Tag oran
You are descendant andmetaphor of kin who firstbreeched the sea three hundredmillion years ago, eking out the one day exactly wheresea to shore is wed and bled.Scuttling up the sands to scavenge,rappelling back to revenge your gills in brine. Such … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I loved those stars which mantled Western nights drunk-walking home from Spokane bars, freezingand lost—exactly how a 20-year-old Eastern boy should careen the long walk’s Western dream. My head was full of beer, Tom Petty and The Cars and … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Down by the lake there’s a two-acre wood lot where trees have grown for decades, surrounded by blocks of houses older and new. Who knows, maybe it was part of the old pine logging camp or a later resort … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Sitting at an AA meeting where we talked about practicing these principles in all our affairs I chewed on a dream from the other night like some raw dog flesh, pith or marrow of dead truths told flush, harrowed … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
… Nearing death, one doesn’t see death; but stares beyond, perhaps with an animal’s vast gaze. Lovers, if the beloved were not there blocking the view, are close to it, and marvel… As if by some mistake, it … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I hardly dare say that Izdubar’s fateis grotesque and tragic, for thatis what our most sacred life is. — Jung, Black Books Poetry has grown intolerantof its myth, all those lostenclosures & forgotten wellsblessed by this or that pagansaintthrown risible … Continue r... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Summer’s height and might, throb-tide, the sky like a sea entranced by its own drowned thrash, beyond potent and expectant in each souse and throb. This hour, late dark, full-mooned, never sated enough, balling the humidity in its black … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Als der Schwarze Tod übers Land zieht, bleibt den Menschen nichts als beten. Wer von der Pest befallen und wer von ihr verschont wird, bleibt den Menschen ein Rätsel. 1348 ist das schicksalhafte Jahr, in dem die Pest – nicht … ... mehr auf literaturundfeuilleton.wordpress.com
Summer of ’45: A cold June in Paris, leaden and heavy, the rain too stringent with the dead, their bulleted stead. A ghostly citadel. Not much food left in the markets and street cafes, no gardens growing in bombed … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
What do we knowof truths down under?Messages from You, Paternost,are dried by wet thunderon vellum furthermost. You sing as You like; it’s wewho shrink the breeched whaleto drink-sized pinky hell,the rant of things gone staleknelling vacant the sailed. Who made … Contin... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I see us walking down the quay with our remaining burdens— a bundle of clothes, a trunk perhaps, scant-filled with dowried dreams—: The ship wallowing at high tide like a matron crying for midwife, distending her welcome to us … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A cutting too long in water, its cup overfilled, a lusciousness lavishly stilled: The kiss after midnight fatally swilled. Who knows why such fragrance dies here, drowning so late in enchantment, rapture become weight, drift become sea. Seals are … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I haven’t a dream to lift this lid but still the hinges creak in water. I sing it from the vale of time green as lawns on latest afternoons, in light that angled, sickle-prime to moons arising to haul … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A century or two after the written word cameto Ireland, deposition of Latin on vellumin obedience to a distant Rome’s Godmust have felt akin to white martyrdom,departure from the homeland’s old pastoral,vast sacred landscape and oral lore allsacrificed to cross … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
As usual I write this to you standing near your memorial — faded, your time in this world and as my brother etching into stone, living memory lost, joined now in the vast receipt of the dead — stones … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
It’s winter in Connecticut,snowing up a gale; Marilynis home alone this Christmas.Arthur is away, demanding asolitude she knows is icedwith the old contempt of herhaving found her naked self(and probably another woman,sap as he is for muses). She sits by … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
They’re with us always in the rainy season, piling in magnificence and malevolence up and across astonishing strokes of sky. They are neither of a measure or deity our level human thought could ascribe. Even when it doesn’t rain … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Long ago, in the early years of journaling & patching verse together it came to me that when the real leaves you homeless, there’s always the surreal. It’s the American Way though I didn’t know it then. I was just … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
