#4555 - Friday, March 30, 2012 - Editor: Jerry Katz
- #4555 - Friday, March 30, 2012 - Editor: Jerry KatzThe Nonduality Highlights - http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlightsA FEW POEMSby Gabriel Rosenstock~ ~ ~Sheet Music for Bird Song
One by one they vacate the memory cells
move out we know not where
faces of the disappearedWraiths drifting home from a club
mist strolling a heath
shadows witnessed by crows
footsteps stalked by a one-eyed alley catBefore leaving, unceremoniously,
this walking, wondering,
wishful world of men
to become tattered leaflets
notices in train stations, post offices,
strangers who enter our lives
because of their absence
touching us because they are of our time, our placeWhat is the sum total of the vanished?
Have they gone back to school
learning again how to say
Good night, see you in the morning!Do they assemble
like fixed stars on frosty nights
disappearing over and over again?A voice mumbles
They are spread out all over the earth
and under the earth A second voice:
Dust, they are dust A third declares
They live and laugh and cry like us
tenacious, insubstantial as gossamer First the names appear
and to that known record is added
more and more names
ribboning back in time
in more directions than I know
a parchment the colour of a wintry sky
before dawns childish daubingsI gaze into that stippled void
look! it was there all along
sheet music for bird song.~ ~ ~
StagThe boys eyes are full of wonder.
What is it you have seen,
his father asks.
The boy has no words to describe the great stag.
What can he do? Sing?
He dances for his father
the first steps of the Highland Fling.~ ~ ~
The peoples spirit cracked like dry bone.
In time they answered
to other names
in another language
that fitted them like tight jeansThey quickly mastered new-fangled things
sending text messages to illiterate aunts
back in Source of White River territory
where the intestines of a black pig are still used
for divinationThey exercised their vote.
A certain delightful paleness entered their cheeks
and they walk now to a new, bold rhythm
pausing only to look in shop windows
combing back their sleek hairTheir diet today is more varied.
Babies come into the world and are baptised
without that lost look in their eyes.
They speak volubly -
Rapid fire -
time is now more precious than beforeOne of them publishes a poem abroad
to much acclaim
another is paid what youd spend in a year
for modelling underwearOn hot summer nights
when the air conditioning fails
they dream the sacred waterfallIn olden days a seer would sit
on a threadbare bullock hide
and in a recess behind the bright roar
plunge into ancestral silence
invoking the restless spirit of the falls
emerging from a corona of spume
to scatter his pearl-strung litanies:
all who listened were rooted to the ground
and were healed.~ ~ ~
His GraceNobody quite knows who you are
or why youre there
taking up such valuable space
almost enough for a wine bar.
Your name suggests
a Church of Ireland bishop
as does your poise.
Let me guess,
you once did the Grand Tour
your daughter sketched the Coliseum
you instructed your secretary
to pay the sum of five pounds
to the Gaelic League.
You preached sermons
the illusion of grandeur and fame
you cared for horses.Who are these people passing by?
Not the type who seem to know much
about old English roses.
Why dont they look up?
but your gaze is elsewhere
or, further still, the troubled Empire.~ ~ ~
Comfort Lady: a soldier remembersIt was plain she had lost her reason
as I had lost my soulSleeping with a dead animal?
Yes You could say thatShe had lice in her hairFor years afterwards
my mouth sagged
as though Id had a strokeOld pleasures yield nothing.
There seems to be as much death
as life in the soilThe pageantry of seasons?
Crumbling stage sceneryAfter the war
she leaped to her death, I am told,
emitting a sound
like an eagles whistling cryI write this down
so that my children and my grandchildren
will know of my shameA leaf has just landed on the veranda
I pick it up, examine its veins
and half choke: time passes, a running sore.I went to die for the Emperor
and lived -
this is my sorrow.~ ~ ~Sweeney in Gleann na nGealt the Valley of LunaticsThey give me donkeys urine to drink
Watercress to chew
For mental aberrations
I am not mad
If I am mad
So is the wind
Auroras streaming down the slopes of Gleann na nGealt
You cannot see them?
I will show them to you
I have them here
In the glowing palm of my hand~ ~ ~FéileacánFéileacán
Bhíos in ann féachaint trína sciatháin.Ar feadh uair an chloig ina dhiaidh sin
bhíos in ann féachaint trí gach aon ní
is tríom féinig.~ ~ ~Butterfly
Butterfly/on a window./ I could see through its wings./ For an hour afterwards/I could see through everything/ see through myself.