Sunday, August 21, 2011

The opening and closings Mantra for Astanga yoga

Yoga Chants

Ashtanga Yoga traditionally has both an opening chant and a closing chant. Because of Yoga's ancient roots, chants (or mantras) are offered in Sanskrit (the ancient language of India), however their meaning is said to be universal as Sanskrit is the language of the heart.
Chanting acts to shift the consciousness of the individual practicing the chant to a higher level of vibration. This in turn brings us closer to our Source or Higher Self – the aspect of ourselves that remains eternal – and leaves the practitioner filled with peace and feeling calm and centred.
Studies have shown that when a person chants it can stabilise their heart rate, lower blood pressure, produce beneficial endorphins in the body and boost metabolic processes, so it perfectly compliments the physical practice of asana.

Ashtanga Yoga Opening Chant
The Opening Prayer is a blessing of gratitude offered to the lineage of teachers and their students who have enabled this ancient practice to survive through thousands of years so that we can experience its benefits today. The recitation of this mantra cleanses the energy of the space we have chosen to practice yoga, as well as preparing the mind, body and emotions for the forthcoming Ashtanga sequence.

Vande Gurunam Charanaravinde
Sandarshita Svatma Sukava Bodhe
Nih Sreyase Jangalikayamane
Samsara Halahala Mohashantyai
Abahu Purushakaram
Shankhacakrsi Dharinam
Sahasra Sirasam Svetam
Pranamami Patanjalim


I bow to the lotus feet of the Supreme Guru
which awaken insight into the happiness of pure Being,
which are the refuge, the jungle physician,
which eliminate the delusion caused by the poisonous herb of Samsara (conditioned existence).
I prostrate before the sage Patanjali
who has thousands of radiant, white heads (as the divine serpent, Ananta)
and who has, as far as his arms, assumed the form of a man
holding a conch shell (divine sound), a wheel (discus of light or infinite time) and a sword (discrimination).

Ashtanga Yoga Closing Chant

The Closing Prayer brings the practice to a peaceful end; sealing in the work done and offering the efforts of our practice to improve the state of the world.

Svasthi Praja Bhyaha Pari Pala Yantam
Nya Yena Margena Mahim Mahishaha
Go Brahmanebhyaha Shubamastu Nityam
Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu
Om Shanti Shanti Shantihi


May the rulers of the earth keep to the path of virtue
For protecting the welfare of all generations.
May the religious, and all peoples be forever blessed,
May all beings everywhere be happy and free
Om peace, peace, perfect peace

Friday, August 19, 2011

B.K.S Iyengar 1938, India

My father studied and practiced Yoga daily. I remember both my mom and dad doing these poses in the morning before they started their day.
I have started taking Yoga classes myself - Iyengar Yoga.

The downward Dog is a very challenging pose and is a key pose.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

a Marte by Frank Samperi

sudden wind sweeping
erratically thru streets

lightning flashes


provoking screams

poor people
poor fishes

gurgle or

to the advantage
of neither

neither medium

silence can at times be--
by faking not to be--
the right--
more than likely
it is the right,
wielded righteously,
goading the verbal
to the breaking point,
more or

       It goes without saying that the
spiritual South unto which one climbs
higher and higher in order finally--
given maggior corpe--to withdraw is not
the physical actual South.




splenders of
raggie of

the a poet this you
speaks humanly
and to boot
has no Humanity

except to boot
not as qua poet
but as Cover
collective Bulge

vicious at the middle

when the left is righted
and then turning
to the West
of this World
the left side veiled
attracts the dark North
to protect the left side veiled
against the evil
of the South
of this World


in this World
therefore, the Holy one
His Representative
draws the left side in
to the degree allotted (preordained)
so that the bride
of the representative
may be the splendor (the brightness)
within the overshadowing
of Spirit

the fourfold
      the gold
           the angel
now begins
to pour
from the floor
of the star
onto into
the mouth
to the mouth
of the bride
to the floor
of the star
of the bride
unto the fourfold
             the gold
of the bride
of the bridegroom

what can a bird know
about city's
as it does

toward grass
high or low
no matter--
it sings

the whole

In the path of the few a spirit wandered
Hearing the angel behind tree or boulder

Come darkness
Come coldness
Cover me
Comely wind

Dead to speech
Up or down
Or middle

I hope one day this work will be published and reviewed. A work in length of 207 pages.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Letters to Frank from Robert Kelly

