This Blue : Poems (9781466875074)

 

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Contents

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

EPIGRAPHS

I

A SITUATION

WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR

AVIARY

OK FERN

BEST LAID

LATE HOUR

ALL GOOD

ANOTHER DAY IN THIS HERE COSMOS

SUMMER BEER WITH ENDANGERED GLACIER

II

WHAT'S THE MATTER

INCARNATION

TELL US WHAT HAPPENED AFTER WE LEFT

THAT MAN

EVEN THOSE

LUNCH WITH MOUNTAIN

THEY WERE NOT KIDDING IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY

MORNING VANITAS

MORNING WITH ADIRONDACK CHAIR

GLACIAL ERRATIC

ROAD / HERE NOW

III

TODAY'S COMEDY

MEZZO

GENOA

SAN FRUTTUOSO GLOBAL

DRINK WITH MOUNTAIN, REMEMBERED, ANDALUCÍAN

INSCRIPTION

TO ONE IN PARMA

LEVANTO

IV

TERRAN LIFE

EMBROIDERED EARTH

ICE PEOPLE, SUN PEOPLE

BELFAST

DEBATABLE LAND

THINGS OF AUGUST

REPLAY / REPEAT

BROADBAND

WESTERN

V

HOROSCOPE

MOSS LAKE

SKYWATCH

QUIET CAR

SONG

HER SUMMERMINDEDNESS

LOCAL HABITATION

THE FACT OF A MEADOW

MÄRCHEN

ELSEWHERE

ENOUGH WITH THE SWAN SONG

ENVOI

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ALSO BY MAUREEN N. McLANE

COPYRIGHT

 

Thinkers without final thoughts

In an always incipient cosmos …

WALLACE STEVENS

“July Mountain”

Species means guilt.

BRUCE ANDREWS

I

A SITUATION

Everything bending

elsewhere, summer

longer, winter mud &

the maples escaping

for norther zones …

Take it up Old Adam—

every day the world exists

to be named.

Here's a chair,

a table, grass.

A cricket hums

my Japanese name.

Skyscrapers

are stars. Rocks.

Those were swell,

seasons. So strange,

that heaven, that hell.

WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR

What I'm looking for

is an unmarked door

we'll walk through

and there: whatever

we'd wished for

beyond the door.

What I'm looking for

is a golden bowl

carefully repaired

a complete world sealed

along cracked lines.

What I'm looking for

may not be there.

What you're looking for

may not be me.

I'm listening for

the return of that sound

I heard in the woods

just now, that silvery sound

that seemed to call

not only to me.

AVIARY

Curmudgeon

pigeon,

iridescence

glinting unlike

granite,

what common

gullet did you peck

that crumb down now

you jerking thing

some call a flying

rat? Rats will inherit

the earth's garbage

dump and you

may also flash

on that trashheap

called the future

untransformed.

Yet to the dove

you're kin.

If my love

could sing

like a mourning

dove,
could ring

the wrongs

away in the wind …

Kind bird,

do what's yours

to do with every

scrap forgot—

the nightingale's

not more precious

than your idiot

insistence to stick

around and peck and look.

OK FERN

OK fern

I'm your apprentice

I can now tell you

apart from your

darker sister ferns

whose intricate ridges

overlay your more

regular triangled fans.

Tell me what to do

with my life.

BEST LAID

it's clear

the wind

won't let up

and a swim's out—

what you planned

is scotched.

forget the calls,

errands at the mall—

yr resolve's

superfluous

as a clitoris.

how miraculous

the gratuitous—

spandrels,

cathedrals.

on a sea

of necessity

let's float

wholly

unnecessary

& call

that free

LATE HOUR

isn't it time

to say the garden

is wasted

on us? untended

roses the japanese

beetles gone

apeshit the labor

theory of value

will not redeem

the labor required

to reclaim

this. do I recommend

nothing?

