poetry

Sunset – Rilke (trans. Robert Bly)

/ Bill Schulz / Leave a comment

Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors
which it passes to a row of ancient trees.
You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you,
one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth,

leaving you, not really belonging to either,
not so hopelessly dark as that house that is silent,
not so unswervingly given to the eternal as that thing
that turns to a star each night and climbs –

leaving you (it is impossible to untangle the threads)
your own life, timid and standing high and growing,
so that, sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out,
one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.

the poetry of Earth is never dead

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On the Grasshopper and Cricket
John Keats

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s—he takes the lead
In summer luxury,—he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.

what is the deepest loss that you have suffered?

/ Bill Schulz / Leave a comment

Silent friend of many distances, feel
how your breath enlarges all of space.
Let your presence ring out like a bell
into the night. What feeds upon your face

grows mighty from the nourishment thus offered.
Move through transformation, out and in.
What is the deepest loss that you have suffered?
If drinking is bitter, change yourself to wine.

In this immeasurable darkness, be the power
that rounds your senses in their magic ring,
the sense of their mysterious encounter.

And if the earthly no longer knows your name,
whisper to the silent earth: I’m flowing.
To the flashing water say: I am.

– Rainer Maria Rilke

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It’s possible – Rilke (translated by Robert Bly)

/ Bill Schulz / Leave a comment

It’s possible I am pushing through solid rock
in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone;
I am such a long way in I see no way through,
and no space: everything is close to my face,
and everything close to my face is stone.

I don’t have much knowledge yet in grief –
so this massive darkness makes me small.
You be the master: make yourself fierce, break in:
then your great transforming will happen to me,
and my great grief cry will happen to you.

Winter Psalm by Richard Hoffman

/ Bill Schulz / Leave a comment
footprints on snow

Photo by Lloyd Freeman on Pexels.com

Boston snowbound, Logan closed, snowplows
and salt-trucks flashing yellow, drifts
tall as a man some places, visibility poor,
I sit by the window and watch the snow

blow sideways north-northeast, hot cup
in hand, robe over pajamas.
You have made me to seek refuge
and charged me to care for my brothers.

How cruel. That could be You out there
howling, cracking the trees, burying everything.
What could I possibly want from You
that would not undo the whole world as it is?

what I read this morning

/ Bill Schulz / Leave a comment

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Then you will call, and the Lord will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.

Isaiah 58:6-10

Holy Moley!!!

/ Bill Schulz / Leave a comment

The response to the first issue of Hole In The Head Review has been positive!

Holy Moley! I’d call this an auspicious debut, but that would be one very weak adjective. I’m usually very reluctant to contribute to Inaugural Issues. Now, I’m sorry I missed the boat.

It’s easy to create a website; blog a bit when one has time. Takes a lot more vision and ambition to launch a literary/art review that has inspiring poetry by noted poets, compelling art and a muscular intelligence. I highly recommend Hole in the Head Review. Take some real time, nourish your mind, eyes and heart… and enjoy!

Sometimes we need more professional sports like we need a hole in the head ! Thanks Hole In the Head Review. (written during the Super Bowl)

I really enjoyed seeing the first issue! Congratulations!!

Very excited to have my poem appear in Hole In the Head Review’s first issue alongside some very great poets and artists.

To my pages-and-words mates, I am so proud to be among you, and to rediscover, especially right now, the joy & comfort that craft and companionship have to offer. And so we persist.

Congratulations! This new litmag IS what we need right now. Cheers to Hole In The Head!

…graphically beautiful and full of engaging work!

It is truly, truly beautiful. The music of the many poems, the different tones, points of view, levels of emotions, differences in location and voices—cannot believe you made this art so quickly and elegantly.

Please take a minute to tell us what you think. We’d love to hear from you. http://www.holeintheheadreview.com