May Day, 77

Dear Frank,
Your letter about t, beauty & not-remembering was bracing, full of encouragement, for which I thank you.
Sometimes my looks at horoscopes are too quick, & subserve that parere oi fuori cioe sensuale of weh D warrs ns. You speak the sentro of the matter.
Cid's symbol, benign epistolar; if I can get one scribble a week to a friend (those patient ones!) it's a marvel.
Helen has seen - heard A.B.M. twice, once in Boston, once in N.Y. (& once during a Continental away
from Carnegie!). Tonight, the local FM gave us a "libe" (i.e. tapes) Pollim Bartok 2nd from the N.Y.
A benin symbol contact seems important. Your sextile, even if  platic, aisarms the Furies. I take comfort, perhaps too much so, in my * only 25 or so minutes of arc. (symbol) off exact.
Shall I take it you have Virgo as horoscopes?
That is the must self-willed, dentro-perceptive, intuitive of usings.
Is it not so that when, at 1960, we once met, you were living in Brooklyn?
Are you a native of that city? Earlier tonight I was studying a (common) maps of Brooklyn, rediscovering the after all Littoral native of a turf there Gerritsen Brack-Marine Park at first, then the "old Mill" - near the then
still intact fishing village of Kinderhook - houses on stilts in bay marsh, like La Tene - this up to 1955 at least!
Then Crown Heights, on the east block of white, first black - the "terminator". Brooklyn seems now a city more lost than Nineveh or Avignon, inside itself perhaps.
Perhaps we will meet at a Michelangeli recital the fall may bring or when you read here.
Again - Alfa ed O stays in the mind that reads it.
Best, & be well - Robert

6 May 77

Dear Frank,
that's certainly an extraordinary rising cluster in your horoscopes - such a delight in complexity, trust in Rigor, & trust as well in its (apparent) contrary - poet with slide rule, general with dreams still in his thought long after he quits his tent. By the equal-house- (from- Arc), since I don't know the actual birth house or MC, I see II culin., the Master's arduous sign, & the "Eterric" (Can I say?) moon early in symbol I take it.
And robust sol in IX (where's my arc), I can well believe your consultation so many years in your room,
IX the sure mental traveler. "I looked to the oak" you said, & "my ealks were myself to myself" - 2 splendid phrases I return to you. The symbol night a t cusp of X who is it who says we really only use the planets between & Luna - your (symbol) your math must be strong - a Boskovitch or Master Vico), my (symbol)
(Sometimes that word "use" arch I so much respect & even aspire to, to use people, be used (vile American dread of using & being used - piccolo refiuto!)), makes me shy, sense of "using" (symbol) etc, an outrage.)
Did I send you this "This Lady of!" I wont apologize again for my "memory" if I did , pass one on the first grieving woman you see. ("Grieving Women" it comes to one, all of a sudden, the earliest poem of mine (1954)
can still make sense - after M's morning flesh on P. Julius's tomb.)
yes, a pleasure to exchange these letters
I secretly yearn to say: genethliac!


SPARROW 55, April 1977


This de-imaging of woman is practiced as an essay in humble metachronic journalism.

"The Lady Of" is a reconstitution of an ur-The Lady of Shalott, and means to rescue a doctrine of woman from that curiously empty, frightening, beautiful old poem

(its absence clogged with memories, the colors of distance and gone and loss, colors all saturated by the
polarizing filter of Tennyson's rhetoric).

Like a crumbled frieze whose figures are lost but whose proportions are still evident, The Lady of Shalott casts a certain work-space in the mind, a shapely space.

(How shapely the original is! How its shape is lovelier than its logic, if that could be. (It can't be.) How the shapely waist of the poem pinches the middle of the story until we lose what really happened, and are left only with her loneliness. I mean loveliness. Loneliness. Loveliness. Loneliness. How did she die?
Of her own beauty? Is that the 'curse' Tennyson speaks of, a fated perfection of line and color, ominous as Psyche's beauty?)

The original casts a shapely proportion in the mind the moment now comes to inhabit and to articulate anew.

January 1977

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

The Prefiguration, 1973

So Close

against light you my wife gather flowers along

the river reflecting hill and forsythia
at night, your fragrance dissolves metaphor

in the midst of the collapse our room dark our
speech our love the background


our bodies naked given up to each other reveal

the ecstasy the earth


the world a river flowing reflecting light revealing

a river flower the world reveals our love in love


your odor returning night the bed our love returns

sea our first year


body to body our night less boundary than fragrance

releases bird hill river


Beautiful love poems by Frank Samperi from The Prefiguration, published in 1973.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Quadrifariam translated into Spanish



ya que nadie acepta la obra

    Si cualquiera niega la mayoría de los principios de la literatura moderna, entonces no está en posición de enseñar.

    Es cierto que mi retirada del mundo literario es completa, pero la retirada solo puede significar deseo de fama (vanidad)—escritura no es orgullo: escribir para la Humanidad Dios el tema altera cualquier sentido del escritor como personalidad: ergo, no es trabajo del escritor buscar las últimas innovaciones del momento—los principios del arte son perennes; tiene maestros antiguos, y con ellos conversa en silencio.


    Si te consideran remotamente frío, lo perenne te endereza: casi templado.


    No todo el mundo debería amar tu discurso, tampoco es que solo exista semejante unanimidad, pero ahí está Dios Que penetra la visión—más que suficiente para cualquier hombre.


Un periplo en busca de un nuevo discurso entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem.

