Toshi Tsuchitori plays ancient Japanese Bronze Bells

Urban Jungle
by Marie Bortolotto

Wild-mouthed, a dog whines in swelling octaves.
A garbage truck crouches over its prey.
Squabbling children, a sullen breeze hovers,
then swoops. Round and round, 
a red and white bicycle wheel whirls.
All is full of love.

All is Full of Love by Bjork

From "A Handful of Poem-Images"
by Marie Bortolotto

A Lost Key

We dance in a line of pigeons; and crows, 
noisily, flapping wings over a vacant parking lot. 



A tall, stark thistle; motionless, against the backdrop 
of far-off mountains.



At a yellow-tiled temple, voices of enchantment lull us 
deeper into sun-soaked dew, where, finally; we can rest. 



On a bench, there, for us to see; a lost key.

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Stay alive; at least for the moment:it doesn't last long. 
Stay alive. Other worldly considerations though are out.
The living has nothing to do with the life.

William Bronk, American Poet 1918 - 1999

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 Wind
Shinkichi Takahashi
(translated by Lucien Stryk)

Give it words,
Stick limbs on it,
You won't alter essence.
Whereas the wind --

I'll live gently
As the wind, flying
Over the town,
My chest full of sparrows.

One Character Poem
by He Peiyu, female poet of the Qing Dynasty 

A flower, a willow, a fishing rock,
A streak of setting sun, a bird in flight.
A mountain, a stream, a Zen temple,
A forest of yellow leaves, a monk returns.

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One-Line Poem-Image
Marie Bortolotto

trudging through 
the weight of wet snow 
birds in flight 

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1/ Flower

Dreams are severed fruit
Auburn pears have fallen in the field
Parsley blooms on the plate
The leghorn at times seems to have six fingers
I crack the egg and the moon comes out



2/ It Is Snowing

Upstairs from us, a grand ball! 

Devious angels dance in disorder, and out of their steps fall shards of deathly white snow. 

Death is among the holly leaves. Crawling quietly in the attic.
Gnawing at my finger. Anxiously. And then at midnight—it falls at the storefront of the glass shop, exposing its stark white back. 

Old love and time are buried, and the earth devours them. 

 

--by Chika Sagawa (1911 - 1936) Japanese Modernist Poet 

(from The Collected Poems of Chika Sagawa 
translated by Sawako Nakayasu) 

Chika Sagawa says: 

I believe poetry is the study of language. Unlike spoken language, it is a language of the heart, not visible from the surface. It is the filling of the air with words selected out of deep contemplation. Not a gathering of the meanings of words spoken to be spoken, but an attempt to say something, or to reflect something. Very sparse and most strict, it is a skillfulness right on the brink of burning out like a flame.
          - "When Passing Between Trees" 

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"Thoughts of the Heart"  Marie Bortolotto Art 2026

Today I am inspired by the Paracelsus quote in James Hillman's book "The Thought of The Heart And The Soul of The World" (Spring Publications 1992):

Speech is not of the tongue, but of the heart. 
The tongue is merely the instrument with which one speaks. 
He who is dumb is dumb in his heart, not in his tongue...
As you speak, so is your heart.

Paracelsus (1493-1541) 

 

I'll be honest, although I like this quote I have trouble with the word "dumb" -- it's just not the best word for our modern age. And what about the pronoun "he?" Are only "he's" dumb? I would like to replace dumb with the word "mindless" instead. And "he" with "those."

So my revision will read like this... I hope Paracelsus doesn't mind!:

Speech is not of the tongue, but of the heart. 
The tongue is merely the instrument with which one speaks. 
Those who are mindless are mindless in their hearts, not in their tongues...
As one speaks, so is one's heart.

Paracelsus (1493-1541) 

 

Marie Bortolotto Art 2026