Hello! And what a pleasure it is to be here!
First things first: This week I'll be posting my work along with photographs by Nikolai Lesnikov, who also lives here in Seattle, as well as brief essays about art and poetry that fascinate me, with calls for cooperative research so we can discover new ideas and answers.
I'll also post work by other poets, newspaper articles, the amazing things that crop up in this strange time.
Today, although we've had ice and sleet and rain, the sun is out. Come with me down to the lake.
CARP
Between old hulls and piling rust,
anchors, huge chains, nets of yellow and orange,
greases and smells of creosote, forgotten cargoes;
the slabs of light break and move
suddenly into the shaft of water
eddying against the yard railing,
the cool, dark light of morning
gleams in luminescent movement,
lowering, partaking in
beans of houseboats, dock rails,
hulls reflected in blue lines,
visual fields of broken green shadow,
and below, below,
only what plants,
the carp with their dead-penny scales,
lumpy mouths,
older than centers, older than poetry,
slowly fanning into the channels--
bridges, bridges, everywhere.
anchors, huge chains, nets of yellow and orange,
greases and smells of creosote, forgotten cargoes;
the slabs of light break and move
suddenly into the shaft of water
eddying against the yard railing,
the cool, dark light of morning
gleams in luminescent movement,
lowering, partaking in
beans of houseboats, dock rails,
hulls reflected in blue lines,
visual fields of broken green shadow,
and below, below,
only what plants,
the carp with their dead-penny scales,
lumpy mouths,
older than centers, older than poetry,
slowly fanning into the channels--
bridges, bridges, everywhere.
