[("Of the Becalm")]
WHEN ASKED a devotee of old time sail stated
that storms were but one of several crises
that then & again fractures either brain or vessel
some problems one could scarce imagine
such as when the polar opposite of a storm
strikes you far from port: the wind becalms
& all that animated bone of pine in hemp sinew entwined
declines--thank God this is a modern time and not
The Age of Sail for we have stowable engines
& wireless communication & can power up or call a tow
the options for those tars of long ago? blister--or throw a longboat out & row!
we live in fear of tempests when the becalming's quite as vicious
peace tries men as harshly as does war--riches rot a man
as sure as any ruination and a body will drown in grease
as soon as water--and thus dear Lord the most of us will live
between silent storm and deafening calm in need of fair trades
in latitudes never to be found
[Nota: a young man once read this poem, got a wicked grin on his face,
and whispered ironically, in a mock conspiritorial tone," I'll take my chances..."]
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
"Riviersonderend"
THE SOUTHEASTER blows until it reaches
the Hottentot-Hollands losing moisture
that Karoo will not receive--the koppies
are filled with wet proteas whose dew burns
through contacting sunburst-shooting stormclouds
the sculptor sits--lounging in the shadow
of the berge above all his wild blooms
that are dripping lightning sapphire raindrops
his signature is on the shadow
as if to say--this is mine--you also
THE SOUTHEASTER blows until it reaches
the Hottentot-Hollands losing moisture
that Karoo will not receive--the koppies
are filled with wet proteas whose dew burns
through contacting sunburst-shooting stormclouds
the sculptor sits--lounging in the shadow
of the berge above all his wild blooms
that are dripping lightning sapphire raindrops
his signature is on the shadow
as if to say--this is mine--you also
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
FONDNESS FORBIDS--darling--from having any hard feelings
not in this life--draining & jarring--and so look
at the flowers & the long tall grass
smell the blossoms & feel the chafing sharpness
feel the stabbing brightness of our sun
do this--and forget--and forget much
love prevents--prevents much that needs to be said
not in this life--an insult from first to last
& so feel the rain plash your pretty body
feel it drain through your fingers & taste it
on your tongue--hear the wind
echo through the wooded hollow & know
everything--thankfully--will be forgotten eventually
not in this life--draining & jarring--and so look
at the flowers & the long tall grass
smell the blossoms & feel the chafing sharpness
feel the stabbing brightness of our sun
do this--and forget--and forget much
love prevents--prevents much that needs to be said
not in this life--an insult from first to last
& so feel the rain plash your pretty body
feel it drain through your fingers & taste it
on your tongue--hear the wind
echo through the wooded hollow & know
everything--thankfully--will be forgotten eventually
Monday, January 28, 2008
"Les Demi-etudes"
We rise in dark, we sleep in light, and in between we cry,
and admit to acts of violence, unless we tell a lie.
We rise in dark, we sleep in dark, and in between we dream
of how we'll use our loves & friends, and make our rivals scream.
The stars arise, the stars descend, and in between they fall,
and 'though another starves to death, we'll have ourselves a ball.
The stars will flair, the stars will fade, and in between they shine.
And we shall argue through gunfire, what's yours and what is mine.
The planets climb, the planets fall, and in between they roam,
but neither they nor we can halt, nor find ourselves a home.
The planets won't, the planets aren't, and in between they scowl,
without the medium of complaint--no air to hear the howl.
The Spring has sprung, the Fall has fell, and between is hot and cold,
but not a thing we hoped & pled can put the change on hold.
The Fall shall win, the Spring has lost, and in between we wait,
and grab much more than we can use, to use the rest for bait.
The tides come in, the tides retreat, and in between they shake,
but do not care how much we hurt, or how much we can take.
The tides withdraw, the tides explode and in between they seethe.
We have no secrets to reveal. No, nothing's up our sleeve.
We were just born, we soon will die, and in between we laugh,
because we see our foes in pain, or think our friends are daft.
We were not born, we will not die, and in between we fear
that we will rape a woman-friend, or pass out from the beer.
We will soon die, we were just born, and in between we gawk,
and when we're not the hunted quail, we're certainly the hawk.
We will not die, we were not born, and in between we hate
the woman who will give her love, & those we can not mate.
The tides retreat, the tides come in, and in between they wave.
And just like us, when they don't roar, they rave & rave & rave...
The tides explode, the tides withdraw, and in between there's drifts,
'while we steal anothers' goods, but throw away their gifts.
The Fall has fell, the Spring has sprung, & in between's a loss
to stop a murder even once, or others on the cross.
The Spring has lost, the Fall will win, & in between they leak.
God only knows just what they sought, much less what we might seek.
The planets fall, the planets climb, and in between they spin,
and have no virtue over us, but surely lots of sin.
The planets aren't, the planets won't, & in between they scar
in all that vast not infinite, the cruelty of stars.
The stars descend, the stars arise, & in between they hide,
but there's no one to keep our trust, in whom we may confide.
