Tag Archives: Michael Ondaatje

Vanlifer of the heart

The heart has a puzzling shape
The moment you thought it broke
Becomes twofold.

The moment in a relinquishing evening
You thought it whole
It breaks
Until the morning
When the shape is restored
And your feelings pour like early April rain
Over thirsty lilacs…

“The heart is an organ of fire” –Michael Ondaatje

It flickers and lights the embers of any glib desire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art by Georg Janny.

 

Engleza de joi/ Silt

Silt = sand, soil, mud, etc., that is carried by flowing water and that sinks to the bottom of a river, pond, etc.

“Seas move away, why not lovers? The harbours of Ephesus, the rivers of Heraclitus disappear and are replaced by estuaries of silt. The wife of Candaules becomes the wife of Gyges. Libraries burn.”
Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient

Michael Ondaatje’s words are plain wizardry about visible wars and the invisible, the ones we battle everyday with us, shadows, dust and smoke. Nobody has molded love and life in such astounding stories.

He was born on the 12th of September, 73 years ago, in Sri Lanka.

vincent-sea

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art by Vincent van Gogh.

You’re my flame

You’re my flame…
in the pitch-dark monster lair
and beacon in eery glares of ugly nights.
You are never away…
You are always in the array
of blooming next day.
Sometimes I do prey
other flames gleaming
But I am just dreaming
at the same organ of fire…

…”The heart is an organ of fire.” – Michael Ondaatje, The English patient.

Rafal Olbinski

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art by the amazing Rafal Olbinski.

Michael Ondaatje

I like what Mr Ondaatje’s writings do to me.
They take me to a world without maps, to where I can find love in the beat of the wind and the shine of the desert.

 

“All I ever wanted was a world without maps.”

“A man in a desert can hold absence in his cupped hands knowing it is something that feeds him more than water.”

“She had always wanted words, she loved them; grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape.”

 

Joan Miró, Vines and Olive Trees

Art by Joan Miró; Vines and Olive Trees, 1919.

 

 

The desert

“…the desert, where there is the communal book of moonlight. We were among the rumour of wells. In the palace of winds.”
Michael Ondaatje.

The desert…
Where everything is communal and eternal.

Where every whisper of Love hits
the depth
Of Reason.

Where moonbeams
linger longer
and draw misterious chants
in the sand.

I believe in it.

 

Rene Magritte

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Painting by Rene Magritte.

Fathers

“Fathers die. You keep on loving them in any way you can. You can’t hide him away in your heart”. Michael Ondaatje.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

My father gave me everything I have. My father gave me everything I need to acquire everything I have and will have.

He gave me my looks, my strength, my wisdom, my desire to better myself and to do more everyday.

Above all, he gave me his wonderful big eyes and told me to see… The beauty of the world, the beauty in people, the beauty of patience, the beauty of trying, the beauty of words…

I haven’t inherited his talent for drawing…

I am trying to mould this into painting with words. I stain my finger tips in jars of blue, green, red, yellow words, I put them on paper and I hope they arrange into colourful sketches of feelings.

All my promises are for him…

My strife* is for him as he taught me that it is important to know who you are… but…far more important is:

WHAT YOU DO FOR WHO YOU ARE

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*Strife =  the act of striving**, earnest endeavour.

Source: Webster’s 1913 dictionary.

**Strive = to make efforts, to endeavour with earnestness.

summer-day-1891Summer day by his favorite painter, Ivan Shishkin.