Poetry in Three (or more) Languages. [FOR THOSE OF YOU VIEWING THIS SITE ON A MOBILE DEVICE, PLEASE READ THE POEMS IN LANDSCAPE ORIENTATION FOR THE SAKE OF CORRECT LINE BREAKS.]
You needn’t bring me the stonesLeave a Comment
To build myself a cell,
You needn’t forge the iron bars for its door,
Or give me the rope to hang myself
I can do all of that and more—truth to tell,
I can do all of that and more, and do it rather well.
You are everywhere and nowhere,
dauntless and cowardly,
unassuming and brutal. You brandish your stinger
like a sword, you flaunt it like a banner.
Proud, so proud—and witless, you, my friend,
are nothing more than a glorified cockroach
that I can crush underfoot.
She hovers,
held in her mother’s arms.
Airborne; dainty little bird.
Not yet terrestrial and no longer marine.
Not yet realized and no longer a vision.
She is future promise and obscure past,
fading memories and keen sensations, she is
billowing shadows from a submarine world.
She is here now, real now. Now
she is a creature of light and air and sound.
But for the remainder of her life she will dream
of silvery fishes,
of algae and slime,
of the dusky silence
whence she’s emerged.
Come hither love; give me your hand,
let’s wipe those tears off your cheek.
Let’s scold the ground for being rough,
then do something about your knee.
Do not give up your play for fear
of falling down or getting hurt.
For life is all about the leap,
and being familiar with the dirt.
There now, my love, your knee is clean,
soon it will heal and be like new.
We grow and change, we break and mend,
and thrive so long as we brave the bend.
I saw your name in blazing letters on a hillside.Leave a Comment
And there I stood, stupefied,
watching your name. And then—well,
then it started to rain.
At first I thought, “These are tears
on my cheek.” As smoke began to rise
I was forced to realize: Either go,
or stay and get soaked.
Either go, or stay and get soaked. Go,
or stay and be blinded
by the acrid smoke
that was once your name.
In my sweat, the animals scentLeave a Comment
the smell of my acrid disquiet.
In my head they hear the traffic of frenzied questions
running over and maiming all of my good intentions.
They sense the chaos that prevails
in this monstrous and frenetic piazza
that is my soul.
The animals know
when I am on the verge of a new apocalypse.
They know of my tumbling down from one hope to the other
along the precipice that is raised inside of me each day.
They know by heart the miraculous rescue staged
after every daily devastation.
The animals aren’t impressed anymore.
I know a name, a supple leaf all veinLeave a Comment
and sap, a sacred map that is your face,
a chart to port. I know a place by which
to berth by night, to anchor by. The way
a zealous tree will spread its roots about
the earth, so too I grasp, so that I might
enfold your sea. Or so I try, albeit in vain.
And when the light of day returns—
when the light of day returns, I drift
away and let you go, for, see? I know
your name, I know your face; I have a map.
Under lock and key,Leave a Comment
In a murky chamber and away from prying eyes:
That which ought not be acknowledged,
That which ought not be avowed,
That which might or might not exist—a country, a continent,
The hidden side of me.
Let’s just be.Leave a Comment
Let’s just love, without asking why,
Without asking if and when and how.
We needn’t understand, explain or justify.
Just be you, and I will love you
Like I love you now. And if I be me,
Either you will love me, or I.