It’s too late for apprehension, the change is now behind the times. It’s taken root and wickers minds in heat and storm and surge. It shadows what we quicken like the haunted pair dancing outside the bar approaching dawn. … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I have more volumes by Charles Wright than by any other poet except maybe Rilke: Never my favorite but always up there, I’ve read his poems for thirty years. Time now has that solid thunk to it, the apparition … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Here’s a skull now; This skull hath lien you i’ th’ earth three-and-twenty years. —Clown gravedigger in Hamlet, Act V, scene 1 He is a ghost, a shadow now, the wind by Elsinore’s rocks or what you will, the … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’m trying now to live downside the fall. That part of the miracle play that continued after, no rubes to enthrall or sins confessed, no organ note’s gold cross. I sing the charring heft of breezy afternoons after blazing contrails … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
There is only this moment Between dust and silence A goose in flight over water Brother, all I have of you now Is a wilderness of pauses Where you stood still Whispering This And took the picture (Twenty times … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’m still waiting for my past to wake up. Long stretches of it snoozed the afternoon of my earlier life. I sense I missed something in class, the part of the instruction which taught how to number spirits. You … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
The destructive blue and the white belong to the same fire. — James Hillman, “Alchemical Blue” If alchemy turns memory into soul then what is that pool at about this hour thirty years ago, its morning much like today’s, … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
The ghosts are filling up the square that faces Congress; they have an air of past griefs mixed with present woe so prescient the marchers almost glow evanescent, frail candles in grey skies whose flicker out forever flies. … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
1978, a cold afternoon’s walk by the Spokane River and the totem pole on Canada island, relic not of the native population sent packing to the res but of the environmentally-themed Expo ’74— paint almost fresh, the stacked faces half … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
This time of summer, afternoons kilt white with clouds, upsurging Picts in blind swelter— a hundred Fahrenheit of surge. I swim the mounts above the day’s commute, a seal evaporate whose eyes bore not on heaven or beyonds but … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Doors are opening; the dead unhengethemselves from near-to-monumental timeand issue in their flitter-whisper-synewhat poets equate with perfect rhyme.There’s my brother Will who diedlast April, clear as those last monthswe shared, his vapor almost halcyon:But who’s that walking next to him?He’s … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I have touched many shores in this voyage, wakened in many beds, turned and discovered many worlds blooming inside these wounds. The bucket I pull from the well today brims with a lucence found only once, at only one … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
New basis. Forget history or progress. No more extraction building up what never will sustain. No more faith in powers unseen. No more walls for privileged shires. No more bail. No more hope. No white sails. Tear it … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Five decades studying five thousand yearsof human misery and mystery and you getthis poem, its teeny well-lid pulled asidefor one dim and musty peek at truth.I know, you’re sure hoping this poemwill get it fucking right enough,waltzing its billow of … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
As tail goes I got it I suppose but not the way these rubes step on each other’ toes to gawk. Not by a drowning mile. Someone’s gotta work the rear but this? My salmon head lopped off & … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Teaching thermal physics is as easy as a song: You think you make it simpler when you make it slightly wrong. —physics instructor Mark Zemansky Callisto had learned a mneomic device for remembering the Laws of Thermodyanmics: you can’t … Continue read... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
My tribe has been eating your eyes almost forever—since you cursed water and grew feet. I could be your own mother, that’s how far back the fancied hook is set. Do you remember when we populated vellum offshore of … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
These stairs go down forever, can you carry me that far? Round and down and cross and fore the way perplexity enlooms, bolding forth a tapestry which time of course entombs. Is it madness or simply age that makes … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Recalling dreams we room to room, first I was mowing grass, then I mooned, etc. But time has no visible thread in the dark and so the aeons doh-see-doh with snark. (Fuck narrative, the sirean sisters sass.) As … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
From the cold smooth eerie of the lake a horse’s snout, black, elliptical, shining like a talisman of a lost age resurrecting, prowing the water with breath that is not. The head arises closer to shore, ears turned backward, … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
… We carry language as our mind, but are we the dead whale that sinks grandly for years to reach the bottom of us? — Jack Gilbert, “What Song We Should Sing” … I, Saturn and Janus, … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
The waking share one common world (cosmos), where the sleeping turn aside each man into a world of his own. — Heraclitus, fragment 89 I’m building my own house in Hades, dream by blackbrick dream. The halls ache back to depths invisible. … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
