Call It Truth

Dai Dancer

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

WE LIFT TOWARD MORNING



The lion guided me


To a vast sea of black water.



Nothing was visible clearly.  Just


Before the dawn, a great serpent


Rose from the sea and came to me.



“There are so many children,


Charming serpent.  I know you


Know the names of them all.


Tell me their secret names


That for you, I may come calling.”

       

 ***


Then bright rings fell to the ground.


And I believed in the serene and beautiful.


All that is love, so far beyond our understanding.


And he brought me both moons.


They were the same moon but this


Time there were two of them.



A little kingdom of the heart sprang up.


There was a majesty to it all,


A beautiful heart beating within the body.



The lion moved close beside me


And I was able to recall all of the birds


And see bright shrouds float above the dark sea.


How can anything look this beautiful?



We began to talk to the winds.


They knew of everywhere we spoke.


They told us they could carry thoughts


And gave us all lanterns to light


The edge of that sea, to see that


Serpent as a real thing.



Perhaps this time you will 


Believe me.  See, the children


Are all going back into the forest.



Put this in your heart.


Nothing can harm it there.


I will give you a basket


And tell you I love you.



And you will please take this one


Chance and see the joy these kinds


Of things can bring.  We lift toward


The morning.  The serpent begins to sing.


It is irresistible, the loveliest of sounds.


(first posted on Medusa’s Kitchen in 2013)

 Ancient Dai Dance

SPEECHES OF THE QUEEN



The moon was traveling.


It had a bag of stones.


It could travel fast, 


Cross many cities in less


Than an hour.  Faster

Than a fish might swim,


Even large fish.

    

***



I am the border.


The stars cannot cross


The breath that


Winds cannot breathe,


Or the touch that fish

May not wish to.


I am the prayer that


Brings dreams to their knees


Left like a hollow


In moonlight


Or the call of grief 


In any night.



I will sound the deep


Chambers where blood

Is the question


And flesh too is a border

That cannot be breached.



I tear at my body as 


Bold advertisement


To smile at demons who


Breathe air I breathe



And see charms of the cuts


That are made near


The heart’s core


Reveal a prison


From which we may not


Be relieved.



For I am inflamed


With the odors of begging


And all that I say


Is that is believed.



Try the sweet ropes of snakes


Or the power of the kiss.


I will hold your soul


To my bosom


And you may not resist.

 Dancer

TRYING

I was trying to get
This poem finished
Before you got here
But you never came

 Firemen and Cats

IF ONLY FOR A REAL CHANCE.

You drink the lavender water from my cup.
I understand lavender as the drape
With which it blesses us, calling us gods,
Touching our bodies as it does so.
Giant rings come out of my mouth.
Do you know anything about them?
As they float away, I can see landscapes
Too beautiful to go searching for words
To describe them.  It is like being seventeen again.
There is lavender in my imagination
But it has been almost twenty years since
I’ve told anyone about it.  Let me look
At your hands.  I can only recall them with my heart.
I am happy you have nothing to say to me.
I am glad you touch my cheek the way you do.
These are not memories.  Until tonight you were
Nothing more than something I heard played
Upon a piano and knew implicitly.  We should
Get dressed and go down the stairs to be with
The others.  We will learn to speak on the way
To the table.  I will bow to you.  You will bow as well.

  Rooftop, Emeryville, CA


THE DEEP GIFTING


It was a deep and thick-browed sleep


That came upon me, full of halls and doorways,


Some of flame and some of stone and some


From which the scent of heaven wafted 


Upon no breeze at all but a pregnant stillness


In that air found alone in dreaming and carved


In certain chambers of the heart.  The lonesome speech


Known to fall from the mouth of ancient bells,


Tripping one and keeping one from finding


Any way back from the soft and guarded arms


Sleep surrounds us with, it boards its indeterminable 


Train and makes for mountains darker still than midnight.


Here is the dwelling place of spirits long forgotten


On this earth.  Spirits whose speech is of a tongue


No longer heard upon our world and scarcely remembered


In any land.  It is hinted with a cadence known to fairy,


Heard when troops of them dwelt up an airy mountain,


Down a rushing glen.  It was a voice of wings that carried


The blue away from the sky and pushed the sun to clouds


That it might hang its lyric on the walls of our souls,


Admonishing us to be still and await a kind of rapture


One might hear only in the presence of mystery.


I have walked there and will walk there again,


For I have deep business with the shades and fleeting


Beings that dwell there.  I am come to them to find


Those words which are seldom heard in any poetry


Or song, in any prayer or any curse that might


Be given to those who read these words or speak


To one another of the wonders of the dreamlife.


I learn within those rooms and behind those silent


Doorways of the many rooms and enchantments 


That live beneath closed eyes and breathe that other


Breath that rushes from our lungs when we are


No longer present in this old and fitful world.


I would carry this to you that we may share it


As a feast so seldom given to each other
,

That one might call it madness, or others


Call it truth.

(first posted on Medusa’s Kitchen in 2013)

____________________

Our many thanks to D.R. Wagner for today’s fine poetry, LittleNip and photos, and congrats to him and his family on the wedding of his daughter! For more about the ancient Dai dance, see www.huangshantour.com/english/SmallClass.asp?typeid=28&BigClassID=66&SmallClassID=203 or go to www.youtube.com/watch?v=dh77VFZtQn0


Today’s LittleNip:

Everything can be crossed.  Of course it has to end.  There's a river of water deep under the Mist River, yes?  And that water runs somewhere.  All the other rivers, all the lakes—they all drain somewhere.  There's a water ocean under the Mist River and I wonder whether the mist ends somewhere out there.  If it spreads out and vanishes and you find you are floating on water...

—Kij Johnson, The Man Who Bridged the Mist

 ____________________

—Medusa
 

 Today the poetry world sadly marks the passing

of American poet Michael Harper. 

See news.brown.edu/articles/2016/05/harper for more.

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.