from an old sketchbook (of course)

September 2003

To Madeleine,

I question not the sound I write
Feeling forever in my eyes
But amidst it all I'm free inspite
Of heavenly bonds and earthly ties.

Hints and clues come in my dreams
And clarity dawns upon my wake
For who I am might not seem
To be the me my body takes.

I question not the who I am
The what, the where, the why maybe
And oftentimes I think I can
Be the man who's really me.

In distant quarters of my soul
Where pieces fall and wounds have healed
Divinities unwind and stories unfold
Where my truest feelings are revealed.

From Harper

A fragment from an old correspondence dated 24 March 2000..

"i wonder what it is, but it is simply impossible and one of a kind, a THING that transpires
between us, between deitrich and cabot, harper and madeleine, it breathes across magic and
madness, faith and inspiration..."

M

Muddled Madeleine, 26 October 2000

There must be a reason why its impossible to organize these correspondences chronologically. Perhaps they are meant to be read like a stichomancy. Even muddled up they somehow, don't not make sense.

No apologies for the non linearity of our lives...

x

harper so distant
if i were persistent
which i am not
your shirts
you'd have got.
but i'll put that to rest
with my awfullest best
to post it again
to you most tolerant of men.
i'm a sorry excuse
for a girl of no use
the parcel needs packing
thats where
it is lacking
so they sent it back
for me to pack.

its diwali today
and the city's all gay
i've got a cold
and i growing old
is it true that your coming?
or are you just bumming?
banares twice
should be quite nice
but i have to plan
a cameraman
and be on my toes
in video pose

my intrinsic laze
and sleepy gaze
need to be shaken
or my life will be taken
before my eyes
by the next sunrise
its a wonderful job
i should not be lazy
and if that be the case
i'm certainly crazy.

we partied last night
with music and drink
there's much happening around me
but i seldom think
which is more important
to think
or to act?
i cannot do both
and that is a fact.
what is the cure
to being usnsure?
where doth hide strength
along which length?
where do dreams hide?
when you want them by your side?
i'm looking for something
to take me by the hand
looking for a clue
as to where i stand.
my drifting nature
is loosely wandering
and its no surprise
the time it is squandering.

my profession is tough
and it can be rough
my mismanaged brain
a constant strain.
i always wonder
if i can live up
to my idealism
in a small tea cup.
i function by default
with no definite will
all my desires
are fairly still.
they don't initiate
any purpose or meaning
and a lack of passion
is the general feeling
its not even depressing
its just as though
i'm all dressed up
but don't want to go.

if i could be quiet
and reserve all space
for understanding,
absorbing grace
then life might be less
of a mystery
and maybe my confusion
would be history.

such endless rambling
is my favourite way
to escape meaning
with the things i say.

in such irresolution
and sinking state
i'm looking for
a sort of gate
that lets me through
this maze of non-thought
and guides me out
of this hazy plot.

and you i trust are
enlightened somewhat
with acidic visions
that you had got.
write to me longer
on growing stronger
and other debates
of chance and fate.

love
madeleine

Stretched-out Hexepede

An old pome form a sketch book 10 years ago.

To Harp of Hashishalom Ave.

Pome 1. Abridged Carefully

Crashed out in a crowded room
Hashed out for the night
The lull of unfamiliar song
Plays mercilessly on.

Blurred beyond belief
with mixed up confusion
Have gotten used to this
Searching for solution.

Philanthropic breath of cigarettes
Packed in with argument
Should we sell this song*
To a military regiment
For a loss of sentiment?

Stretched out hexepede
On institutional bed
Alphabetical souffle
Swimming in my head

And there you scribble in your haste
But we've got a lot a time to waste.

*Then again perhaps I'm wrong
There's no way we can sell this song
Look at what it's come to be
Inspired pulp of parody

9 dead blitzes
in the bowl
collective dust
of secret souls.

Tada
Madeleine

 

Seasonal Arrivals, 10 December 2003

Harper Winterleaf

your pleasant circumstances
are prodding me to ask
if you are in possession
of a siver whisky flask

your festive nights seem jolly
and your winter sounds like fun
but tell me sir when will you
lift your heels to run

towards warmer climes that bristle
in the southern hemisphere
where the golden sea breeze whistles
into tanned and shapely ears

I refer to god's own country
with the laid back green lagoons
and am drifting southward gently
accompanied by the moon

would you care to join us harper?
from the 9th of january
Do tell me you can make it
snap your chains be free

there will be twosome weddings
of which we will catch one
if you make it even earlier
then you could double up the fun.

i'm working till the 9th
and I haven't got a clue
how i am going to wind up work
but that I have to do
in an unplanned frenzy
I follow my instinct
perhaps I'll see you soon somewhere
Did I just see you wink?

madeliene mysterymaid

Seasonal departures, 10 December 2003

February is when I'm planning
to make my swift departure
from the earthly ties that bind me
to the winter that is here.

