"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.
Slight of Hand
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.
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.
"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.
Slight of Hand
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.
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.