|
A Katiboise named Joy Alive
One of Chin’s brighter students
Hailed us as we crossed the Place de ’40
He introduced me
As “our distinguished visitor”
I hoped that made up
For my rumpled suit and three days’ growth
Of what only a saint could call a beard
Her dissertation
Which he’d come to Katibo to supervise
Discusses phasing in
A self-sustaining economy
To replace one based on sugar cane
As we passed a shop she said
“Look in this window
“Tell me what you see”
“A display of Poppy G3’s,” I replied
Then I quoted the ad I’d seen a million times
“Its brain is bigger than your brain”
“The Poppy G3 in Katibo,” she corrected
I raised my arm
As if in response
To a classroom question
“I have a G3,” I said
“So do I,” said Joy
South On The River: A Suite Of Poems From Old Sung-Ting
1.
South on the river clouds thin
Hills rise higher
A quarter mile up a lone bird drifts
White wings motionless
South on the river again
Again, official business
We round the bend, reach the border
Pass beneath the old stone bridge
2.
Hills rise higher
Trees thin
Streams race over rocks
Banks close in
From the bottom of this gorge
Sky’s a thin blue sliver
A lone boat passes
Someone on board sings a Blind Owl song:
So tired of cryin' but I'm out
On the road again
3.
Houses hang high off cliffs
Every window’s lit
Balconies of laughing crowds
Toss torches into space:
Slow shooting stars
That arc across the night
And disappear into the river
Farther from home than ever ...
What festival is this?
4.
The neighbor’s dog growls
I say, “Jasmine, it’s only me”
She pokes her muzzle through the fence
Bares her big teeth
Roses mirror sunsets here
I sit in the yard
Til it’s finally night
Setting the lamp beside the bed
I read the book of poems you gave me
No longer quite so lonely
Making myself at home
In my little pearl of light
(for Beth)
5.
I thought each spring
Would bring
Another “poem with jacarandas”
How wrong I was
How the years whiz by
The blossoms:
Scattered again
The ground:
Littered again with blue light
6.
I glance through a stack
Of very important documents
Official stuff
I could screw up
The fate of millions
By checking the wrong box
So what has me so not interested?
Spring through the window
Sun on the ivy
A sturdy old pine
A glittering web
(for Steve)
7.
The name of the nearest mountain’s
Stone Fish Peak
As the Great Sage said
It swims in an endless sea
At its foot’s a ruined village:
Armies …
Rubble …
Ash …
Halfway up
I become my body
Breathing hard
Counting my steps
Mumbling “I should have stayed home
“Content with the photographs”
I spend all night on top
Wrapped in a blanket
Drafting lines
Like “the moon’s beautiful music”
And “the sky-field’s stars”
Mist rises with the sun
I make my way back down the path
Pass a man
Rope looped over a shoulder
Pass a woman
Gun in one hand
Rabbit in the other
For half an hour
I’m the only person in the world
I kick a pinecone for miles
And write you letters
“The villages”
The villages
The villages
The people
The customs
The dress
The word
The bed
The basket
The tears
The x
The notebook
The time
The mutations
The laughter
The jokes
The secrets
The boundaries
The speech
The suffixes
The punctuation
The circle
The stroke
The canvas
The wall
The thoughts
The moment
The leaf
The bodies
The past
The novel
The poet
The crowds
The mountaintops
The nickel
The box
The dollar
The text
The questions
The question
The forest
The paths
The blind
The question
The townhouse
The question
The dream
The mother-tongue
The question
The organs
The God
The question
The days
The week
The y
This Is The Last Page
1.
This is the last page
Now my charms are all o'erthrown
And what strength I have's mine own
Which is most faint
Have I been brave enough
To write something
Even if no one likes it but me
O frightened dove
Fluttering in my chest
Have I waved the white flag
2.
Big blue notebook
You are not just jumbled alphabet
You are the world of dew
The and yet ... and yet ...
Where I sit in the arbor
Amid the shadows of the grape
Waiting for Borul
To drive us into the hills tonight
To dine at the inn at Werckabe
The one with the moonlight garden
Asters under the stars
3.
How you caress me
Beautiful hands of words
4.
My imagination is not pure enough to present
The single beatific image
Thank you Clark Coolidge
There is no Inside
If everything including my flesh and je
Are and they are Other
Sadly
I have always lacked Character
Streets yes but not Cities
Times yes but not Time
Tesseract:
A childhood verb
I will never be rich enough
To live in that Village
5.
These fragments …
These letters …
Writing on a wall …
Poor tagger idiom …
6.
It’s all over
But the fun and suffering
Thank you
For the chrysanthemum tea
|
