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Showing posts with label Malena Morling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Malena Morling. Show all posts

Friday, August 28, 2015

Cloud II

Love Like Rocks                                                    Stephen Massimilla
Respect the rocks, the way they hold
themselves down, though from the point
of view of geese, the nimbo-


cumuli (their bulky white counter-
parts) drift like icebergs at sea
in the sky. Below


these sunset-catching cliffs, tiger-
lilies also face fire, stalking
and lolling around


unpainted pickets. Lawns
ruffle their pheasant feathers;
uncatchable quarry, snakes


in the blades blaze by. Since hiss
they must, upon proving too loose
for muddy trousers, they hint


now near, now thither, while all
is always about to give, given to
darkling cliffs of shifting
cloud. O

God, my love is my rock,
my weight, said St. Augustine,
my Venusian even on deserted


nights, super-sub-urban,
like bright orbits bound by them-
selves to plunge, however small, however far. 


*******************************************

Last Will                                        Hayden Saunier

When I am ash, as is my wish,
take a stone out to the field for me
and leave it near the meadow wall
where it won't jam machinery.

Nothing cut or polished. Something
tumbled down the stream and smoothed
with sand will do, the sort of stone
that's been there all along. It's just

that in the field tonight, I stopped
and stood beyond the cedars
in the hedgerow's coils and twists—
the heart-shaped lump of a wasp nest

suspended from a maple branch above
my own dark shape—and the moon's
unclouded eye fell on us all so equally,
it seemed as good a place as any I could be.

*******************************************
The Storm                                                                                Jennifer Moss
Where one mind stops,
another begins.

Where cutlery shines on plates,
a voice lowers.

One length of forgiveness,
round and round like a child's game
in the dust.

Outside, the rain formalizing.

When we leave we are replaced.

Shaky clouds in lightning,
my shadow alive on the floor.

Then the small passage for sleep.

How green and spidery the sky.
In its net, the dead bees of memory. 

*******************************************

Habitus                    Thom Satterlee

Language, he asserted, was a habitus... What precisely
he meant by habitus is not explained, but the context in
which the word is applied to language would suggest a
sense of "clothing... "
— Anne Hudson, "Wyclif and the English Language"

All morning he read from a thick volume
propped on a stand. He read and he read,
and when he closed his eyes
he continued to read
until the words took off their clothes
and laid them down on a hillside
that vanished whenever a cloud
passed between it and the sun.

All his life Wycliffe had wanted this:
the words undressed and he going to them,
a child to a fair, burning to see
if Faith wore her hair in a braid,
whether Why held out its hands, palms up,
and where Simony put his coins
when he stood naked in the light.

But no: Wycliffe had got it all wrong.
He was not going to see the words.
They were coming to him
with their arms loaded with robes
stacked so high he couldn't see their faces,
and before he knew it, invisible hands
began measuring him with ropes
stretched between his wrist and his chest,
from his hip down to the ground,
around his waist and around his neck.

The fitting took all day. He tried on
Son and Friend, Scholar, Reformer,
Heretic; he slipped into Priest,
wore also Doctor Evangelicus
and Morning Star. Some robes
hung too loosely; others pinched his neck.

In the end, he had to wear them all
and learn the sadness of being a word —
only one surface to show the world
while he lived underneath the layers
and listened for the barely audible
sound of his own heart beating.

*************************************

Gone                                                      Malena Morling, from Five Points
          The world
is gone
      like the exact
shape of a cloud
          or the exact shape
of a hand waving
      in the sunlight
from across
          a crowded
train-station
      parking-lot
to another hand
          that waves back.

Come to think of it,
      everything up to now
is gone.
          And I have also
already left
      even though
I still ride
          the train
through the outskirts
      of the city.

And I still sit
          by the window,
the filthy
      train-window
while what is left
          of the demolished
buildings
      go past
and the empty
          billboards
and the transitory
      architecture.

It's amazing
          we're not
more amazed.
      The world
is here
          but then it's gone
like a wave
      traveling toward
other waves.

          Or like
the delicate white
      spaceships
of the Dogwood
          that float
as if there were
      no gravity,
as if there were
          no moments
isolated from
      any other
moments
          anywhere. 

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Empty


Gone                                                      Malena Morling, from Five Points
          The world
is gone
      like the exact
shape of a cloud
          or the exact shape
of a hand waving
      in the sunlight
from across
          a crowded
train-station
      parking-lot
to another hand
          that waves back.


Come to think of it,
      everything up to now
is gone.
          And I have also

already left
      even though
I still ride
          the train
through the outskirts
      of the city.


And I still sit
          by the window,
the filthy
      train-window
while what is left
          of the demolished
buildings
      go past
and the empty
          billboards
and the transitory
      architecture.


It's amazing
          we're not
more amazed.
      The world
is here
          but then it's gone
like a wave
      traveling toward
other waves.


          Or like
the delicate white
      spaceships
of the Dogwood
          that float
as if there were
      no gravity,
as if there were
          no moments
isolated from
      any other
moments
          anywhere.



*****


Everything that seems empty is full of the angels of God.  St. Hilaire, fourth-century bishop (and patron saint against snake bites)
 
******
Empty similes                                                                  Bob Hicok
Like standing in front of a woman who says thank you
when you tell her you love her, that stuck
sound of a crow, pulling the one nail from its voice
outside your window and you
going down to the sea too late, where it was
three million years ago, waving your little towel
at the shadow of waves, like dropping
your stomach when you drop the phone,
a voice spinning at the end of the chord, your mother,
father, everyone
dead, even the person telling you
gone and you
waving your metronome arm, and time
inside the trees making clocks we check
by cutting them down.
 
******
Genesis                 Herman de Coninck, tr. By Laure-Anne Bosselaar and Kurt Brown
It was the sixth day. Adam was ready.
He saw the oaks firmly rooted
in the void. Power is a matter of branching.
He had seen the mountains, vast storerooms holding
only themselves, high empty cellars.
And deer. With legs as thin as stethoscopes
they stood listening to the breast of the earth,
and as soon as they heard something, they ran away,
inventing pizzicato as they fled the horizon.
And he had seen the sea, the busy swelling and receding
that makes one calm. And the empty, provocative gestures
of the wind, come along, come along, though no one followed.
And the depths, gulfs that make one uneasy. And being silent,
because that's what everything was doing, and being too big.
Then God said: and now you. No, said Adam.
 
******
Bats                                                                 Paisley Rekdal
unveil themselves in dark.
They hang, each a jagged,
silken sleeve, from moonlit rafters bright
as polished knives. They swim
the muddied air and keen
like supersonic babies, the sound
we imagine empty wombs might make
in women who can't fill them up.
A clasp, a scratch, a sigh.
They drink fruit dry.
And wheel, against feverish light flung hard
upon their faces,
in circles that nauseate.
Imagine one at breast or neck,
patterning a name in driblets of iodine
that spatter your skin in stars.
They flutter, shake like mystics.
They materialize. Revelatory
as a stranger's underthings found tossed
upon the marital bed, you tremble
even at the thought. Asleep,
you tear your fingers
through your damp neck hair
and search the sheets all night.

******
Future Tense                                                                                                                                                                                                              Charles Wright

All things in the end are bittersweet—
An empty gaze, a little way-station just beyond silence.

If you can’t delight in the everyday,
                                                         you have no future here.

And if you can, no future either.

And time, black dog, will sniff you out,
                                                            and lick your lean cheeks,
And lie down beside you—warm, real close—and will not move.
  http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v6n2/images/bug.gif