THREE BY HELEN RUGGIERI
Green Silk Tanka Kimono
(At the Metropolitan Museum)
on the back of the green silk kimono
the women copied his tanka
the one he wrote watching
moon rise reflected
in Brocade Mirror Pond
the one the Emperor nodded at
as if approving
characters fall down the back in a line
how the moon
loves the kiss of water
how this is reflected
how it dissolves
gold shattering
in dark water
like broken stars
like ancient silk
letting go
What Does it Mean, They Ask of Hiroshige
tiny human characters
dwarfed by the mountain's heft
bowed by a strong wind
crossing the bridge
rain soaking the straw
of their cone-shaped hats
barelegged trudging
through deep snow
the small boat in the trough
of an enormous wave
fishermen at the oars
useless in this surf
what do they see
what don't they know
Browsing
. . . a terrible tragedy for a poet - to be without his language. Yevtushenko
I. Library
In the Russian literature section
names burst on the palate:
Akhmatova
Brodsky
Dostoyevsky
Mayakovsky
Solzhenitsyn
Yevtushenko
A snowstorm of cyrillic
curling around esses and kays
the fine thrum of vees and gutturals
II. Liquor Store
Wines rush from amber to deep crimson,
a red so deep it is almost impenetrable:
soave
chardonnay
zinfandel
merlot
cabernet sauvignon
barolo
bolla
pinot noir
Lingering el's and vowels
a caress of romance and aroma
intoxicating
III. L'Envoi
If my language were stolen
I would still have that
which hears without meaning
moaning foreign vowels and consonants
_______________
PAUL LAMAR
April, 2006 (for Neil)
We cleared the land and planted.
I lifted more than you; you designed.
We made a house. You built a path
That circled all around the yard
And walked it while I sat under a lantern.
We had no pets. No neighbors called,
But we acknowledged them from afar.
The water in the spring was high,
And birds abounded.
Trees flourished, and shrubs flowered
Every year without complication. At the back
Of the house you built a shed for pottery,
Your narrow hands holding a shape fast or fat.
Throughout the house the little altars held blossoms
Or pennies or pins. We kept them full for luck.
I can not think, then, that you will die, as they say.
We have created a small fort here against invasion.
The weight of things must mean something to a worm,
A flood, or whatever animosity wants to destroy us.
__________________
DON BLOCH
Drowning
hey, Swimmer Boy, you want
to watch that smile of yours
open your mouth, even once,
underwater & you drown.
It's as simple as that!
Down you go, looking up,
wondering at how fast
the light recedes
as fish of every color
God has ever made
jitter by in schools
to ogle you
and flick their tails in one
last flash of rainbow
The day's eye blurs
and winks good-bye
you writhe, just like
a drunk conductor,
under mounting
cubic pressure
signaling balefully
a final scherzo
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