Landis Everson: A Prism of Birds
Feb. 7th, 2008 11:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jewelweed“Real poets never vanish, their language is reborn to thrill us ‘in the wild zone’. Direct, intimate, magical, ‘honey washed’, Landis Everson’s words ‘purr’ before us. Verbs blush and run around naked. His skills are astutely dressed up, bones become poems. Which are constant and fulfilling, honestly shining in the unity time.”
—Joanne Kyger
A Prism of Birds
1.
The morning's portion of violets--
basing the future on a schedule of arriving flowers.
The day began with the mandatory thunderstorms
always in the distance
birds disturbing the rhododendrons below the window
my attention shifts to the vase
holding the flowers
holding no birds, no thunder, no feeling
except as I fill it.
If you came into the room
for any reason
I would put you in the vase
rejecting the violets
the Fall schedule
the fullness of my emptiness.
2.
Since they had nothing to say, they talked about
the weather, the birds and the cost of living--
how cold the money had become, as if the souls had flown from it.
He looked her in the eyes and considered
what it might be like to hold her hand
but the thought flew off.
He said, "My farm might not make the expenses this year."
She saw the fright in his eyes
like a death wish for a wounded hawk.
Reaching out her hand she
swooped in
cold as money
cold as the weather cost him.
3.
When the snowbirds come they cover everything
they settle on the rooftops
they are trying to get warm
instead they warm the earth
like a quilt. A quilt muffles us.
The birds rise just as we are used to them
we can hear the train in the station
whoo whoo goes the sound
now broken out of the feathers
sound is everywhere the cold is
on your two faces of snow
a fairytale read by Hitler
and the voice marches with its troops
who whoo they are everywhere
displacing the cold again.
—Joanne Kyger
A Prism of Birds
1.
The morning's portion of violets--
basing the future on a schedule of arriving flowers.
The day began with the mandatory thunderstorms
always in the distance
birds disturbing the rhododendrons below the window
my attention shifts to the vase
holding the flowers
holding no birds, no thunder, no feeling
except as I fill it.
If you came into the room
for any reason
I would put you in the vase
rejecting the violets
the Fall schedule
the fullness of my emptiness.
2.
Since they had nothing to say, they talked about
the weather, the birds and the cost of living--
how cold the money had become, as if the souls had flown from it.
He looked her in the eyes and considered
what it might be like to hold her hand
but the thought flew off.
He said, "My farm might not make the expenses this year."
She saw the fright in his eyes
like a death wish for a wounded hawk.
Reaching out her hand she
swooped in
cold as money
cold as the weather cost him.
3.
When the snowbirds come they cover everything
they settle on the rooftops
they are trying to get warm
instead they warm the earth
like a quilt. A quilt muffles us.
The birds rise just as we are used to them
we can hear the train in the station
whoo whoo goes the sound
now broken out of the feathers
sound is everywhere the cold is
on your two faces of snow
a fairytale read by Hitler
and the voice marches with its troops
who whoo they are everywhere
displacing the cold again.
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Re: finally getting a sense of its presence
Date: 2008-04-01 03:30 pm (UTC)Hey, I am FINALLY over that horrendous bug I had. Shall we do dinner or lunch? soon?
We have some catching up to do!