doves depart

Thunder cracks
over doves of doom
perched on wire,
tails toward gray mass
tracking north,
a wet smudge to
wash our heat away.
What wonder sprung
from this shall pass
before doves depart,
folded feathers
now unfurled,
shedding rain
as voices sing
familiar words
in arcane bursts.

japanese death poems

Four-and-fifty years
I’ve hung the sky with stars.
Now I leap through—
What shattering!

—Dogen Zenji, 1253

Empty-handed I entered the world
Barefoot I leave it.
My coming, my going—
Two simple happenings
that got tangled.

—Kozan Ichikyo, 1360

Spitting blood
Clears up reality
And dreams alike.

—Sunao, 1926

Showing its back
And showing its front,
A maple leaf falling.

—Zen Master Ryokan, 1831

What legacy shall I
leave behind?
Flowers in spring.
Cuckoos in summer.
Maple leaves in autumn.

—Zen Master Ryokan, 1831

More on death poems here and here.

(Thank you: Dendo @ Baltimore Dharma Group)

small poems in prose [alejandra pizarnik]

The sun closed, the sense of the sun closed, the sense of the closing was illuminated.

*

A day arrives in which poetry is made without language, day in which the great and small desires scattered in the verses are called together, suddenly gathered in two eyes, the same ones I praised so much in the frantic absence of the blank page.

*

In love with the words that create small nights in the uncreated part of day and its fierce emptiness.

 

[Alejandra Pizarnik, Texts of Shadow and Last Poems (1982)]

(The Unstoppable Myth of Alejandra Pizarnik by Enrique Vila-Matas)

when spirits decide

the planchette inscribed
ovals on the board

stay or go
we had asked

a reply of stay
led to a why

ovals came back
first spelled out
then drawn
over and over and over.

spatial divide

Black sky of crows crowns mornings, bookends to nights of ferocious dream violence

[can an empty space feel occupiedbe occupiedwith no bodies present]

Jackal fear circles, breathing hidden threat-breath, by unknown summons

[can shadows of bodies, once (they have) / left, still linger, filling space once occupied]

Inside, a wavy line descends, evens out, climbs a steep peakteetersdeclines again

[two containersone infinite, one finitehold space—connecting valves open and shut to control in/voluntary flow—allowance for expansion / contraction]

Outside, surrounding spaceunbrokenlimbs recede at the height of uncertainty

(11-12.14 / 7.17)

Moment death–
each day a thousandfold.
From atop the promontory:
Ahoy! The headwind wakes.

Connections cleave–
backwind pushes us.
I cannot stop it.
I cannot step into it.

Clinging tendrils,
even unthought-of,
gulliver us
to the not-now.

Tripartite refuge limps
on weakened limbs.
Ever-widening eyes
Astigmatized.

strange sea creatures

Strange Sea Creatures

Erased from “Strange Sea Creatures,” in Pleasant Ways in Science, by Richard A. Proctor. New York: Longmans, Green, & Co., 1905. Courtesy of Project Gutenberg. [click to enlarge]

so-called fabulous animals
the merman, zoologically possible, of course,
the unicorn, the dragon, the centaur,
the minotaur, the winged horse,
recognized as known forms.

the sea has been misunderstood,
land cannot long escape.
the most powerful and ferocious beasts struggle.
savage man must be killed
and the true appearance of the animal determined.

powerful winged animals remain mysterious,
a mighty bird might swoop down and disappear.
from time to time the strange winged monster
would be seen hovering.

savage races of man, animals now extinct.
power of the winged enemy,
sea creatures monstrous.
we remain ignorant.

hidden beneath the waves
creatures of the deep sea expose themselves,
men counter-attack.
great sea creatures, monsters of the deep
seen only for a few moments,
sinking back into the depths, a mystery.

repetition of the story
the creature, its true nature recognized.
understand then the fabulous creatures,
remarkable, the monsters of the deep sea,
understand the truth.

ghost cats of Delverne

ghost cats of Delverne
from their hilly perches stare
white sentries above

excerpt from alejandra pizarnik’s diary

Empty happiness. I spent the day reading poems. Trying to learn the technique, in a miserly and premeditated manner. Sometimes it makes me nostalgic to think of children, for whom every action is play. For me, to read poems is work, a great effort. To manage to focus my attention on other people’s words and feelings is a battle against myself. I made two poems. And yesterday another two. I think I won’t ever be able to make a novel, because I’ve nothing to tell in many pages, and even if I had something to tell, but no, I’ve nothing to tell.

Read more at Music & Literature (found via The Blog of Disquiet)

See also: Extracting the Stone of Madness, Pizarnik’s first full-length collection of poetry in English, which was just published this week by New Directions.

a man of riverbanks

I am a man of riverbanks—excavation and inflammation—since it isn’t always possible to be a man of torrents.

René Char, Leaves of Hypnos

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