Ms.+Dugan's+Poetry+Page

Welcome to Ms. Dugan's Poetry Page!

"Imaginary gardens with real toads in them." ~Marianne Moore's definition of poetry, "Poetry," //Collected Poems//, 1951

"Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry." ~W.B. Yeats



To Chaos My right fist bashes the fitting room wall, Flailing my way into a dress, just a Wayward motion, but still, pain and then all The blood a knuckle can summon astray. I suck my wound, fearing a rusty stain On clothing I don’t own and can’t afford, And the blood comes and comes and does not wane, So I stand half-dressed, impatient, uncured.

I practice my life as a dance and plan Every tiny movement in advance; I live alone, secure as an island, But chaos invades, and there are these chance Collisions that leave me hurt, immobile: Sometimes small cuts and sometimes Chernobyl.

For quiet decades, I lived in a house of mud. For thousands of days, I wove cloud castles For my thrushes and sparrows. I took rambling walks And murmured to the Earth. The Earth whispered to me. I floated above the ground And hummed to the sky. The sky crooned to me.
 * Slight of Hand **

But I am only a man, And I grew lonely. I am only a wizard, But people fear me. So I hid beneath A hooded robe And abandoned my house of mud. The shadows masking my face Hid my tears as I abandoned my thrushes and sparrows.

My feet bled along the roads, But I used no magic to repair them. When I could find no food or shelter, I used no magic to summon them. I lived and suffered as a man. I prayed and scavenged as a man. But I am also a wizard.

One day, I came to A town and found A street magician Performing for a crowd. I came to join the audience And found myself enthralled, Even though I saw The scarves secreted In his wing-like sleeves, Even though I saw The coin squeezed into his palm.

Here in the common street this trickster Reduced doves to empty cages. Here in the public square this entertainer Pulled a rope of knotted scarves From a little girl’s ear. He chanted, and a snake danced. He snapped his fingers, and a flame sparked. And the people were not afraid.

How long I had waited In my house of mud! How long I had sung only To my thrushes and sparrows! Awakened in spite of myself, my lips fluttering, I levitated ancient words on potent Puffs of air. Slipping off my hood, My lips now convulsing, Expelling spit and spells, I unbolted my true mouth.

My feet forgot the ground. The sky seduced me. I sang to the Earth, and it quaked. I sang to the skies, and they opened. I laced the dull lines of my body With intricate incantations. I threw off my robe And dressed my flesh In a web of lightning.

The street magician abandoned His trapdoor-rigged cages, His bleached doves, His drunken snake, His gold-painted wooden coins, And his glass crystal ball, And he fled, terrified, With the crowd.

I know how to heal the sick, And I could teach you. I know how to bring the rain, And I could show you. But I am not a trickster. I am not an entertainer.

If you really want to Understand magic, If you really want to know What it’s like To be a wizard, Then you must Go deep into the Earth, beyond The molten core; Go deep into the sky, beyond The end of the stars; Go deep into yourself, beyond Your very humanity.

You must Learn that you know nothing of The secrets of the Universe. And then you must Fashion yourself A hovel of dirt And crawl inside And never come out again.