Descartes' Despair
How can we affirm our own existence?
Cogito ergo sum, Descartes said,
I think therefore I am.
But wait!
Who is doing the thinking?
The body?
Am I my body?
Well, Descartes explained, we are talking about
Two incompatible substances:
The unextended and indivisible mind
In contrast with the extended and divisible matter,
Res cogitans versus res extensa.
Yes, but am I my body?
How is the contact created
Between the mental
And the physical worlds?
Princess Elizabeth of the Palatinate asked.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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The Fuehrer Makes an Aesthetic Decision
The House of German Art
opened its gates to the public
in Munich in the summer of 1937
with a grand exhibition.
The pseudo-classic building
displayed Nazi art works
and Hitler himself delivered
a long inaugurating speech at the show.
Gesticulating wildly, the fuehrer
denounced with incensed rage artists
who attach theories to their work.
Aesthetic doctrines, he said,
pollute the mind.
Then the dictator went on
proclaiming that he was always
determined neither to analyze,
nor to discuss artistic judgment,
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Unruly Dragon in Porcelain Equilibrium
Feral fires in your fluid soul
the magma of your volatile thoughts
are bubbles of molten emotions
erupting from the crater
of a flaming volcano.
The raving lava gushes forth wildly.
It carries suspended crystals,
it streams down the mountain slopes,
drawing over them
intractable arabesque patterns.
Then high above the mountain peaks
an eagle spreads its wide wings
among amorphous clouds
flying free boldly in the crumbly sky.
And like quietude after a storm,
your restless mind,
a turbulent brain craves for calm
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Talking Back to Parmenides
He was taller than I expected.
Standing at the white city gate
Parmenides of Elea patiently waited.
What year is this? He asked.
2005, I said.
All these years, he murmured.
Yes, I nodded, you were born
More than twenty five centuries ago.
You were writing in hexameters
About the Way of Truth
And the Way of Seeming,
I reminded him.
Yes, I remember that, he said.
My memory is as good as in my youth.
I used to delve into the Enigma of Being
In the quest for finding the hidden heart of
Certainty and permanence.
We were silent for a while.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Two Sphinxes
Time has taken you into its arms
Bringing you to the room
Between new sunrises and antique sunsets.
While the tangle of fog covered the foliage
Beyond the carved clouds and subtle vapours
Pulsating remote landscapes with Sun-Moon eyes
Were receding to the fading horizon.
Look! The golden carpets of fallen leaves
Lie on the October grass.
The drooping willow at the corner
Between a pine and two maple trees
Stands like an eroded camouflage
And silver shores with restless waves
Emerge, sink and penetrate
The hidden galactic system of our love.
Time has taken into its arms
Bringing you to the room
Between new sunrises and antique sunsets.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Until We Meet Again
The crawling moments of yearnings
Are permeated by rousing desires
Immersed in celestial thirst
And earthly passions
But the soul protests fervidly
What the flesh cannot afford.
It was just yesterday
That I held you in my arms
But you are now
Thousands of miles away
In a remote metropolis
Where a great river
Kisses the northern sky
And I long
For your tender love Soul Mate
In a southern harbour
On the shores of the mighty ocean.
Thus and so life unfolds
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Obelisks
Let me remember old trails
Let me weep over lost loves
They are all the same love
But different
Let me remember old trails
Cherry trees along muddy roads
And ancient obelisks
They are now so different
But still the same
Let me remember missteps
Let me regret wrong paths
They are all the same path
But different
The seasons always alter
Or they hardly ever change
Only the hours pass
Time stands still
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poem by Paul Hartal
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War Memories with Acrostic
Memories woven to monument towering to heaven
Of a sweet, gracious and wonderful woman.
Though she did nothing wrong, she was persecuted
Held daughter and son in arms, her man was deported.
Edgy at the brickyard, hurt in Jewish pride
Rascals put her in a jammed freight car for a railway ride.
Weary from thirst and hunger, surrounded by pain
Horror was unfolding on a rattling train.
Exhausted of the ordeal she arrived at the camps
Robbed of her freedom she stood under the lamps
Exposed to blowing snow, the barracks lacked ovens.
A small vulnerable woman there had seen forehand
Ruthless degradations, beastly atrocities offhand.
Experienced nightmare while the sun was shining
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Rwanda 1994
The Kagera River rises in Burundi blue
It sweeps down from the highlands green.
But then why the river runs red?
Why does it look so sinister?
It hauls the bodies of the dead
Its currents carry your sister.
The Kagera River rises in Burundi green
It flows wild to Lake Victoria blue.
But then why the river runs red?
There is no change in the weather.
Yet on the waters float the dead
The currents carry your father.
The Kagera River rises in Burundi white
It drags trees and elephant grass green.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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The Kiss
She turns her head gently
From left to right
And from right to left,
Avoiding my blazing lips.
Her shiny ebon hair
Gracefully frames her charming face.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The blue waves of the sea,
The flight of birds very high,
The azure serenity of the sky.
I look into her eyes
And I see in them
The green tranquility of the forest
Happiness and sadness,
Her beautiful soul, suffering and love,
The pristine spirit of an ivory dove.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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