MARIE PONSOT









ALONGSIDE THE POND



At the edge of vision

just short of sight

pond air shimmers pearly

unbroken ungated. Bright

mist engages me

silent unmediated.




When I turn

and look into it



I want birds.

Share a poem this morning from one of the skilled technicians, as she has been since her first book from City Lights True Minds, somewhat forgotten in the San Francisco publisher's legacy since Ponsot was and is no Beat, but she is thoroughly beatitude. Poetry of the fullest senses. This may be her most interesting book, published in her late eighties, and pushing pushing at the no-limit edges of the poem. Lyrical gems, tv program news, personal portraits, landscape art. The silence and small bigness of this poem alone had me in its aura. And aura is that instance when nothing else matters.