Jars Full of Delight

—Poems and Photos by D.R. Wagner, Locke, CA

WORDS EXPLAINING



I’ve gone out to gather


These words and have brought


Them back, so many of them that


They have become hard to carry


With their meanings and nuances


Attached like so many ideas in


The head of a genius playing.



Right here they cluster together


To say I love you and could do it


A thousand times if I let


Them all go as they wish to be 


Let go.  They look up at you.



Enthralled by being seen,


Explaining themselves in row


Upon row of letters, forms,


Shadows on the mouth of knowledge.



Eventually they will lie down


Properly and go to sleep.


Even dreaming is here,


A warm bed, tenderness,


The night finally quiet


As they wait on the edge.

_____________________

VOYAGER



There is little colder than those red


Eyes gazing at an electronic brain.


Not even the idea of wind visits here.


The lines from a lost poem written


During yet another war are sealed


In this heart but none shall ever

Open that vessel to see those expanding


Circles.  All communication breaks


Off just beyond the edge of the solar


System but the gold surface


Continues to reflect something, a star


Or an icy tail of some forgotten comet


Come by with information for no one.

WE HAD BEEN WALKING

We have been walking out here


For a very long time.  The dark


Colored glass of this valley


Was making us sick.  It might

Have been the smell that roiled


Through, dressed like a five-year


Yearning for blind angels to


Minister to us about the great


Mysteries.  



God, she looked


So beautiful as the ornaments


Of sleep crept into her face.



We couldn’t stay here any longer


Let alone wait for the great


Wings to show us what was


Really meant by those circles


Beaten into the stones telling


Us to love all things.  There was


Unrest in the weather.

________________

BLUE TERRACES: INTERIOR

That trembling was
Like your lip but was
So much deeper.  I could
Not hold anything in
My hands.  I didn't even
Want to think about speaking
To you.

It hastens and chastens
The will to make known.

That small fire, mostly
Charcoal.  I carried it
Around from room to room
Thinking it would keep
Me warm.

I stopped to pick up a
Sunset; thought I'd
Bring it to you like
A cup of tea on a day
That discovered it has
To follow me because
It knew I was
Going to see you.

If you need me, I'll be on my bed
Looking out the window.

WAKING UP WITH YOU BESIDE ME



I dreamed you beside me in the morning,


The winds of sleep still rolling through


Your muscles, fields of diamonds cascading


Your dreams, white water on the white of oblivion.


You did not see me as I lay beside you, watching


Dawn slip across your skin.  You did not know


I kissed you then or that you were other than


Your present self.  I know, and only I can know for sure.



I was surprised in this dreaming, dreaming that


You dreamed about me.  Who knows what highways


Sleep will let us travel?  All our lovers in their cars,


Zipping through the chemicals that unlock door


Upon door and let us see these loved ones again,


Living or dead.  I dreamed that we were loving,


Making love with all attendant skies and being touched


By angels as we were there together, again and again,


Falling in and out of sleep, first you there and then


Again you not.  I spread my hands upon the whiteness


Of the sheets and they were flat and cool, not you at all


And of more substance than such dreams.



This morning you were gone.  You were birdsong


On the electric wires, the net of energy that surrounds


Us in our cities.  You were slow breezes off the delta,


A dancing in the leaves of the trees, the sound of the mind


As it clears all sleep from its fine sifting screens, a moment


When, before the water hit my face, you were truly


Real and I did not know that such a thing as this was dreaming.

WILLOW
 


Do you remember me?  I asked the tree


which had grown in my absence.


So much water had rushed under the bridges


at Remagen, Corazon, Kyoto (cherry trees


in blossom in the spring!) and it was only


a tactical decision to fail to mete out a memory

of bridges near a hospital once visited repeatedly


on a day much like today, when nothing


hung in the balance or asked anything of us


beyond the most complete and humbled attention.


Do you remember me?  Why should it?


I only watched as it was carried away, its veins


leaking from the bag I had bundled them up in


when I dug them back out of the ground—


I gave the whole tree away to someone


who promised to take care of it through winter


and flood—and someone must have heard


my thoughts as I stood there and begged it


to remember because she came and stood with me,


and we looked at each other and admitted,


at least with our eyes, that this was more


than could be asked of a tree—the briefest glance—


and then I had the impression again I was standing


alone and it was true, she had left—and at this moment


a wind came up through the leaves of the tree

which had grown crooked because no one had bound it


when it was still young—silver—I should like to have


such silver in reserve for border crossings to come—


silver of the type it does no one good to hoard


and one only remembers and gives it away.


WE ARE REALLY NOT THAT SMART



The palaces of the night,


Made of fireflies and moonbeams,


Ropes one hundred thousand


Strong, the night birds thronging


The parapets and gliding along


The chimneys with their dark smoke.



Actaeon becoming the stag on the edge


Of the forest, his hounds seeing his


Coat glisten and become fur.



Poor, the weeping that comes


From the great cities.  Lame,


Tired and with wings of pity,


Tied to the coattails of change


So that nothing is recognized 


When we pass a place.



“This was your home as a child


And it is a grocery store,” the lights


Depending on our feeble memory.



They even record and play thunder-


Storms when the sprays of water


Turn on and wash the vegetables.


We are outside.  The world is ours.


 Let us run through the garden.



The thin strips of wood that made


Up apple baskets are gone now.



Entire trees are draped in torn


Plastic fluttering with the wind


Alongside of every highway.



Sweet prayers rise from our throats.


Saint Theresa joins us with armloads


Of roses.  She tells us about Actaeon,


Gathers the stag in her arms.

___________________



Today’s LittleNip:


TIGER



These stars don’t have names.


They wander around heaven


Praising God and nothingness


Alike.  They are like you are.



Rumi tells us every object,


Every being is a jar full of delight.


Are we not nobler than the angels,


For we walk upon the earth, sing


Songs to one another, embrace.


We have bodies that reflect the


Mind of God.  Reflect.



We do not have to talk any longer.


We are light.  We make color


Visible.  We can see the Spirit


Jump higher than the tiger.



____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to D.R. Wagner for today’s fine poems and photos!

 D.R. with Michael McClure, 2006