sun's liquid lens
slides upon sky
a film loop flaming
in our darkened souls
only the dreamer
is within the dream
I must guard, Argus-eyed
against this infant self
for whom love means rejection, terror, death.
Whose panic overrides
all systems, locks
compassion like a vault
directs the intellect, that idiot computer
to run its war games of defense, attack.
I must regain
initiative, curtail the fantasy
that love's a tactic or a strategy
or anything that presupposes pain.
how many years can you afford to waste
in this recurrent nightmare?
in a cyclic universe
we log the periods of love and war
don't you have a sense of deja vu?
I don't have your patience or dependency
I'm sixty-five and through!
she's sent to bedroom to undress
till he comes in with spanking or caress
he poses her a latex figurine
uplifted globes
pinning her arms
while probing to the core
then gets on with the day:
all its assignments and alignments
relaxing in routine
barely aware of the force-field
of all its power
and whence it flows
when she says 'you'
that's really 'me'
loved so much more
than loved before
it's more than 'you'
it's 'me' come true
memory embraces only pain
fueled by these delusions of the mind
except your face, in this groteque terrain
no refuge from calamity I find
within the orbit of the love we share
a hopeful image of the future's clear
though I'm perhaps not altogether there
with you I would be altogether here
a swallow alights
another lands, flies off
the first darts after
two boys on the beach
one runs off
the other pursues
"Everything is words..."
except the dog's bared teeth
and low growl as I pass,
everything
except the gull's scream
showering from midair
and the baby
cooing
under an umbrella
Burn the dresses!
ghosts on hangers
feux d'artifice.
The repressed world
glimpsed through cracks and gaps
from which he reels
hellfire itself.
Go home.
It's over.
If you've learned anything
if you've changed,
bring that to your next lover.
Forget me.
Forget this place.
I don't want you here.
I want you to go away.
frost shattered the window
to a billion bits
ice pried open cracks
warped the doorframe
winter split the walls
I clutch about me
timber, rags and lath
cannot conceive
such cold had been
debarred
by just her hand
Lois said:
You don't know how to
please
a woman
Laura said:
Best I
ever had.
What have we learned from this?
we are the small dreamers
unlike those whose vast visions
drive them across the world
and gain them wealth
we must be practical
storing our dreams in mason jars
against the winter
denying ourselves each other
to survive
I
breathe deeply
deeply
watching my breath
feeling my body
here is the angel of darkness
the shadow of time
hunted by lightning
through jungle undergrowth
no place to hide
owning the pain and guilt
owning despair
around the room
convulsive laughter
merging to sobs
pounding of legs and arms
breathing into the pain
watch
allow
breathing a balloon
expanding beyond earth
the solar system
the edge of the exploding
universe
a cosmic lung
part of something pushed
in a canal
starchild floating
realm of
pulsing
with light
II
hallucinatory sleep
time to return
glide down the long
long flight-path to earth
waking
from death
murky diffuse
embracing without shame
hands in a circle
joined by love
some speak their journeys
others remain silent
chanting of OM
shantih, shantih, shantih
* This poem is based on the experience of Integrated Breathing (sometimes called Organic Breathing, Holotropic Breathing or Rebirthing). Sustained deep breathing manifests in altered psychic states and various expressions of unresolved emotions.
my grandmother
spoke only Yiddish
liked only two songs:
bei mire bist du shayn (You're beautiful to me)
zu midz hat gekommen a cusina
(A cousin has arrived.)
short, peasant shrewd
face a dried apricot
despot to grandpa
she organized poker marathons
and raked in the gelt
staged Passover feasts
vivid after fifty years
Aunt Bertha who'd married a rich bookie
with a townhouse in Sheepshead Bay
was her Anastasia
she coddled her children.
but screamed for my dad
when her youngest
on a pass from King's County
smashed windows in her apartment
paid no attention to his kids
except for one time
after asking me a few questions
observed thoughtfully
"keine saltz"
La Nature est un temple où de vivants piliers
Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles;
L'homme y passe à travers des forêts de symboles
Qui l'observent avec des regards familiers.
The living colonnade of nature's shrine
Exhales at times confused murmers and cries;
Forests of mystic symbols line
One's path and watch with strange, familiar eyes.
If I encountered
In an ordinary shop
Across a table of books
The Goddess
With deep-gazing eyes
And marble brow
Beneath a sea of black
Or golden hair,
Gold lariat
Coiled at her belt
And diving knife
Strapped to her calf,
A lasso to subdue
A blade to slash
The rotten from the clean,
Could I survive
Purification?
Would I become the sacrifice?
suns at light speed
spiral out of future
rush toward us
spill off edge of eye
we grab at
starry veils
clutch
dusty shreds
© Copyright 2-2-97 Martin A. Abramson. All rights reserved.