La rabia se fue, pero la atmósfera permanece igual.

Quizás es como debería ser: vida vacía de todo propósito excepto la poesía que dice Dios la visión todo lo vivido no tan malo después de todo: pero esto es cierto en el momento de la escritura; no tiene sentido en el momento de la vida. Semejante conflicto no puede ser real; debe ser impuesto—desde dónde? las afueras. ¿Exonera esto al sufridor?

    Palabras que sugieren el campo, ocio desprecio—por qué? porque nada en la vida dice que me pueda librar del mercado—mi personalidad se ha convertido en algo retirado—no puedo ir a ningún sitio sin ponerme enfermo—las fiestas son falsas según mi forma de pensar, y, por supuesto, no es justo—la gente tiene derecho a divertirse, y la persona sombría es un cáncer—merece más si al menos sabe que revisar el festín no es justo.


Aquí solo te observas a ti mismo desde una ocasión que pertenece al pasado—como tú dices: estás más retirado que nunca; y esto es una enfermedad; sin embargo, el sentido que parece escocerte más es que todavía tienes un largo camino por recorrer—si tuvieras 60 años, podrías respirar más fácilmente: ¡al fin se acabó! pero sin todavía llegar a los 40, el espíritu obstaculiza, no tiene la fuerza para renovarse si la retirada es aguda.

La tranquilidad que no puedo alcanzar me viene en el trabajo solo como expresión. Puedo parar, levantar la vista de mi mesa hacia la ventana que da a edificios similares, sabiendo que la libertad que supuestamente pertenece a los transeúntes me tiene como observador, la segura posición más segura tras los barrotes.

    El campo y la ciudad están desposados y ningún tema surge de ello.

No tomamos parte; sabemos que la localización no es la respuesta: si la educación es sentimental, afecta a todo: y todos los efectos (ciencias, artes) de la sociedad hacen su oferta. ¡Aquí se halla el desierto del santo moderno!

Después de trabajar en el patio de la prisión, un hombre en su celda se introduce en sus pensamientos para escuchar profundamente: ¡Alabado sea Dios!

    El hombre se mueve, el ángel ilumina, toda la sociedad común el suelo el Espíritu Santo el cimiento la Vía hacia la liberación final.

La poesía no toma ninguna de sus fuerzas ni en la ciudad ni en el campo. La imaginería in toto es especie en la Imagen.

    Lo mejor es cómo es una cosa—aunque lo que sea solo se pueda obtener de manera sugerente.

    Si no escribes esto ni para la Iglesia ni para el Estado, entonces ¿qué sentido tiene? que si de ninguna manera un hombre puede hacer algo digno fuera de estos dos rediles, entonces los movimientos las relaciones no tienen sentido. Otra vez: la obra verdadera solo puede tener como visión lo Eterno la identificación final sacrificada lo abstracto inútil, esto es, donde lo abstracto subsiste el objeto nunca se libra totalmente de lo psicológico.  

Así: las proyecciones los sistemas los impedimentos que reducen cada obra de una u otra manera a alguna de las dos anteriores representaciones colectivas del Hombre; ergo, ora cualquiera de las dos domina hasta la total erradicación de la otra ora ambas se unen para formar el Uno el Hombre ora existen codo con codo o juntas una algo más prominente que la otra, importa poco al hombre espiritual, cuya experiencia es la Vida Eterna.

Soy un esclavo que busca una esquina por las noches para escribir.

    Un hombre piensa en universales mientras está en el trabajo, y el sentido que surge es que no hay futuro digno si el presente es diminutivo.

Lo que no pueden quitarte: has tenido éxito en establecer el postulado de que la poesía original no está lejos del pensamiento original.

    La mente recolecta desorden no solo de ciertos objetos a su alrededor sino también de trabajos que siempre buscan ser una rémora. Luego el regreso a casa es una recuperación. ¿Quién te conoce en el trabajo?

Exilio o prisión? ambos, y la música sin ser invocada porque en cualquier parte perjudicial hasta el más profundo anhelo al resolverse la corona en exilio en prisión.

Debería un escritor cotillear sobre su vida privada?


Si la prosodia es ideal, entonces la causa (motivo) es lo comunitario inalcanzado; si real, el Espíritu informa.

Translated by Mario Dominguez Parra, 2011. Hopfully soon to be published.

MARIO DOMÍNGUEZ PARRA, born in Alicante in 1972, is a Spanish poet, translator and essayist. Ediciones IDEA (Tenerife) published his first book of poems, Apolonía, in 2006. He has published translations into Spanish of English, American, and Modern Greek authors, including poems and prose pieces by George Oppen, Ezra Pound, David Jones, James Merrill, Clayton Eshleman, Kathy Acker, Charles Olson, Ioanna Tsatsou, Kostas Tsiropoulos, Nasos Vayenas, Christos Vakalopoulos, Odysseas Elytis, and Kostas Tachtsis.