To begin ...

As the twentieth century fades out
the nineteenth begins
.......................................again
it is as if nothing happened
though those who lived it thought
that everything was happening
enough to name a world for & a time
to hold it in your hand
unlimited.......the last delusion
like the perfect mask of death

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Jerome Rothenberg: from “A Further Witness,” a poem in progress



As the Sky Goes Black

fixed in place
or running
half a man
& half
a crazed
machine

he feels himself
becoming
what he ran from
breaking free
of bones
& skin

a solitary
eye
that looks out
at a street
covered
with tiny birds

yammering
chirping
whose screams
call him
to life
& always birds                      (Han Shan)

my burden
more than
yours
a life
so poor
& pure

succumbing
to their
sounds
their wounds
will raise himself
by inches

sail aloft
the dream
is over
with our hands
we touch
the earth

beneath us
paw it
watch
in wonder
as the sky
goes black

25.iv.13
 

The Flow of Time

to pose
a question
& to answer
with a further
question
adding
one
on one
he finds
the choice
absurd
but cannot stop
the flow
of time*                                 *of rhyme
which is
no flow
but all
exists
at once
the street
has trees
once small
now grown
beyond
his wildest
dreams
the waters
curbside
rushing
toward a hole
that lands him*                    * strands him
where
he started
childhood
past
& buried
count
the hours
shrunk
to minutes
as the universe
has laws
too easily
rebuked                                 * rebuffed
where time
stands still
reversed
a sorry
instance*                               * instant
 
27.iv.13

 
A Perfect Circle 

the protocol
of light
runs through
the dreamer’s
thoughts 

I seize it
unmindful
call it
my own
a flash

redundant
burning
kings
of chaos
rising up 

from front
to back
the colors
make
a perfect circle 

particles
in flight
the forest
with its thousand
birds

no prototype
more real
an actuality
of hidden
life 

a fantasy
of animals
like narcoleptic
mice                                       (for John Solt)
& spiders

see
the sidewalk
rise
& strike you
dead 

the way
the road
to paradise
recoils
& binds us*                         * blinds us

9.v.13

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