—Public Domain Illustrations Courtesy of Medusa
A MAGICIAN OF SURREALISTIC ANIMALS
He made the alphabet of animals surreal,
unlike the ilk that sailed on Noah's Ark.
Brancusi, Ernst, Man Ray, Duchamp would deal
with art of such a brand, a noble lark
demystifying beauty—like his fly
of steel and porcelain—a basin, doves
that served as armchairs, while he sought to try
to make a funhouse with the mirth that loves
to laugh, and not a silent, doleful church.
Working in the Louvre, he saw the stare
of ancient creatures while he felt the lurch
and buck of riding sculpted Apis bare.
He planned a house of brick—a giant head—
whose grand design is now entombed and dead.
He made the alphabet of animals surreal,
unlike the ilk that sailed on Noah's Ark.
Brancusi, Ernst, Man Ray, Duchamp would deal
with art of such a brand, a noble lark
demystifying beauty—like his fly
of steel and porcelain—a basin, doves
that served as armchairs, while he sought to try
to make a funhouse with the mirth that loves
to laugh, and not a silent, doleful church.
Working in the Louvre, he saw the stare
of ancient creatures while he felt the lurch
and buck of riding sculpted Apis bare.
He planned a house of brick—a giant head—
whose grand design is now entombed and dead.
WORDS OF A MAGICIAN"S SPELL
The magician turned things into tales
to tell our fabled foibles with a bite.
Our modern mode of teaching virtue fails
to let us know our acts are wrong or right.
Forget such lessons, old or modified.
Look deep into a creature's startled eyes,
a dolphin's glance that darkened as it died,
a seagull's wing that flails and fails to prise
itself from oily globs, a starving cat
too weak to eat that once was loved when new
and kittenish, the whale we killed for fat,
the gelding boiled into a pot of glue.
These animals have neither words to say
or need, like us, a word that means "betray".
CONJURING THE MAGIC OF SLEEP
Beyond the river of stars
I erased myself from the light
and hunted buried clues
to the place where you bedded,
where sleep had promised rest,
a place you had found alone.
Along your sleeping sprawl
flowing linen folds
enclose your legs like clothes
in a hellenistic frieze
and loosely follow lines
of a torso that rose and fell
with each suspenseful breath
like the soul raised in elation,
possessing or leaving the body.
Floating, levitating,
my pivoting, weightless arm
moved—a magician's pass.
I poised my head beside
your ear and whispered phrases:
Let me list the names
of our lost identities.
I will tell such secrets
that every heart reveals
at last, at the end of life.
I know who bears the fault
your dreams of love expired.
Tell me whether you want
to know these hidden things.
But if I speak, remember,
I also will have to disclose
the horror and horrors to come
from a womb of stillborn words.
So grip my hand and ascend
towards that clamorous weeping.
Beyond the river of stars
I erased myself from the light
and hunted buried clues
to the place where you bedded,
where sleep had promised rest,
a place you had found alone.
Along your sleeping sprawl
flowing linen folds
enclose your legs like clothes
in a hellenistic frieze
and loosely follow lines
of a torso that rose and fell
with each suspenseful breath
like the soul raised in elation,
possessing or leaving the body.
Floating, levitating,
my pivoting, weightless arm
moved—a magician's pass.
I poised my head beside
your ear and whispered phrases:
Let me list the names
of our lost identities.
I will tell such secrets
that every heart reveals
at last, at the end of life.
I know who bears the fault
your dreams of love expired.
Tell me whether you want
to know these hidden things.
But if I speak, remember,
I also will have to disclose
the horror and horrors to come
from a womb of stillborn words.
So grip my hand and ascend
towards that clamorous weeping.
MAGICIANS OF HEALING
A stroke had slowed, made thick, his tongue
and sent Enlightenment magicians
to attend him, science's patricians,
casting latin words like spells
amidst machines whose sounds have stung
the silence, more than what it tells.
We seek to mint a soothing word,
but language like these stiffened sheets
is dull, unlike the rhythmic beats
of hearts that speak to heart, the hand
that's held when our emotion's blurred,
while life is life and nothing's planned.
A feeding nurse directs him: "Swallow."
His wit returns: "I do prefer
the sparrow," startling us and her.
His history of verbal play,
of puns, conundrums hard to follow,
give a grace no words can say.
This winter ended with that sparrow,
even though the falling snow
continues, making progress slow.
"His eye is on the sparrow." Move
us past our fear, so narrow.
The deepest part of us is love.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.
―Roald Dahl
_____________________
A stroke had slowed, made thick, his tongue
and sent Enlightenment magicians
to attend him, science's patricians,
casting latin words like spells
amidst machines whose sounds have stung
the silence, more than what it tells.
We seek to mint a soothing word,
but language like these stiffened sheets
is dull, unlike the rhythmic beats
of hearts that speak to heart, the hand
that's held when our emotion's blurred,
while life is life and nothing's planned.
A feeding nurse directs him: "Swallow."
His wit returns: "I do prefer
the sparrow," startling us and her.
His history of verbal play,
of puns, conundrums hard to follow,
give a grace no words can say.
This winter ended with that sparrow,
even though the falling snow
continues, making progress slow.
"His eye is on the sparrow." Move
us past our fear, so narrow.
The deepest part of us is love.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.
―Roald Dahl
_____________________
Our thanks to Royal Rhodes for today’s fine, magical poetry, just ripe for the season! Royal says he has known magicians of art, bringing beauty into being, magicians of education, opening new worlds to students, and magicians of medicine, healing so many of the world's ailments and sorrows. He lives in a small village whose inhabitants daily embody the abracadabra of friendship.
_____________________
—Medusa
_____________________
—Medusa
For info about
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
