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 Lloyd Hofman

 

 

Lloyd Hofman was born in the Netherlands (26 June '52) and came to live in Auroville in 1988.
He became known in the community for re-designing and improving the Auroville Library at Bharat Nivas, for five years. During his first nine years in Auroville he was a forest watchman at Fertile.
Lloyd moved, via Gaya community, to Creativity. He studied 'I Ching' and poetry (in English and Spanish) for fifteen years and is working on two books (poems and: 'an introduction to I Ching').. Being an editor by profession, he is compiling an anthology of poems, based on Sri Aurobindo's poetry teachings and integral yoga. He is also interested in studies on media and language (McLuhan, Wittgenstein, Calasso).

 

“Between Seasons” – Lloyd's poetry

 

You may contact him at: avipro@auroville.org.in  

 

 
 



Sky-scape

 

With the rusty cry of crickets
time's lock is turning.
Day bows as night
on a cool breeze enters
nature's un-spun canvas.

Green trees merge
to plots of ancient
onyx meadow.

The sky in cobalt bloom
nests a glaring moon
whose sublimated silver flows
in dew-clad undergrowth
that turns to misty forest
on the sky-wide landslip
kept in check
by diamond nails.



Overture

Morning light steals

into the eyes

diluting a dream

that floats off in the new day

where the shade of palms

tunnels itself in dew.

 

A hazy dawn

whose fate - like dreams

is to fade.

 

All moorings cut

the sun takes to small

white flowers - warms

the inoffensive mutter

of waking parrots

- an ocean-green blabber

of formal sponge-talk.

 

A misty wedge of light

cuts frozen fountains

of gold grass bent with dew.

 

Strewn among

the rust of weeds gone dry

black curls of banana peeling

spell the graceful script

of a new tropics

 

 

Priti

None but perfection
young bamboo
flirts with autumn skies

Sable-brushed leaves
grow gentle rust
on birth of green

Lissome in pride
it bends to the breeze
- to the rattling applause
of dried hollow palm leaves

Later it courts the moon -
a cloud of leaves
shy as polished tin
afloat among darkening trees

 

 

 

 

Forest retreat

Poles tied with sisal

decked with cane grass

shelter the single man's

probes at life gone by.

Time idly roams

the cramped recess

and ticks away

in small gifts of travel

- tokens of friendship

from diligent nomads

for whom talk of Home

is alien to their cloth domes.

Griefs wrapped in trance

- frayed notions of love

lost and unreal -

he is on guard

in doubtful submission

weary of the yet unseen

that lingers

and will not appear

slandered by all

but the bare heart

- daring not

as it hopes

 


Over time

I


I died yesterday

that was Wednesday

today is also Wednesday

and so is tomorrow

when you

and merchants

and clerks will go

to what you call home

the ones you love

and Friday

II

Evening upon evening

I waited - thinking you would come

I still do it

but your coming - by now

would spoil my evenings

of waiting for you

to come

 

 

 

Consequences

My poems replaced you
with another you
and broke your boredom
of being the same

Other perspectives
you could not muster
but found in my voice
inspired by you

A mirror of words
gentily spoken
wherein you have seen
my likeness of you

Forgetting will prove
that your world may change
after reflection
on words that replace


Conception

Found yourself
born to a clan
but orphaned
from its fires?

Nurtured love
that constricted
though to give
felt like freedom?

In the dark
a child at large
at the find
of older ones?

It's over
you may live now
that all roots
have been severed


 

Monsoon mornings

At morning we speak
of the miracle of water

 

At lunch we talk work
and exchange the food we bring

 

Come evening we part
silently nurture time spent

 

As reborn next day
we will speak of the water

 


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