Happy Friday: something about "Air"

I've been quite busy recently and almost forgot about the blog!! I just wanted to wish a happy friday to whoever passes here. Feeling fresh air of spring, I just think to express it in some ways. Firstly, I'd like to quote a piece of poem of a great English poet, John Donne (1572 - 1631) and to follow by a piece of vdo clip of my boy performing "Air" by John Blow (1649 - 1708). Actually, he's practicing it for his very first performance in public at an art gallery next Saturday. Although he just started the piano lessons last October, his teacher assured he was ready for the event. Now, let's be poetic and enjoy the music!

Air and Angels

By John Donne

Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee,

Before I knew thy face or name;

So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame

Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be;

         Still when, to where thou wert, I came,

Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.

         But since my soul, whose child love is,

Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,

         More subtle than the parent is

Love must not be, but take a body too;

         And therefore what thou wert, and who,

                I bid Love ask, and now

That it assume thy body, I allow,

And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.

Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,

And so more steadily to have gone,

With wares which would sink admiration,

I saw I had love's pinnace overfraught;

         Ev'ry thy hair for love to work upon

Is much too much, some fitter must be sought;

         For, nor in nothing, nor in things

Extreme, and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere;

         Then, as an angel, face, and wings

Of air, not pure as it, yet pure, doth wear,

         So thy love may be my love's sphere;

                Just such disparity

As is 'twixt air and angels' purity,

'Twixt women's love, and men's, will ever be.

 Air - John Blow

Silence

Silence is a voice
perceived not by ears but soul
potential and strong

(my tentative to write an haiku)

A poetic essay...

I love this piece of poem for its suffering truth.

On Children
by Khalil Gibran

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.