Sandpiper
The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.
The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
of interrupting water comes and goes
and glazes over his dark and brittle feet.
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.
- Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them
where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
he stares at the dragging grains.
The world is a mist. And then the world is
minute and vast and clear. The tide
is higher or lower. He couldn't tell you which.
His beak is focussed; he is preoccupied,
looking for something, something, something.
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray
mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.
- Elizabeth Bishop
-------------
71
There was that examen when he asked
About that long time he spent on the road
He wondered about the supplications
And if he was one of Bishop’s sandpipers,
Chasing the tide out to where she came or the tide
Rolling fervently chasing him inland
While keeping his head down looking ,
Looking for something.
Maybe two weary worn detectives could help
Scrutinize the trail of clues
In the discovery of the story
Of his salvation history or real purpose.
Maybe the story is distorted by time.
Maybe time is distorted by the story.
25,915 spent just like that.
Invested wisely? Wasted gifts ?
Juggling promises of the earth
Proved to be a distraction from the truth.
Liar ? Tired of rekindling the fire?
What is truth?
Did he believe he had the strength to handle the truth?
Most of the unequivocal trust
In some of the self appointed wizards’
Arthur Murray methodology of
Dancing one’s way to redemption
Was betrayed. The millstones tied
Around their necks were
Tied with slip knots.
He stirred up the dust of rage as he paced the cage.
He no longer needed a teacher
Or need a good book to know.
Remembering the great mystic’s observation
How the dark night of the soul leads to
A loving union with the divine;
Ashes to ashes , dust to dust no longer fueled fear.
In the meanwhile his spirit recommitted
For the remainder of his odyssey to
Delight in the sacred innocence of children, music,
Soaking in the mystical insights of poetry
And to live in the equanimity of the ever-present peace and love,
He knew he would bathe in the ocean of grace
…of every aspect of the present.
- JF Sobecki
———-
Tell Me a Story
….Tell me a story.
In this century, and moment, of mania,
Tell me a story.
Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.
The name of the story will be Time,
But you must not pronounce its name.
Tell me a story of deep delight.
- Robert Penn Warren
Calmly We Walk through This April’s Day
… What will become of you and me
Besides the photo and the memory?
(This is the school in which we learn …
... that time is the fire in which we burn.)
What is the self amidst this blaze?
What am I now that I was then
Which I shall suffer and act again,
The children shouting are bright as they run
(This is the school in which they learn ...)
…What am I now that I was then
…May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.
- Delmore Schwartz
You set the Scene - Love
Acid Tongue - Jenny Lewis
Pacing the Cage - B. Cockburn
True Detective Season Three - If You Have Ghosts
(The dialog of two old friends...detectives)
(The dialog of two old friends...detectives)
Jack Kerouac on The Steve Allen Show
Reading a segment from On The Road *
Amazing Grace - D. Allman
“I once was lost, but now am found”
amdg
“One day I will find the right words and they will be simple”
- Jack Kerouac
“The only truth is music”
- Jack Kerouac
Copyright 2019 JF Sobecki LLC All Rights Reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment