Sunday, March 24, 2019

LAWRENCE FERLINGHETT I ~








I Am Waiting

I am waiting for my case to come up   
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting   
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier   
and I am waiting   
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Second Coming   
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona   
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored   
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find   
the right channel   
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth   
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed   
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered   
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did   
to Tom Sawyer   
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting   
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder

I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again   
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn   
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting   
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, “I Am Waiting” from A Coney Island of the Mind. Copyright © 1958







Friday, March 22, 2019

RONALD BAATZ ~










Look, a cloud like

the loveliest house ever

completely abandoned







Grains of sand

between her toes

happy as new stars







At the end of the meal

realizing I was using the wrong

end of the chopsticks







In the yard at night

inhaling the whole universe

I sneeze







Early summer night

everywhere insects roaring

with happiness







Rain

softening

the doghouse







Horse pissing -

clouds watching

in envy







Drunk

I piss in the backyard

under understanding stars







Every last

drop of life

pure mystery







My angel thinks I'm still a child

my dog sniffs

my nuts



_________________


R O N A L D      B A A T Z
Crow Words Falling On Dead Grass 
Yggdrasil Press
2019








Thursday, March 21, 2019

INSOMNIA ~








Insomnia


The moon in the bureau mirror

looks out a million miles

(and perhaps with pride, at herself,

but she never, never smiles)

far and away beyond sleep, or

perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.



By the Universe deserted,

she'd tell it to go to hell,

and she'd find a body of water,

or a mirror, on which to dwell.

So wrap up care in a cobweb

and drop it down the well

into that world inverted

where left is always right,

where the shadows are really the body,

where we stay awake all night,

where the heavens are shallow as the sea

is now deep, and you love me.



_______________

Elizabeth Bishop
Poems, Prose, and Letters
The Library of America
2008







Tuesday, March 19, 2019

SURF ~












RAFAEL ALBERTI ~









To Painting



To you, flax in the field. To you, expanse

of surface for the eyes: expectant glance.

To you, imagination, ice or coal,

exact design or fire out of control.



To you, line unforeseen or always known.

To you, heroic paintbrush, wax or stone,

complaint to whatever style's envisioned,

to measure or the lack of all precision.



To you, form; color, resonating scheme

by which life shows the volume of its space,

dark next to light, light next to sun, now fainter.



To you, fictive reality of dream.

To you, real object, palpable, in place.

To you at last, the hand, all Painting's painter.




————————————
Rafael Alberti
translated by Carolyn L. Tipton
To Painting
Northwestern University Press 1997













Monday, March 18, 2019

HEAVEN LAKE ( 25 ) ~









An Answer To 
My Problems




=


CUT


MORE 


WOOD








Turn Around






You can live in fear

that’s all there seems to be

newspaper to television screen

even people’s faces on the street



stop your car by the side of the road

get out and walk into the field

sit there, be there, your back to the road

everyone will think you are crazy



you are crazy

now that that is settled

sit there until the field takes you

then the trees







False Idols






we brought apples on the trip

and never ate the apples on the trip



nothing like an apple








Buddy






Tonight while sitting on the

can



the little kitten we saved from

starving and freezing to death



is a month now with us

and 12 weeks old



and as I sat there he crawled

without hesitation into my



pulled down pants

a little pocket of



kitten, and no one but no one

would think of doing this



but him







The Sort Of World I Like






I’m on the roof today cleaning the chimney

Without a sound a bicyclist floats by on the

Dirt road along the river and spots me and

Shouts, “Your house looks great!”


I’ve never seen her before

I look twice to make sure I haven’t

Nope

Don’t know her


But she’s happy





_____________________


Bob Arnold
Heaven Lake

Longhouse 2018






Saturday, March 16, 2019

VASHTI BUNYAN ~









DERMOT HEALY ~








Colours




You'd be surprised

how black black is

when it's blue with rain.



And what do you do with the light

that comes in off the sea?

You might as well



forget what you look like

before you could ever begin

walking in it.









September




The greatest high-tide,

the happiest birds,

and the drunk on the road

who has been hurt in love.









The Prayer

for Noel Kilgallon



When Peggy was dying

her son leaned over to whisper

the Our Father into her ear.



She opened her eyes.

'Things must be bad, ' she said,

'that you've started praying.'









The Wandering Cat




If you find your cat

wandering far from home



don't lift him!

He'll weigh so heavy



he'll never leave your hands.









My House is Tiny




My house is tiny

and my sorrow

is the smallest

at this end of the country.



And yet the whole sea

at my back

can fit into

the most frightened



human mind.









Fire

in memory of Aidan



If you let the fire die

the soul scurries across the field

like a burning coal

off to another hearth.



Oh disloyal soul

separated from me

in my cold house!





____________________

Dermot Healy
What the Hammer
Gallery Books (Ireland)
1998





A marvelous Irish poet, and this small clutch of poems
may be my favorite of all his books. He catches where he
lives and works and eats and breathes, and who with. Healy
writes much longer poems as well, and as well, but I first
got smitten by these.