The Play Goes On
Counterattack
This is a poem with rhythm,
not suited for those who despair,
for the lanterns of tragical vision
shine poorly in this simple air.
This is a poem with rhyming,
not fit for the steadfastly mordant
for the jangles of cultures declining
seldom sound so naively concordant
This is a poem with meaning,
not suited for static defense,
for the rhythm reflects the world leaping
and the rhymes, the world making sense.
Jan 1982
Structure
I like these thicket theories:
sound systems, mused harmonies
of meter with natural strains,
contrapuns, apologies,
economies and ironies,
linguistic sexuality,
metaphors, metonymies,
sin and diachronicity,
die and synchronicity,
time tumbled by eternity,
chains, change and counterclaims.
But why will some words hurt or heal
as well as herbs can do, or steel?
Dec 1981, Jul 1982
The Progress of Poesity
He dabbles in profundity
on every other Mundity
& wrestles with lucidity
afterwards on Tuesity
& argues with acerbity
on Wednesdity & Thursdity
to convince his wife, the mightity,
of what he means by Fridity.
(Off Saturditties & Sundelays.)
Jun 1982
2-tuples
Many lines roast time and death.
Nicht neues noch am Westen.
Other lays toast love and sects.
Maxime regnat pontifex.
Still other spokes adorn the day.
Il y a bien un âge dorée.
Every poker ascertains so.
La vida, Sancho, sea sueño.
Nov 1984
Basketball Fans
In church they sit as silent as decay
to which, perhaps, they mean to pay respect.
At work, at home, they're quiet and correct
and usually as careful when they play.
But here they bounce around and stamp and roar
while business-suited coaches sweat out schemes
for baffling the hopes of other teams
and making players, briefly, something else.
The game is fleeting as an ice cream swirl
but deeper than desserts. That skinny girl
who danced for cheers and near the end was spread
like a flamingo doing splits, her head
bent down as if in prayer -- was the grace
in that great hall a blessing out of place?
May 1981
Three-Part Invention
This mote is rustle dust and filigree,
a fine divide of chaos from conception,
no messages intended past reception
like music, wind and sugar in the sea.
Be like a nectar drop and bumble bee
and nimble cart of fribbling confection,
a sting or two inserted for protection,
like peppermints and counter melody.
and be a sound of burble pot and tea
and tinkle cup and moderate intention
according to a temperate convention,
so bound, so free, so calm intensity.
I had in mind to speak you mysteries
like ting and tang, like surface lines like these.
Mar 1982
Sweet Maybe Blues
Sweet, someday, maybe, this big bus will take me,
sweet, maybe, someday, bring me back to you,
but now there ain't no way for you to make me
just hang around and be your honeydew.
I know you'd like to have me do my duty.
Sweet, maybe, someday, that's the way I'll be.
I'd like to wait and be your tutti-frutti
but now I got to ride this bus and see.
Sweet maybe someday blues is what I got
and wonder if I'd maybe better not.
I'd like to be your Sunday baby someday
and someday may be longer than I thought.
If this big bus won't bring me back, I'll lose,
and maybe have to sing sweet maybe blues.
Jan 1981
Farewell by Callimachus
(translated from the Greek)
They told me your fate, Heraclitus
and I began to cry;
I thought how often with our talk
we chased the sun from the sky.
Friend from Halicarnassus, though you
were ashes long ago,
your songbirds live; light-fingered death
will never reach for those.
Spring 1976 (?), Aug 1981, Aug 1982
Epitaph
Traveler
His Motto Was
Endure
And So He Does.
Jan 1982
Affirmation
I am singing to you,
singing,
words that rise to mind
the pinkish blossoms blowing
and seeds for days to bind.
Green is promissory,
the currency of spring.
Sunlight promontories
color what they bring.
Scatter, blossoms,
blowing,
beckon to the rounds.
Swirl, pleasant petals,
skirring.
Summer gently sounds.
Apr, Dec 1981, Feb 1982
Names
The people are marching the ridge.
What was the name of the ridge
Between the first and the second great ice?
Between the second and the third?
Just before the last retreat?
What were the names of the people,
Your father a thousand times removed,
Your mother in the snow?
What were the names of the rivers
Before the rivers had names?
What did the gods call the living
Before the living could hear?
What were the names of the gods?
What is your name?
What are the names of the people?
Where are the names?
(date unknown)
Trees
The cabbage priest with sauerkraut hair
Rules the ravenous kingdom.
Trees, it says, nothing but trees,
Bilateral trees, looking with leaves,
Roots in the earth, afraid in the dark,
Deciphering news from the air,
Dancing drops, cilia, dendrites,
The branches and roots of wandering trees,
Some in tight embraces,
Reaching to touch and devour,
The turkey king with maggots for hair
Rules the slobbering trees.
The sparrow prince with feathery hair
Rules the spellcast kingdom.
Trees, it says, sing me the trees,
Trees written large, trees written small,
Roots in invisible subjects,
Deciphering news from the air,
Sending signals to nowhere,
Dancing sounds, waiting signs,
Some in tight embraces,
Reaching to touch and declare.
The cosmical count with starbeams for hair
Rules the rustle of trees.
(date unknown)