Saturday, September 09, 2017

This Pulsing of Language

Evening on the Sloughs
—Poems and Photos by D.R. Wagner, Locke, CA



THE GAZE THAT WAS NEVER RETURNED

This is why we don’t visit the edges of the city
Near the swamps.  The fungi is powdery looking.
It sticks to the hands and occludes the vision.
I am sure it has confused my speech.

The stars here have been splashed
With the most difficult of colors.
It is impossible to orient oneself while
Standing here.  We are captured by sounds
So frightening, it is difficult to breathe.

I remember waking in the morning and how cold
The house was.  I could barely unfold my fingers.
Just outside the room, wild animals roam the woods,
Looking in at the windows.  Voices began tellings tales.

My mother told me we are blessed just to be here.
I can see the fire line from where I am seated.
Parts of the clouds are being torn apart.
We have no place left to go.  The wind is impossible.



 Evening on the Sloughs, 2



THE TREE BOUND IN CHAINS

In the dark time
Troubling night
The wind lipped
Against our skin.

I stood the third watch
At the helm
And heard the water
Speak its psalms.

A bland, gray voice.

I can bring you monsters
Full of rushing and discovery.

The fingers of the palm trees
Lift just above the sea
Telling us that there is land
But not what its nature
May or may not be.

We very consistently sail
Closer to the shore
But still don’t know how close
We come to finding a mystic
River that lips and tunnels.

I pull at my covers like the sea
In wave upon wave away from me
Till I am cold as rain, in coming
Toward the morning.

A golden longing, stretched
By our speaking toward
What must pass for the clicking
Of a rhythmic finial against
The steel of our steady walking strides.



 Locke Kids Playing on Key Street



OFF WORLD

They described light, private
Aircraft as ‘temples’
And they flew too..

Waiting at the kitchen door.

‘Oh Charlie had a pink light
Around him and the pink light
Around him was as pink, a pink
It could be.’

They told me that the roads
To each other’s houses
Were made of the wings of moths.



 Stuart Wins the Prize for the Largest Pear
at the Locke GATHERING Annual Pear Contest



WHAT LIVES IN POEMS

Ghosts.
Shadows
Things that can no longer speak for themselves.
Anger.
People who have met themselves on the street at night.
Loneliness.
Empty houses filled with the sound of doorbells.

The finest tribute.  Rooms so dense with objects they create
Weather.  Rooms knee-deep with diamonds.  The voices of children.
A kind of singing never heard previously on this sad earth.
Storms contained by single lines.  Stopped by periods.

Tales of madness and cruelty.  The raw stuff of souls unformed.
Entire cites embedded in dense fog filled with fleeting colors.
The ability to hear things no one else has heard.
A sudden pouring of salt.  The eyes of childhood.

There is so much more.  These rooms are impossible to sweep.
Beautiful flights of rainbow-colored birds.
Sensible emptiness with a different concept of order
Unrestrained by conversation or the necessity of a body.

I will look for you there.
The warehouse of songs.
The secret hours of the day and night.
The most wonderful things seeking words
Only in this pulsing of language.



 A Mountain of Morning Glories



Today’s LittleNip:

LITTLE DRAINS
—D.R. Wagner

Little drains.
The curb smiles.
Leaves in its teeth.



 Sunset, Locke, CA

___________________________


Our thanks to D.R. Wagner for bringing us this fine spread in the Kitchen today—and welcome back after several weeks’ absence!

Don’t forget to check out Medusa’s Facebook page for the fine fotos of last weekend’s Chalk It Up in Sacramento, fotos by Cynthia Linville and Michelle Kunert. That’s www.facebook.com/Medusas-KitchenRattlesnake-Press-212180022137248/.

And today from 2-8pm, Women’s Wisdom Art will hold its Second Sat. reception at Sac. Poetry Center, featuring art and refreshments and a raffle (and a reading at 6:30pm). Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa



 D.R. Wagner and John Dorsey
Celebrate poetry—and poet friends!









Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.