—Denise Levertov
Almost too late to walk in the woods, but I did,
anyway. And stepping aside for a moment
from the shadowy path to enter
darker shadow, a favorite circle of fir trees,
received a gift from the dusk:
a small owl, not affrighted, merely
moving deliberately
to a branch a few feet
further from me, looked
full at me—a long regard,
steady, acknowledging, unbiased.
________________________
CONCURRENCE
—Denise Levertov
Each day's terror, almost
a form of boredom—madmen
at the wheel and
stepping on the gas and
the brakes no good—
and each day one,
sometimes two, morning-glories,
faultless, blue, blue sometimes
flecked with magenta, each
lit from within with
the first sunlight.
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Taylor Graham sends us a reply to yesterday's Panther poem by Rainer Maria Rilke:
RILKE AT THE ZOO
—Taylor Graham, Somerset
That afternoon in the Jardin des Plantes
the poet stood before the elephant to memorize
its slow depths and textured surfaces; and then
the hippopotamus, simple as an artist’s
vision, shiny as molten metal out of water.
But it was the panther, abstracted
behind its bars—what sculptor
dare steal those ligaments and muscle?
A poet strips them to the word.
He stood before the creature till it stopped
its pacing, it almost forgot to breathe. As if
a poem could rob the object of its pulse,
take that rhythm for itself. Who could forget
the glazed stare of those eyes
as he turned to go, after he found the rhyme?
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Thanks, TG! Taylor and recuperating husband Hatch (along with the other Red Fox Underground poets of Placerville environs) will host a reading by James Lee Jobe and Mary Zeppa at Our House Defines Art Gallery and Framing in El Dorado Hills this Friday, June 16 at 7 PM. Our House is located at 4510 Post St. (Ste. 330) in El Dorado Hills Town Center. Free. Info: 916-933-4278.
________________________
SETTLING
—Denise Levertov
I was welcome here—clear gold
of late summer, of opening autumn,
the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,
the mountain revealing itself unclouded, its snow
tinted apricot as it looked west,
tolerant, in its steadfastness, of the restless sun
forever rising and setting.
Now I am given
a taste of the grey foretold by all and sundry,
a grey both heavy and chill. I've boasted I would not care,
I'm London-born. And I won't. I'll dig in,
into my days, having come here to live, not to visit.
Grey is the price
of neighboring with eagles, of knowing
a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.
______________________
a grey both heavy and chill. I've boasted I would not care,
I'm London-born. And I won't. I'll dig in,
into my days, having come here to live, not to visit.
Grey is the price
of neighboring with eagles, of knowing
a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.
______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)