metaphysic of snow

Metaphysic of Snow

–Donald Finkel

Photo by Jessica Fadel on Unsplash

dark night

Dark Night
–Charles Simic

Because life eternal is boring,

Angels play pinochle in heaven,

Devils play poker in hell.

You can hear the cards smack the table

In the dead of the night.

God’s playing a game of solitaire,

Satan playing one as well,

Except he cusses and cheats.

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migratory

Migratory Flight

–Fred Dings

Photo by Jan-Niclas Aberle on Unsplash

refusals

Refusals
–Circe Maia

Here’s the first fear:

being slippery and weak.

The passing without touching, touching without resting,

the barely resting.

I don’t want

to live like someone who drinks

the days, loose wine

that very quickly sours

and—without knowing how—

comes to an end.

Another fear: to become lost.

Suddenly to no longer be there, having stayed

behind at the bend.

Already they don’t see us, already they don’t hear us.

Movement between images

between shadow, between dreams.

I don’t want

this making false progress,

in reality, stillness, arrest without appeal

in reality, death.

Finally, this fear

difficult to talk about, right now:

smoothness of paper, gleam of wood,

silence all around . . . in silence flies

fine fear, needle of the present

moment.

Translation

Rechazos

He aquí el primer miedo:

ser resbaloso y blando.

El pasar sin tocar, tocar sin apoyarse,

el apoyarse apenas.

No quiero

vivir como quien bebe

los días, flojo vino,

que muy pronto agria

y—sin saberse cómo—

se acaba.

Otro miedo: perderse.

De pronto ya no estar, haber quedado

atrás, en un recodo.

Ahora ya no nos ven, ya no nos oyen.

Movimiento entre imágenes

entre sombra, entre sueños.

No quiero

ese avanzar en falso,

en realidad quietud, detención sin remedio

en realidad, la muerte.

Por último, este miedo

difícil de decir, ahora mismo:

lisura de papel, brillo en maderas,

silencio alrededor . . . Vuela el silencio

fino miedo, aguja del instante

presente.

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smokers for celibacy

Smokers for Celibacy
–Fleur Adcock

Photo by Ray Reyes on Unsplash

curtain

Curtain (Balthus, La Chambre)
–Ann Lauterbach

Photo by Monique Pongan on Unsplash

lost country

Lost Country of Light
–Todd Davis

But I am not trying to get to heaven.
I am trying to get to earth.
– Christopher Camuto

June sun, so longed for in December,
paints a burning light upon my neck
as I hoe the garden or pick raspberries
along the ditches. By early afternoon
I’ve had enough and retreat to the trees,
into broken shadows dim as the back
of the closet where I put things
that shouldn’t be forgotten: the field
where my grandfather planted beans;
the last cow my family owned;
the hay rake that turned the cut grass
into windows; the bell on the back porch
my grandmother rang when she heard
her son had died in the war.

Photo by Ian Keefe on Unsplash

to the dead

To the Dead
–Frank Bidart

What I hope (when I hope) is that we'll
see each other again,--

. . . and again reach the VEIN

in which we loved each other . .
It existed. It existed.

There is a NIGHT within the NIGHT,--

. . . for, like the detectives (the Ritz Brothers)
in The Gorilla,

once we'd been battered by the gorilla

we searched the walls, the intricately carved
impenetrable paneling

for a button, lever, latch

that unlocks a secret door that
reveals at last the secret chambers,

CORRIDORS within WALLS,

(the disenthralling, necessary, dreamed structure
beneath the structure we see,)

that is the HOUSE within the HOUSE . . .

There is a NIGHT within the NIGHT,--

. . . there were (for example) months when I seemed only
to displease, frustrate,

disappoint you--; then, something triggered

a drunk lasting for days, and as you
slowly and shakily sobered up,

sick, throbbing with remorse and self-loathing,

insight like ashes: clung
to; useless; hated . . .

This was the viewing of the power of the waters

while the waters were asleep:--
secrets, histories of loves, betrayals, double-binds

not fit (you thought) for the light of day . . .

There is a NIGHT within the NIGHT,--

. . . for, there at times at night, still we
inhabit the secret place together . . .

Is this wisdom, or self-pity?--

The love I've known is the love of
two people staring

not at each other, but in the same direction.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash