Scatterings Glints of the Sun Start with a hole for a universe. Start with a whole. In the beginning was the double You. Your breath was a wind that whoed in the hole; banged this universe, these whorls of stars, into our wonder. And we? How wee we are! specks, yet wonders ourselves in our consciousness, opening through our spectacles the spectacles around and in; changing them. Of course we seek to become as You. Nothing You make tends otherwise, pulsing: Your manifest heart, enlivening from depth to depth so oxygen and silicon define our souls. So the glints of the sun on the live oaks' leaves, now quavering, now still; on the flakes of snow where skiers cut; on the whooshing sea! (undated) sm027 post 1033
Thinking Lizard
About Me
- brian (baj) salchert
- Rhodingeedaddee is my node blog. See my other blogs and recent posts.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
s-poem41
Monday, March 23, 2009
s-poem40
Scatterings Three 1. To Francisco Varela with thanks to Charles Hampden-Turner Out of the Body emerges Mind; out of the Mind emerges Body. So also out the Universe God; so also out God the Universe. Mystery out of Mystery. Now. Forever. Our rooted skies are nets out of trees; trees out of nets: the tangible creating the intangible; the intangible creating the tangible. Yet the point of view: so eerily the point of view controls, controls. So the abstract skies seem a female prepared & anxious for the pulsing roots; so the concrete skies appear a male awaiting & needing the engendering roots. So the abstract skies appear a male; so the concrete skies seem a female. But triangle out of triangle: star after star: any is each; each is all. 2. Again to Francisco Varela Still, whoever he is I'm becoming and am, the tones of my body keep me apart, however vital empathy, however well I can understand myself and others, and try to. How the minnows dart & wriggle, caught in my net! How the multitudinous waters drag and pull as the net lifts; swim suddenly through! Struggling logic, tree— though poorly tended— I yet, when winds & nettings tire me, lean on you. At work / at rest, neither roots thriving in the dark earth nor roots withering in the bright air, but roots sustained by the Rune whose soul is energy, and pleasing it, I and you, as each, through each, each restore, wide-eyed and deep as the universe. 3. Energy . . . n /LL energia, fr. Gk energeia activity, fr. energos active, fr. en in + ergon work/ 1 : vitality of expression 2 : the capacity of acting 3 : power forcefully exerted 4 : the capacity for doing work syn see POWER These are the definitions presented in Webster's Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary. I am pleased; for Energy, Radiant Love, is: the creating soul of my Rune Lord, the Primal Poem / the Primal Song, Deepest and Holiest of Mysteries. The universe, the consciousness-rooted universe, the ever-changing universe, the violent, beauteous universe, alive, alive/ beyond our keenest imaginings, transformative, magnanimous! But manifestation on manifestation the universe is; not Energy. Within, and yet as well without, Energy— fetal here on my card table chair to defend my feet from the vanished flea (from who knows where) my eyes caught sitting black and smart on my opened poets' calendar but my killing finger's slow approach wanded into vexing air, I sag— Energy predominates, enigmatic, warm. 1–13&14–83 sm026 post 1032
s-poem39
Scatterings The Purple Fox Now blows a dark and brawling wind Along the purple Fox; And stands a rake beside his love Near friendless coalyard docks. And she is supple, like a wave, In her delight with him; But he's as stiff as any drunk All bottle to the brim. He stumbles out and stumble in: She smiles; then holds him near. But he is numb to all her warmth, And stares, and drinks his beer. Then quick and rough, he grips her jaw. She grasps his icy wrist. And eyes fear eyes in ghostly pale— He pounds her with his fist; He bruises with an empty can And tears her blouse away, And strips her to each rattling bone And molds her breast like clay. The coal turns white; the snow turns red. His love squirms like a worm. Though every twist would flee the beast, His vorant arms grow firm. With seering lust his sockets roll; His fingers run insane. So crazed is he that even now Her screams and tears are vain. And all this craze and drunkenness Is tangled in her hair. And love is raped and turned to ash, And softly strangled there. Yet far and cold the still night falls, The frozen river flows; But only one can tell the tale: The brawling wind that blows. 1965 published in summer 1965 Pursuit volume V number 2 sm025 post1031
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
sl50-Hey!
Answer me Answer me Why won't you answer me Answer me Answer me I'm not a fool Answer me Answer me Why won't you answer me Answer me Answer me I'm not a fool Let the world pass ah-ah-ahn Let the world pass ah-ah-ahn Let the world pass ah-ah-ahn Let the world pass in Let the world pass ah-ah-ahn Let the world pass ah-ah-ahn Let the world pass ah-ah-ahn Let the world pass in sm024 post1030
Monday, March 2, 2009
sl49-oo oo oo
too-oo- oo-oo-oo too-oo- oo-oo-oo too-ee-oo-oo-oo too-oo-oo-oo where i live where i die where am i where are you sm00023 post 1029