal cathedrals
then I take a special delight
in destroying all of them.
I like when sharp shards
hurt my child heart.
I love when it aches and bleeds.
Yes, I have to concede
I’m a bit of a masochist.
Besides, Someone told me
you are your own worst enemy.
But what wouldn’t I do to grasp
the beauty of suicide poetry?
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: the Death of Ophelia
(Odilon Redon, 1905)
rain makers, old dreamers
bird watchers needing to know
we come from an island
not far beyond the sea
we are shades of blue and gold
brush strokes by Gauguin
and we are going to
the land of the Living
a world in a grain of sand
so very close at hand
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?Right part of the painting (Paul Gauguin, 1897-1898)
