Ion

undershirt overcoat in the vale little not big glade cut from the town with a blade run through by the train not on the vale but in it or under is better for worse far worse is than eyeless is the dirt like the worms making new friends at the funeral . that , is enough they welcome him in friends make a fence with their bodies won’t let him out ! this is your hole , forever like a door open like I’m sorry like I miss you like the lid closing with the smack of a kiss that sounds underground a subway somewhere simpers )


Let me add a few words about this strange new prose poem thing I have been playing with lately. This is a poem for Ion (pronounced yawn) Drimba, my friend and coach. He died in Brazil in 2006 and is much missed. I have attempted to (with the exception of internal punctuation such as contractions) use punctuation only as a verbalized part of the poem. So when you encounter one sitting strangely separated off from the phrases, please say what it is (for instance ! exclamation point , comma and the like). They have no other function in this poem, in reality. There are some natural rhythms here and some caesura that is unavoidable and I’m confident you will find them as you read this out loud. That, unfortunately is the only way this strange poem will make any sense at all. It might seem a little confusing (strange rhymes lost without the perspective that lines and stanzas provide, alliterative phrases that are inherently awkward) at first but let the parsimony principle be your guiding light and all will be delightfully murky. Enjoy!

These are the Friday Five words used:

kiss
train
fence
vale
simper

place

town of my dreams
streets slick with night
green spring sunny days
time
to sit
and write

breakfast
and lunch on the terrace
sparkling sea water
peaceful
walks along the beach

talks with friends
colleagues students
artists

sunny day
convertible drives
top down
along a coastal highway

trips to mountains
picnics in meadows
music at the symphony hall
ballet and opera
at the theater

cocktails on the boat
in evening

cathedrals
cool large and hushed
outdoor cafes in the afternoon
people walking by
us sitting talking laughing

snorkeling
in quiet coves
of afternoon sun

barbeques
with friends
kids and grandkids

and time
precious time

lovelight

leave the light on
we will see you

Beethoven is home
the madman

is this your game
who is winning

conquest Mozart

coming home from
miles away

undertone
to radio

key in a lock
understand

pastisse is a
midnight game

you didn’t win
it isn’t finished

femme

she felt happiness
in her mouth eyes

chocolate endures
it tastes long deep

burning her mind
an itch

daylight hides her thoughts

a feeling inside
what she should do

doing without finding words
my sense of completion context

feet feel floor
as dancing



TO ALL WOMEN: HAPPY WOMAN'S DAY!!!!!
8 MARCH 2008

string

from the bureau of words
in the drawer of my mind
looking through the mess
for order

looking at morning’s mural
painted on energetic flesh
in my eye my yard
my neighbors

migration dilated
made larger in parking places
to morning movement
seen and heard

and understood
without speech words
which aren’t even kempt
in dictionaries

found but confused
contemptuous
under alphabetical tyranny

never understanding silent order
of string to fingers
and vinegar to nose