What’s That?
The night descends, and the bench is dark.
The world’s as huge as I can walk
to where the streetlight’s idle beam
defrays the edges of the murk.
An endless world of holy black
now heaves and sways past the sighted mark,
and a cosmos, vast as to swallow space,
is its yellow gleam on the pool by the rock.
Where the sidewalk ends at the base of the street
is the silent term of the town’s brick height;
the drunks on the hill where the walls stand straight
are grace and bliss and truth and light.
A lawless waste, the infinite,
surrounds a dime and a crumpled hat.
Night, beyond idea’s reach,
has dressed in garments as soft as that.
Horizon haunts on every block,
a glimpse of huge fantastic black.
I have at hand all that remains.
The night descends, and the bench is dark.
The night descends, and the bench is dark.
The world’s as huge as I can walk
to where the streetlight’s idle beam
defrays the edges of the murk.
An endless world of holy black
now heaves and sways past the sighted mark,
and a cosmos, vast as to swallow space,
is its yellow gleam on the pool by the rock.
Where the sidewalk ends at the base of the street
is the silent term of the town’s brick height;
the drunks on the hill where the walls stand straight
are grace and bliss and truth and light.
A lawless waste, the infinite,
surrounds a dime and a crumpled hat.
Night, beyond idea’s reach,
has dressed in garments as soft as that.
Horizon haunts on every block,
a glimpse of huge fantastic black.
I have at hand all that remains.
The night descends, and the bench is dark.
Light Music for Dance and Ruin
written during a fever, March 6, 2005
now that our lives are the remains of broken stone,
come, give me your hand and let us rise to dance,
for I have been faithless, and you, too wavering;
we have tried too hard, and the box is empty.
late day fills the room and white walls remain,
a million bright sparks from a great extinguishing.
the curve of our arms will not be gone.
and every clock in every room stands unerringly precise.
look at me again; let us face the last fact.
Yes, your curls speak volumes, left better unsaid,
and blue eyes are cold steel on a day gold as this.
rise now, give me the small of your back, and a little elegance;
let us sway in the twilight; there is nothing else to do.
written during a fever, March 6, 2005
now that our lives are the remains of broken stone,
come, give me your hand and let us rise to dance,
for I have been faithless, and you, too wavering;
we have tried too hard, and the box is empty.
late day fills the room and white walls remain,
a million bright sparks from a great extinguishing.
the curve of our arms will not be gone.
and every clock in every room stands unerringly precise.
look at me again; let us face the last fact.
Yes, your curls speak volumes, left better unsaid,
and blue eyes are cold steel on a day gold as this.
rise now, give me the small of your back, and a little elegance;
let us sway in the twilight; there is nothing else to do.
Preface
Into the jungle, O book—dive deep to the heart!
into the forests, the tangled ocean of leaves--
into the heart of the wild, the dominion of beasts!
(O lurk where the lions pace; do not be afraid.)
go to the thickets, the millions of leaves on the shelves,
libraries, booksellers, foliage faceless in rows;
go to the thickets—obscurity’s lushness of books!
stand in the vastness of pulp and poem and poise;
enter their talk, the limitless jungle of words!
crowds and shops and cities and woods unnumbered--
there where the lions hunt life is not its own;
life in the lushest collective not only its own;
you too, in the life of the tangle, not only your own.
For there in the thickness you’ll pass into unknown hands,
from unknown hands sent forth, from the murmuring of leaves.
(who could distinguish so finely as to give it an author?
likewise the reader’s name too is forever untold.)
there in the thick of it all, book, consider your site;
there tell the reader the wilds in which they have met you--
perhaps now surrounded by foliage faceless in rows.
tell them that life in the wildwood is common and nameless;
speak that their corner of life has the continent in whole--
native, authentic, initiate, and trilling as well--
say that they too are the veldt, and the voice of the brake.
Into the tangle, O book—dive deep to the heart!
lurk where the lions pace—do not be afraid--
life in the lushest collective not only its own;
tell them the whole story lives in identity's own.
Into the jungle, O book—dive deep to the heart!
into the forests, the tangled ocean of leaves--
into the heart of the wild, the dominion of beasts!
(O lurk where the lions pace; do not be afraid.)
go to the thickets, the millions of leaves on the shelves,
libraries, booksellers, foliage faceless in rows;
go to the thickets—obscurity’s lushness of books!
stand in the vastness of pulp and poem and poise;
enter their talk, the limitless jungle of words!
crowds and shops and cities and woods unnumbered--
there where the lions hunt life is not its own;
life in the lushest collective not only its own;
you too, in the life of the tangle, not only your own.
For there in the thickness you’ll pass into unknown hands,
from unknown hands sent forth, from the murmuring of leaves.
(who could distinguish so finely as to give it an author?
likewise the reader’s name too is forever untold.)
there in the thick of it all, book, consider your site;
there tell the reader the wilds in which they have met you--
perhaps now surrounded by foliage faceless in rows.
tell them that life in the wildwood is common and nameless;
speak that their corner of life has the continent in whole--
native, authentic, initiate, and trilling as well--
say that they too are the veldt, and the voice of the brake.
Into the tangle, O book—dive deep to the heart!
lurk where the lions pace—do not be afraid--
life in the lushest collective not only its own;
tell them the whole story lives in identity's own.
Poem for the Young Woman
hail! sunning on the incline
on the grass in early summer
above the hills and cities
the vistas near the sidewalk
hail! healthy in the sunlife
the sky and rays of color
the distant trees and mountains
the endless world of beaches
hail! there beside the roadway
at home in such dominion
the green again in downtowns
the surge of all that would be
hail! all these places brilliant
and open, every wayside
the air, and warmth within it
the ringing range of Thursday
hail! all you know is golden
and you are right within it
let Years--
be the length of having--
and Change--
the space that keeps it--
this glow, the merest vista--
hail!
hail! sunning on the incline
on the grass in early summer
above the hills and cities
the vistas near the sidewalk
hail! healthy in the sunlife
the sky and rays of color
the distant trees and mountains
the endless world of beaches
hail! there beside the roadway
at home in such dominion
the green again in downtowns
the surge of all that would be
hail! all these places brilliant
and open, every wayside
the air, and warmth within it
the ringing range of Thursday
hail! all you know is golden
and you are right within it
let Years--
be the length of having--
and Change--
the space that keeps it--
this glow, the merest vista--
hail!