I am haunted by the vacancies
her eyes made
the silent "O" in hung
mouth ringing
unspeakable gestures
Saturday, August 18, 2007
signs (a poem for gestures)
disembodied hand
tracing circles
on a disembodied hand
so much
for deconstruction
skin of fingers
peeling 14 ways
toward fingertips
existential dilemna
one hand
pumping the heart
sounds like religion
fingers of light
beckoning
clenched fist
(1985)
tracing circles
on a disembodied hand
so much
for deconstruction
skin of fingers
peeling 14 ways
toward fingertips
existential dilemna
one hand
pumping the heart
sounds like religion
fingers of light
beckoning
clenched fist
(1985)
Voice Annex
I need a voice willing
to stay here, even in scream
to hang like a beacon
come, see
I am here, do not
hurt me
a name in the book of uncertainty
still grows a deciding voice
circumventing everything
I have a way of shutting up
a frustration
the ambiguous feel of these corridors
going blind
with no one talking
I want to say something pointed
about pointlessness
"when space
is a button you lean on
accidentally" the voice
might rise
flicker a little dusty jazz
eager to stun you
(1981)
to stay here, even in scream
to hang like a beacon
come, see
I am here, do not
hurt me
a name in the book of uncertainty
still grows a deciding voice
circumventing everything
I have a way of shutting up
a frustration
the ambiguous feel of these corridors
going blind
with no one talking
I want to say something pointed
about pointlessness
"when space
is a button you lean on
accidentally" the voice
might rise
flicker a little dusty jazz
eager to stun you
(1981)
Those Who Love the Gods, Maria, Drive Themselves Mad
angular dancer in clumsy shoes
at the pivot of arithmetical distances
akimbo
dance for us on King Street
wave the rain over for a cigarette
there is a ritual for everything, she says
thing going into things
thing that can't be undone
the secret
of iron gates and sewer hatches
the pool player who tried to make
unbreakable circles around her
reading Camus to the courtroom
in her own defense
how it takes forever
to move her few possessions
one irate landlord further
I recall her saying
"there used to be a car here
there was a car!" by the curb
in the evenings
she would walk her path
back and forth
"for 11 years I haven't
killed myself"
and
"maybe I should nap
until I'm tired"
woman observing the war
from distance
dredging blackened images
of arms and legs from her hair
woman fear made
a genius
taken hard into reason
in a closet big as an apartment
a worn white blouse
crumpled on the wooden floor
last note of her dance struck
on a plate metal gong
covert tragedy of fingers touching
no one
there, not even forever
the final hysteria is not ours
I think, Maria
but belongs to those for whom
necessity and fact
are great twined tragedies
with us sinking
the fires are lit
we have have always loved
certain stories
in the red and dying light
legal mornings, marble afternoons
starry nights
running vast circles around us
(1987-88)
at the pivot of arithmetical distances
akimbo
dance for us on King Street
wave the rain over for a cigarette
there is a ritual for everything, she says
thing going into things
thing that can't be undone
the secret
of iron gates and sewer hatches
the pool player who tried to make
unbreakable circles around her
reading Camus to the courtroom
in her own defense
how it takes forever
to move her few possessions
one irate landlord further
I recall her saying
"there used to be a car here
there was a car!" by the curb
in the evenings
she would walk her path
back and forth
"for 11 years I haven't
killed myself"
and
"maybe I should nap
until I'm tired"
woman observing the war
from distance
dredging blackened images
of arms and legs from her hair
woman fear made
a genius
taken hard into reason
in a closet big as an apartment
a worn white blouse
crumpled on the wooden floor
last note of her dance struck
on a plate metal gong
covert tragedy of fingers touching
no one
there, not even forever
the final hysteria is not ours
I think, Maria
but belongs to those for whom
necessity and fact
are great twined tragedies
with us sinking
the fires are lit
we have have always loved
certain stories
in the red and dying light
legal mornings, marble afternoons
starry nights
running vast circles around us
(1987-88)
The Kind of Time
the kind of time it was
get written about
it was the kind of time years
follow from, years at a time
the mind's injured, going no further
dangled at the edge of speech, possibly
signing off, possibly convulsing
it was the kind of strained place
best suited to war photography's
drab demographic conspiracy
a sad rhetoric, grimacing
indistinct
from a thousand others
that never made headlines
by column inch
thre front lines of your boredom made
candor an evernt. simple and utter
as gunfire, the way you spoke
was fatal. your voice broke
across the schoolyard in the morning
like laughter. there was flame in your mouth
like ice, like
the impossibility of being human
lightly, no hope of disgrace
(1988)
get written about
it was the kind of time years
follow from, years at a time
the mind's injured, going no further
dangled at the edge of speech, possibly
signing off, possibly convulsing
it was the kind of strained place
best suited to war photography's
drab demographic conspiracy
a sad rhetoric, grimacing
indistinct
from a thousand others
that never made headlines
by column inch
thre front lines of your boredom made
candor an evernt. simple and utter
as gunfire, the way you spoke
was fatal. your voice broke
across the schoolyard in the morning
like laughter. there was flame in your mouth
like ice, like
the impossibility of being human
lightly, no hope of disgrace
(1988)
Water Story
ghost ship of horrors on an ocean of space
the captain has shaved his head
he is thinking, perhaps for the last time
of land
deep in the hold, a stowaway plots their course
for the open sea
there is a woman in every harbour
in whose eyes twin ships are drifting
helplessly
there is a bed
where none of them will ever sleep
(1987)
the captain has shaved his head
he is thinking, perhaps for the last time
of land
deep in the hold, a stowaway plots their course
for the open sea
there is a woman in every harbour
in whose eyes twin ships are drifting
helplessly
there is a bed
where none of them will ever sleep
(1987)
Huron
I kept myself back from you like a wooden hand
stuck deep into autumn's wet pocket
going home among fields
roads have been dragged here to witness
the sky's execution
of one more grey miracle
trees are weeping
for the grain and the stone houses
a prisoner had hidden himself
beside an uncleared swamp that begins to sing
of lakes and forests inside him
night flares
rampant with signals
(1987)
stuck deep into autumn's wet pocket
going home among fields
roads have been dragged here to witness
the sky's execution
of one more grey miracle
trees are weeping
for the grain and the stone houses
a prisoner had hidden himself
beside an uncleared swamp that begins to sing
of lakes and forests inside him
night flares
rampant with signals
(1987)
Pacific
the sky fell
from language
the words fell out
from place
ocean's moon has withered
I had waves
I had the world and it slipped
from my hands like shattered women
in the belly of night stark
white masses sing
abandon, dream of escape
pacific's ungoverned desire
to drive us
underground echoes
untold wreckage of existence
(1987)
from language
the words fell out
from place
ocean's moon has withered
I had waves
I had the world and it slipped
from my hands like shattered women
in the belly of night stark
white masses sing
abandon, dream of escape
pacific's ungoverned desire
to drive us
underground echoes
untold wreckage of existence
(1987)
Hangman
I saw the wood
black rot, square yards of rubbish
steeples race to
the tempest, iron fingers
never chased, forever tempted
I saw the jinxed heart dangling
from its watches
by compulsive thread of sense
we are led
to games of hangman
word guessed
incorrectly was killing us
unsaid
a body now loosed in its cistern
(1987)
black rot, square yards of rubbish
steeples race to
the tempest, iron fingers
never chased, forever tempted
I saw the jinxed heart dangling
from its watches
by compulsive thread of sense
we are led
to games of hangman
word guessed
incorrectly was killing us
unsaid
a body now loosed in its cistern
(1987)
Ocean
his mouthful of body pleas
from the sea's trenched throat
dupe of respiration, tricked into breathing
the liquid delusion, his last
through sleep-shot clouds
his iron-necked heart craned
an industrial drain
hauled from the brown basin
came down with something bad
in tow
a disgusted hole
bitten into his foresighted dread
a different ledger drumming all night
statistics into his relentless head
(for Hart Crane, 1987)
from the sea's trenched throat
dupe of respiration, tricked into breathing
the liquid delusion, his last
through sleep-shot clouds
his iron-necked heart craned
an industrial drain
hauled from the brown basin
came down with something bad
in tow
a disgusted hole
bitten into his foresighted dread
a different ledger drumming all night
statistics into his relentless head
(for Hart Crane, 1987)
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