November 2015

Writer's Block
From the blank page of the Unknown Poet, these words echo back in stony rebuke: 
"Some things are best left unsaid and this, being my last, is one of them."
The reader, taken aback, takes the poet to task. "Again you repeat the irrelevance of words amid the ocean's roar as we navigate the beach's darkness by the light of the stars.  What is the meaning again of this coincidence of place?"
this and that
The Unknown Poet quotes gravely at last:
        Voices, voices. Listen my heart, as only saints
have listened: until the gigantic call lifted them
clear off the ground. Yet they went on, impossibly,
kneeling, completely unawares: so intense was
their listening. Not that you could endure
the voice of God -far from it! But listen
to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message
that forms itself out of silence.
As dawn comes upon the reader the following words come to mind:
          It was her voice that made   
The sky acutest at its vanishing.   
She measured to the hour its solitude.   
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,   
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,   
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her   
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.
doomed to repeat
"Why?" he wails. "Why must the singing end? What are the order of words that give such flesh to the song?"
this and that
            along the strand 
crab bubbles
here and there
- First Duino Elegy by Rainer Maria Rilke (tr.Albert Ernest Flemming)
- The Idea of Order at Key West by Wallace Stevens
All Saints Day—
tonight my vision becomes
river fog
taniwhas all around
the feeling of me
morning chant
the very earth moves
in a haka
floating world
a fata morgana
cresting dawn
twilight hush
my cosmological vision
awaiting stars
All Souls Day
the combatants tally up
their losses
All Souls Day
silence lingers long after
the loss of words
November sojourn—
impermanence becoming
a medley of clouds
word by word
breath-strokes mirroring
illusions of self

spring afternoon flushed with aloneness

in darkness
another cosmos
spills its guts

a raven itself or my making of it

mirror maze my lineage of names

awake at dawn 
I touchscreen my timeline
into being
charting stars
I learn once more
how to howl

war against my better nature

oiling the wheels of the tide

mother martyr to the fecund dark

friday thirteenth
terror remains captive
in human hearts