Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Kit Kelen #576 - first sun

first sun

the also up

it's through ether spun
and had to be wing-lifted

every morning
not twice the same
as if a star came calling

there was a very moted dance
through beams
where all the worlds
are dust

it shone the green leaf
till the season turned
and we were with it rising

who could guess one world's mortality from this?

they have tried not to worship
but that wouldn't work

soon we all should pray for rain

isn't this fellow cheering us on?

I write into your dark
you half-a-day-behind

no nightbulb
this is the lamp for interrogation

it is a tinsel whimsy
its own vitamin as well
we held it till a blindness was

this love can never be divided
(but by cloud, which goes)

and all of us inspire
here we all are in the spot

wasn't there a treetop trill?
we were new worded with it

like a moon grown gold
the first time

can there be new to say?
yes! every day there is

1 comment:

  1. Comrade Kris Hemensley at the Collected Works bookstore in Melbourne had the American poet Jerome Rothenberg there to read recently. Whose poetry, JR's, I've been off reading on a cloud lately. For some reason, your poem reminded me of this poem, which I discussed with my class this afternoon.


    for Michael McClure

    A deep romantic chasm
    beckons him it leaves no time
    to hide from light
    in spite of circumstances,
    & the way the street
    flows like a stream
    from no source,
    nowhere. This season
    with its birds
    newly arrived,
    the first one on a fence,
    mortal as you,
    a harbinger of days to come.
    Another word,
    a false return,
    the spoken still unspoken
    carries us off.
    The cavern of the universe
    widens each morning.
    My head fills up with dew,
    the father writes,
    having no home but where
    his shadow leads him.
    In greasy shirtsleeves, heavy
    lids, blotched faces,
    the men pursue
    a trail of tears,
    unbuttoned captive
    to a dream,
    a starless galaxy,
    the deeper sky
    a field of images
    measureless & mindless,
    absent their god.


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