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Friday, June 24, 2011

(Room x exp f  -- DANCE)

  



                          Dance of Larks

The  eyes  whose  blueness  lumens   loud  even  those
walls  of  eyes  that  stare  out  transparent   death  to
death  from some   central  of   a   secret   are   maybe
yours    old   one    your    frozen   beard   if  only  each
creeping  thing   could  set   forth  the  theorem  of  its
genesis.   Why,   for example,  do  the  fingers  spread
out  into the  fiery nervous  ends  of   things   that  cut
this   savage   stillness  into   glass   that    all’s  that’s
all be double bent again?   And   why  is  why  the dead
do grin as thumbs are thumbs?  Again?   Evil?   Here at
the  cattarracting   waul,   agon   Oscar   drums   again
against and  for  the  doom as we know  the clutch did
fell  the   swoop -  but   we  shiver  as   we   laugh   for
something’s  not  -  as the great  and  gaping gap does
in  insuck  all  those  the  Horsemen  drag  - and  those
that   horsed   the    kingdoms  of   their   waste   their
time. Land?   ( But too long  have  we  sweet  softlied,
and  all  the locks corroded are.)  Are?  Is?  Was?   The
lilly    in   a   crystal   revives    delight   in    this   our
thyme-light-night.    And   still   the  giant   termite of
the queens  does  bobulate  -  immortal  throbbing   in
the  castle’s   keep.   These  things  we  cannot  repair.
            It    is    here,   just   here,   you    slipped   in,
clapping.   You  were  eyes.   Oh,   long   long   did   I
contra    those   your   eyes,    that   neverending   did
contrive  to contrive. So woman.  So Anne.  So,  You.
            Dark.
(Yet I will my  nothings tale on  as the dance restarts.)
           
             And  this  circular  back-turning   trance  did
seem   thus  to   start  as  we  were  lost  in  light, and
the   birds  outside  the  window  spoke in bird.  (The
window  flying in the wind.)    Soon   it   is,   but   not
now,     as     the     clocks     tick    on   the    endless
combinations  of  their   music’s    song   that   speaks
and   thuds   their  ears:  and  the  old  carbons dream
into a  new  metallurgy,  a  copy,  a setting  in a   snow
scene,   and   this   everlasting  startling  re-beginning
thing  that  does  itself  unsing.






3 comments:

Oh Harry said...

I'd like to hear you reading that, Richard. All the best, bill d.

Richard said...

I used to send that poem to magazines but it was rejected. Whereas one other one, shorter was almost accepted!

But this was a favourite of mine.

I should be able to send an audio file.

I did it for someone in the US who wanted poems read on her site so I'll see how I did that...

Cheers bill d. and Oh Harry!!

PS. I saw a part of your interview with Gaius Maximus Hamiltonius but I kept hitting some button there and it kind of disappeared must have another go...

I never finished learning Latin but at school it was perhaps my favourite subject. I did English, Maths, Biology, Latin and Chemistry for School Cert. I somehow loved the formality of Latin. Hard to say what I loved about it. Maybe its "uselessness". But of course it is quite useful in wider sense. Good comments on languages etc by you...Amazing to be able to speak another language.

Anonymous said...

Interesting. But I need to see more before I'm convinced of the argument.