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Poetry by Elizabeth Martina Bishop and Music by Vibhas Kendzia
Original Poetry by Elizabeth Martina Bishop with sound effects by Vibhas Kendzia.
Original Poetry by Elizabeth MarinaBishop with winter photography from Sedona Arizona and music by Vibhas Kendzia.
Elizabeth’s Poetry with videos and music by V Kendzia filmed in Sedona, AZ, USA.
Roadrunner Video Production presents
A multi media production of poetry, film and music.
Her Books available at AMAZON.COM
Music and Videography by Vibhas Kendzia vibhas-music.com
Filmed on location in the Yoshino Mountains in Japan near the town of "Yoshinoyama" in the "Nara Prefecture."
Music: Native American Bass Flute in A minor by Vibhas Kendzia.
Copyright of poetry: Elizabeth Martina Bishop. Sedona, AZ, USA, 2014.
Copyright of music and videography: Vibhas Kendzia, Sedona, AZ, USA 2014.
Elizabeth Martina Bishop
In a dreaming mood of flute,
Herself unbecoming as the word,
In watery alembic of rain forest,
How measure the flight of birds?
What is it that was meant,
Saying what you said,
In waterlily fire a hint of desire?
The meaning of the soul
In eventual dream of flood.
In altar and shrine still blossoming
Petals fly from the branch of the sun
In the beginning was the word,
Is the world any less beautiful
Than before the world was made?
In the dance of cherry blossom on the mountain,
The insistent cry of lark and heron in the distance,
Who calls for rebirth
In this momentary map of rain?
Between rain drops the rain splashes your face.
Are you awake?
Are you dreaming?
Tell me why you were born, as the tree of life motif?
Why every last blossom felled,
In perfume of cherry blossom,
Altar and shrine,
Unstruck temple bell,
Divine ghost of spirit,
A wine-cup overturned,
The book of life unlearned.
O dancing dream of pagoda divine,
Leaning from impress of cherry blossom enshrined,
How enter you this portal of awakening?
Timeless, if I am the pasture, then you are the chime.
Now as temple wand and frond disappear,
In cloudless reverie soundless and pure,
Knowing who you were before you were born,
If torn, at last, from ragged bark and stem,
Before altar of cherry's blossoming branch,
Did you witness the bee clothed in garb
Of pollinating snowfall and avalanche?