Monday, August 2, 2021

N. SCOTT MOMADAY ~

 





The Delight Song of Tsoai-Talee



I am a feather on the bright sky.

I am the blue horse that runs in the plain.

I am the fish that rolls, shining, in the water.

I am the shadow that follows a child.

I am the evening light, the luster of meadows.

I am an eagle playing with the wind.

I am a cluster of bright beads.

I am the farthest star.

I am the cold of dawn.

I am the roaring of the rain.

I am the glitter on the crust of the snow.

I am the long track of the moon in a lake.

I am a flame of four colors.

I am a deer standing away in the dusk.

I am a field of sumac and the pomme blanche.

I am an angle of geese in the winter sky.

I am the hunger of a young wolf.

I am the whole dream of these things.

You see, I am alive, I am alive

I stand in good relation to the earth.

I stand in good relation to the gods.

I stand in good relation to all that is beautiful.

I stand in good relation to the daughter of Tsen-tainte.

You see, I am alive, I am alive.



___________________________


N. Scott Momaday

from When the Light of the

World Was Subdued, Our Songs

Came Through, edited by Joy Harjo

Norton, 2020





Thursday, July 29, 2021

Tuesday, July 27, 2021

Saturday, July 24, 2021

ROBERT HAYDEN ~

 





Those Winter Sundays



Sundays too my father got up early

and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.


I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he'd call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,


Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love's austere and lonely offices?



__________________________

Robert Hayden

African American Poetry

250 Years of struggle & song

Kevin Young, editor

Library of America

2020




Friday, July 23, 2021

Tuesday, July 20, 2021

Monday, July 19, 2021

PABLO NERUDA~

 




Is the sea there? Tell it to come in.

Bring me

the great bell, one of the green race.

Not that one, the other one, the one that has

a crack in its bronze mouth,

and now, nothing more, I want to be alone

with my essential sea and the bell.

I don't want to speak for a long time,

silence! I still want to learn,

I want to know if I exist.



______________________


PABLO NERUDA

translated by William O'Daly 

THE SEA AND THE BELLS

Copper Canyon Press 2002






Saturday, July 17, 2021

DAVID YOUNG ~

 



Occupational Hazards




      Butcher

If I want to go to pieces

I can do that. When I try

to pull myself together

I get sausage.



      Bakers

Can't be choosers. Rising

from a white bed, from dreams

of kings, bright cities, buttocks,

to see the moon by daylight.



      Tailor

It's not the way the needle

drags the poor thread around.

It's sewing the monster together,

my misshapen son.



      Gravediggers

To be the baker's dark opposite,

to dig the anti-cake, to stow

the sinking loaves in the unoven —

then to be dancing on the job!



      Woodcutter

Deep in my hands

as far as I can go

the fallen trees

keep ringing.



_________________

David Young

The Names of a Hare in English

Pittsburgh 1979





Friday, July 16, 2021

Wednesday, July 14, 2021

Monday, July 12, 2021

EDWIN MUIR ~

 




The Animals



They do not live in the world,

And not in time and space.

From birth to death hurled

No word do they have, not one

To plant a foot upon,

Were never in any place.


For with names the world was called

Out of the empty air,

With names was built and walled,

Line and circle and square,

Dust and emerald;

Snatched from deceiving death

By the articulate breath.


But these have never trod

Twice the familiar track,

Never never turned back

Into the memorized day.

All is new and near

In the unchanging Here

Of the fifith great day of God,

That shall remain the same,

Never shall pass away.


On the sixth day we came.



______________________

Edwin Muir

One Foot In Eden

Grove 1958




Friday, July 9, 2021

Wednesday, July 7, 2021

Sunday, July 4, 2021

Saturday, July 3, 2021

GIL SCOTT-HERON ~

 





"BLACK WAX"

A film by Robert Mugge

1983

W A T C H





Friday, July 2, 2021

TED JOANS ~

 




The Truth




IF YOU SHOULD SEE A MAN


walking down a crowded


street

     talking

                  ALOUD


TO HIMSELF


            DON'T RUN


                                           IN THE


OPPOSITE DIRECTION


                                        BUT RUN


TOWARD HIM


                    for he is a


                                         POET


you have NOTHING to

                                          FEAR


FROM THE


                  POET

                          BUT THE


               TRUTH  



_____________________________

Ted Joans (1928-2003)

African American Poetry

250 Years of struggle & song

edited by Kevin Young

Library of America

2020






Tuesday, June 29, 2021

CID CORMAN ~

 

Cid Corman

                                             June 29, 1924 ~ March 12, 2004

_______________



for all

poets


At the shrine

on the altar

not one relic


but in one way

or another

I remain.





A LORD will dismount

at the imperative of

the cherry blossoms.





DON'T LET the poet

get you down

when he rages


His letter kills but

his spirit

resuscitates.





AN


effulgence

a glory

a subtle


insistent

falling a

lucid rain


a torrent

guttural

clear and shrill


a run of

color con-

fused and con-


fusing a

sky full of

them! Alone


on the downs

on a bright

windless day





NOTRE DAME


Where Roman law made aliens bend

Stands a church, original, vital,

Like Adam once, all nerve and mettle,

Muscles aquiver at the end.


From outside you see the inner plan:

Flying buttresses forestalling

That mass from breaking against those walls

Upholding the vault's outstretching strain.


Labyrinth, impenetrable wood,

Soul of Gothic's rational abyss,

Egyptian might and Christian meekness,

By slim reed  oak, by plumb line — lord.


But the more, fortified Notre Dame,

I studied your immense example,

The more I thought: one day I too will

Build from meaningless a dream.





TU FU is long dead.

Leaves have fallen —

leaves will fall.


Every

thing in his words

on a far lookout.





MAKING

of rock. Letting as

Michelangelo


does the prisoner

becoming the rock

escape.





MOVED — three blocks up

and around in

a row of old


houses under

the bells of St

Stainslas and


cherry blossoms.

Must go get a

sink stopper and


a curtain rod —

if life is to

be tenable.





HERE I am

like a leaf

falling or


fallen. Point-

less as one —

as any —


all. Holding

mother's hand

though she's gone.





WE COME out

in the end

at the end


beginning

to see where

the stars are.





THE HILL

beyond the

gate


the temple

almost

mist.




__________________________

from TU

Cid Corman

The Toothpaste Press

1983





Saturday, June 26, 2021

GEORGE KALAMARAS ~

 



Below Buffalo Willows



Give us a kiss.  Goodbye, dear.  The buffalo

willows were full of hurt, and then the fire died.

Kiss the neck,  the nape, the cheek.  Somehow we survive

all the depths of deaths living gifts us.  I have cried.

I am not a we, but you are me,

and we are here.  Whenever we die.  Wherever

we had lived before,  with the sheep,  the cattle,

all the long grass long as a ribbed rib of sleep.

Yes, there was dust.  We slept the animal.

We slipped back and forth many times until

we got it right.  The woman the man hoped

to be was scarred.  The man she bled, hurt.

Say some touch or other.  The way we hold

a hand grieves us tough gusts that beat us

back.  A kiss.  Give it.  Grieve it.  Give us a way.

This mouth or that,  we are all tick-tonguing

our way around the tree bark of the heart.  Say something.

This time.  Anything.  Nothing would be enough.



_________________________


GEORGE KALAMARAS

We Slept the Animal

(Letters from the American West)

Dos Madres Books

2021