For a house and room downtown
beckon to be paid
to dwell in safe and sound
while I might gently wade
in glorious southern waters
with my chin against the sun
and prance with summer's daughters
and whistle while i run.

So it might be trifle hard
to make it for the weddings
and consequently retard
the events that are unfolding.

But please keep the months henceforth
open for some mirth
some good old doodling time
for old Portuguese Goan shrines

I'm determined to have a show
in the majestic Chowgule haven
Of watercolours galore
on the day that I've been saving.

Who knows what might happen
between now and then
a pleasant winter's companion
a clucking of a hen
A spider's silky cobweb
a rustle of a leaf
the happenings until Feb
are left to the Cosmic Chief.

How strange of you to ask
about my silver whisky flask
But the winter almanac
has me drinking cognac.

I do enjoy a glass of scotch
As I smoke my pipe and watch
the smoke rings blow away
into the light of day.

So farewell my sweet maid
(An expensive maid I reckon!)
while I try my best to trade
my winter,for the Deccan.

Deep rooted,
Harper Leafless

(Sent on an email to M.)

11 December 2003

The cosmic chief is idle
and wasting all my time
look only at what I'm holding
its a gin tonic and lime

if your thinking february
i have to rethink my life
and i need to earn some money
so i can be your wife

meanwhile i'm taking it easy
and thinking if perchance
if our wayward wanderous minds
might find themselves in france

or do goan climes await me
with portuguese wine and song
if you come this february
will you be staying long?
we should time our footsteps
to cross each others path
if not we'll wail in sorrow
in the lonely aftermath
somehow i don't see that happen
since our loyalites are clear
there is no alternative
to holidays and beer

do keep me very posted
on the pattern of your time
and sing to me your queries
in the form of classic rhyme

love
marmadeliene and toast

Lost Green July Umbrella, 27 June 2001

what's your secret Marmaladeine
to write such lengthy letters?
it's not often have I seen
'the lengthier the better'

Of profound wit and consequence
of life and work you speak
but then it's better hence
forth to ride the peak.

I had a silent freak out at work
which ended in a twitch
and then it dawned on me to shirk
that merry monstrous witch.

The monstrous witch I talk about
is one that's in my head
once in awhile he/she jumps out
and weaves a silky thread.

this twine unravels like a cloud
and pours in every stream
before you know....it's much too loud
can only hear the scream.

And then it dawned on me at last
'A haircut  is what I need'
to soothe and to console the blast
of monstrous witch's deeds.

it worked quite well madeleine
i worked till 9 at night
and pushed that horrid old mean
witch way out of sight

My hair is still long you know
it's my strength and saving grace
the locks in even numbers grow
and curl up on my face

So here ends my days adventure
of monotone and vice
and now the bed I must sensor
to dream a dream that's nice.

monocled,
harper

From Harper -16th August , 2005

Madeleine,

You wild woman from the east
It's to you I pen these words aleast
from under this ancient oak
who in this city's smog and smoke,
transforms this twilight as it seems
into a pleasant evening dream.

I write to you after solemn absense
From Harper's solitude I reveal my presence
I've lived and loved and laughed this summer
And now I sense an oncoming murmur,
of shorter days and longer nights
And thoughts to reckon and quests to fight.

I'm moving now at even pace
headlong into my inner space
And delving deep into my self
The soul I seek is on my shelf.

I'm ready now for a new adventure
Of heavenly sights and cosmic pleasure
Magic happens at every moment
To me this bliss is heaven sent.

Onward,
Harper

Birthday bliss

Madeleine of birthday bliss
To thee I send a solemn kiss
that shall land upon thy brow
betwixt thine eyes, I know not how
in dainty fashion through land and sea
Past lunar lightyears quietly.

And in the opening of that cosmic eye
May your pasts unravel and futures fly
May your dusty crevasses be swept ashore
May your wanted dreams be dreams no more
May all your realities be fulfilled
May your life's adventures seek their thrill
May you wander freely coast to coast
with people whom you love the most
And may the beauty of your actions reach
the lives of many with love to teach.

Love,
Harper

May 2006

Edit blues

December 13, 2003.

Harper.

i know not
harper
I do not know
what i know
and what i know not

Between edit panic
is not good for my hair
If a single hair whitens
its ironically not fair

help me with telepathy
help me through a dream
help me in any way you want
or I will simply scream

howl,
mad l.eine

found as a printout tucked away in a sketchbook.

Winter muse