Monday, July 23, 2007

the poem strays into the light



Bloom breaks again all

along the greening

branches, bitter plum, apple

the fuzzed quince we can’t eat

without long fire & stilled


The blue pulse

keeps its sharp time.

I turn again in the long garden

book fallen from my hands


Spring’s great wheel

will turn without me

bright hurtling world


Love it for me then


In the rivered days we talked of water

My lips were still dry

When the rains came down

I left the doors open

If I hung mirrors

it was to find you

passing in the moving air

Where my child lay buried

I watched those small flowers

white violets eyelids of waking


I learned to hold the pieces

I learned to throw them away

It doesn’t take much time, my life

When I go down in the orchard

stunned with the breaking flowers

I look to see you clear light

my eyes blind with your sun

(I have been fascinated by the edges of things all my life, and the transitions between things. Where one thing turns to another. This is a poem that has lived in my notebooks a long while--my paper notebooks, that is. Time to let it come to the light for a bit.)

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At July 25, 2007 11:07 AM , Blogger Jan said...

"If I hung mirrors..."
This is a treasure of a poem. Thankyou.

At July 27, 2007 10:41 PM , Blogger blog queen said...

This is such good stuff. You are really good at this stuff. Have you published any of your works?

At July 27, 2007 11:52 PM , Blogger jarvenpa said...

thank you jan and blog queen (whose hat I admire). My poetry has been fairly widely published in journals and such over a long time period, but alas there is not a book or collection out (and it wasn't for lack of trying). Putting it up on my blog feels somewhat like launching little messages in bottles or in balloons; I recall being 9 years old and finding a balloon with a note tied to it; part of a test of wind currents; it was very thrilling.

At July 30, 2007 12:31 PM , Blogger MB said...

Thank you for the balloon gift!


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