The stars will fade, the stars will flair, and in between they yawn
and no one knows just why we wait, or day of week we're on.
We sleep in light, we rise in dark, and in between we lie,
that we're reborn a thousand times, or twice, then do not die.
We rise in light, we sleep in light, and in between we weep,
but prayers and threats won't soon prevent the date we all must keep.
We rise in dark, we sleep in light, and in between we cry,
and admit to acts of violence, unless we tell a lie.
We rise in dark, we sleep in dark, and in between we dream
of how we'll use our loves & friends, and make our rivals scream.
The stars arise, the stars descend, and in between they fall,
and 'though another starves to death, we'll have ourselves a ball.
The stars will flair, the stars will fade, and in between they shine.
And we shall argue through gunfire, what's yours and what is mine.
The planets climb, the planets fall, and in between they roam,
but neither they nor we can halt, nor find ourselves a home.
The planets won't, the planets aren't, and in between they scowl,
without the medium of complaint--no air to hear the howl.
The Spring has sprung, the Fall has fell, and between is hot and cold,
but not a thing we hoped & pled can put the change on hold.
The Fall shall win, the Spring has lost, and in between we wait,
and grab much more than we can use, to use the rest for bait.
The tides come in, the tides retreat, and in between they shake,
but do not care how much we hurt, or how much we can take.
The tides withdraw, the tides explode and in between they seethe.
We have no secrets to reveal. No, nothing's up our sleeve.
We were just born, we soon will die, and in between we laugh,
because we see our foes in pain, or think our friends are daft.
We were not born, we will not die, and in between we fear
that we will rape a woman-friend, or pass out from the beer.
We will soon die, we were just born, and in between we gawk,
and when we're not the hunted quail, we're certainly the hawk.
We will not die, we were not born, and in between we hate
the woman who will give her love, & those we can not mate.
The tides retreat, the tides come in, and in between they wave.
And just like us, when they don't roar, they rave & rave & rave...
The tides explode, the tides withdraw, and in between there's drifts,
'while we steal anothers' goods, but throw away their gifts.
The Fall has fell, the Spring has sprung, & in between's a loss
to stop a murder even once, or others on the cross.
The Spring has lost, the Fall will win, & in between they leak.
God only knows just what they sought, much less what we might seek.
The planets fall, the planets climb, and in between they spin,
and have no virtue over us, but surely lots of sin.
The planets aren't, the planets won't, & in between they scar
in all that vast not infinite, the cruelty of stars.
The stars descend, the stars arise, & in between they hide,
but there's no one to keep our trust, in whom we may confide.
The stars will fade, the stars will flair, and in between they yawn
and no one knows just why we wait, or day of week we're on.
We sleep in light, we rise in dark, and in between we lie,
that we're reborn a thousand times, or twice, then do not die.
We rise in light, we sleep in light, and in between we weep,
but prayers and threats won't soon prevent the date we all must keep.
"Wampyre contre Felix Animas, PhD "
(c Rf. opening paragraphs of Dmitri Shostakovich's "Testimony")
'Though never forced into a war or draft,
you father tore me through both fore & aft,
like a bomb burst.
Like Schroedinger's Cat-- dead & yet undead,
I could not find repose asleep in bed
and it got worse.
I preyed apart from ghouls who thought me daft.
My profit in your teaching of my craft
is I am cursed.
I left the schoolroom textbooks all unread,
I found your golden 'bus of life instead
a piss-stained hearse.
The piper tucks you in no gay mine shaft
the rosy garden that you planned so deft
is thorn & furze.
The sea we leech does not allow a raft,
'though we undrown, we still are not bereft
of sanguine nurse.
ENVOI:
In this mean world, you live amongst the dead,
thus I can not forgive the coaxed or led,
in life or verse.
[Nota: response to two poems by R. Wilbur]
(c Rf. opening paragraphs of Dmitri Shostakovich's "Testimony")
'Though never forced into a war or draft,
you father tore me through both fore & aft,
like a bomb burst.
Like Schroedinger's Cat-- dead & yet undead,
I could not find repose asleep in bed
and it got worse.
I preyed apart from ghouls who thought me daft.
My profit in your teaching of my craft
is I am cursed.
I left the schoolroom textbooks all unread,
I found your golden 'bus of life instead
a piss-stained hearse.
The piper tucks you in no gay mine shaft
the rosy garden that you planned so deft
is thorn & furze.
The sea we leech does not allow a raft,
'though we undrown, we still are not bereft
of sanguine nurse.
ENVOI:
In this mean world, you live amongst the dead,
thus I can not forgive the coaxed or led,
in life or verse.
[Nota: response to two poems by R. Wilbur]
The Author feels no preparation is necessary. Wallace Stevens spoke of men made out of words. This is all there is. Tolstoy decided that humans were like rivers...deep & tranquil in some bends, shallow & coarse in others. This applies. You have been warned that this is not fare for the easily offended or sensitive in any area. Walk away. You will lose nothing by doing so... If you are now offended by the material you must remember you were forewarned. This was never meant to be seen anyway.
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