I don't know

what to say

and go on

saying it

ALL GOOD

a “beautiful day”

nothing happened

and nothing was going to happen

the wind shook leaves

that did not fall

the moored boat did not sail

& the rain fell

on casual grass

everything was full

including the empty glass

*   *   *

a “beautiful rose”

no sign of a woman

but a boy's succulent anus

in a Persian lyric

call it ranunculus

or camellia

are they not more enfolded

than the folded rose

whose folds your nose

now probes

*   *   *

the mountain's

promiscuous

any cloud can take him

any sun have him

it's all good

today's assent

and tomorrow's

ANOTHER DAY IN THIS HERE COSMOS

Stormthreat. Clouddarkened

mountain, computer

unplugged. Commuters

to nature on a plain

of grass the sheep

munch clear of clover.

A park's a way to keep

what's gone enclosed forever.

Rhyme is cheap.

So is pop.

Easy to be obese

in a land fat with rape.

Now the sun burns

unprotected skin.

Now the sheep dream

of lanolin.

To everything alive

we're kin.

Eat or be eaten—

what the vegan

spurns and the Jain.

I saved a fly

I baptized William Blake

and released to the sky.

Of course he'll die.

The new grasses

a brighter green

than the older spears

make this a scene

of summer starring

black butterflies. The Faerie

Queene alights from her magic car

a red convertible

and she a glam tranny.

The sheep don't care.

The sheep don't mind.

In three months the wind

will blow these trees bare

but for the tall pines

littering the forest floor

with browning needles

gone soft in the slow trample

of small creatures and long rain.

A park's a way to keep

what's gone enclosed forever.

SUMMER BEER WITH ENDANGERED GLACIER

My one eye

does not match

the other

Corrective

lenses regulate

whatever

needs require.

Seeing?

I was being

being seen.

Let be

be finale.

Let our virtues

tally

up against

the obvious.

If we

don't believe

ourselves

custodial

why all

the hoobla-

hoo, hulla-

balloo?

Passivist

mon semblable

ma soeur

soi-même

blow through

this blue

II

WHAT'S THE MATTER

Why the low mood,

the picking at food?

Maybe it's the weather.

Maybe it's hormones.

Explanation's cheap

but sometimes hits the mark.

I am the target

of mysterious arrows

I myself let sling.

O that's your fantasy

of omnipotence.

You make everything

your thing.

All day I stayed in bed.

It seemed someone else

must have been alive

have done what I did.

Failed to do

what I failed to.

It's still in my head

those things I did

and said and cared for

doing but it's all gone

white like green hills

in certain light

as Dante says the hillsides

can go white

in the middle of a new life.

INCARNATION

Some are gay

in an old way.

It has its charms.

The kids are like

hey … wassup …

except they don't say

wassup. Hey.

The women with children

who are nonetheless

virgins. Mrs Dalloway.

The body a nest

of sockets

and unplugged cords.

The body without

organs has finally arrived

its wireless folds

almost tangible.

Years ago

I wanted to die

when you made me feel

we were fungible,

everything repeatable.

Later I floated

like a spirit

in a spirit photograph

above my life.

I shared a skin

with my skin.

I was in

my life not of.

I hovered above.

Then I descended

a millennial reincarnation

surprising myself

out of that ghost.

Carnations grow

in sandy soil.

You can touch

them. Hey.

TELL US WHAT HAPPENED AFTER WE LEFT

Ferns here ferns there

I dream of my newest friends

who will soon subside

into near strangers

—peculiar the sudden

intimacies evanesced

without a kiss …

Who went home

with whom after the dance

party's what we want

to know. What century

did seduction

end in? Libertines

linger in the corridors

of the purely sexual.

I pulled you up

by my bootstraps

& liked it. I licked

you up & down

& up. I poached

eggs on your breasts

and combed yr curls.

There was nothing

I wouldn't do

with you & to.

Let's go down

to the river none

returns from. O yes

you swift diver

you plunge good.

THAT MAN

That man over there

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