On Twilight by Mary Ruefle

I read the poem of a student and in the poem God
wandered through the room picking up random
objects – a pear, a vase, a shoe – and in bewilderment
said, “I made this?”. Apparently God had forgotten
making anything at all. I awarded this poem a prize,
because I was a judge of such matters. I was not really
awarding the student, I was awarding God;
I knew someday the student would pick up his old
poem and say in bewilderment, “I made this?”, and at
that moment his whole world would be lost in the
twilight, and when you are finally lost in the twilight,
you cannot judge anything.

The Incremental Violence of a Passing Hour 

Singing in circles 
with no building 
and no falling.
The hill doesn’t stay so for long, really.
As the generations pass, pieces crumbling 
taken by wind and stream. 
Little flourishes of melody 
playing out ‘cross the land,
travel to big river and then reach the sea.

Tales of woe and disbelief.
Tales of love and sun snatching.
All are washed away as the waves come to beach.
The salt makes all clear.

And that Spring,
starry voids ring out before my eyes 
cause one day my chest rings out for the last time,
ice cracking.
And one days these bones will bleed,
glacial stream.

And the stream starts in the Spring melt.
And the stream starts, watering the hairy meadow which hugs my form.
A spring of being excused by the simple things.
A spring of always return always desire always need
Always wash away always wipe clean.
None attach but everything 
little keyrings of the time I been adorning 
every step a vacation on unknown beach.
No need to feel diseased.
Can’t stop the tide from coming in.

Venus Flytrap Search for the Missing Puzzle 

On their state-issued iPhone’s,
counterfeiting the work of God.

As when a treatise on corpses 
washes out of a cemetery 
and interrupts the section 
I’m reading on soils.

The passage read –
I came upon a dark vault 
within the depths of the earth, 
filled with blowing winds.
The bureaucracy was still there,
you could hear it whisper thin.

They told me that the technique 
for restoring a spring which is running dry 
is to have a beautiful woman 
play music and sing near the spring.

They told me that the drought ended when a farmer
woke up on a moonlit night and started singing,
accompanying himself on the lute.

I tried both, but 
still the land stays dry.

They told me that broad beans are capable of curing “agonizing love,” 
while ten bucks of ground saffron mixed with wine 
will cause anyone who drinks it to laugh until they die.

And so I drink,
chronicling my decay,
like the opposite of height marks on the door frame.

There It Is by Jayne Cortez

My friend
they don’t care
if you’re an individualist
a leftist  a rightist
a shithead or a snake
They will try to exploit you
absorb you  confine you
disconnect you  isolate you
or kill you

And you will disappear into your own rage
into your own insanity
into your own poverty
into a word a phrase a slogan a cartoon
and then ashes

The ruling class will tell you that
there is no ruling class
as they organize their liberal supporters into
white supremacist lynch mobs
organize their children into
ku klux klan gangs
organize their police into
killer cops
organize their propaganda into
a device to ossify us with angel dust
preoccupy us with western symbols in
african hair styles
inoculate us with hate
institutionalize us with ignorance
hypnotize us with a monotonous sound designed
to make us evade reality and stomp our lives away
And we are programmed to self-destruct
to fragment
to get buried under covert intelligence operations of
unintelligent committees impulsed toward death
And there it is

The enemies polishing their penises between
oil wells at the pentagon
the bulldozers leaping into demolition dances
the old folks dying of starvation
the informers wearing out shoes looking for crumbs
the life blood of the earth almost dead in
the greedy mouth of imperialism
And my friend
they don’t care
if you’re an individualist
a leftist  a rightist
a shithead or a snake

They will spray you with
a virus of legionnaire’s disease
fill your nostrils with
the swine flu of their arrogance
stuff your body into a tampon of
toxic shock syndrome
try to pump all the resources of the world
into their own veins
and fly off into the wild blue yonder to
pollute another planet

And if we don’t fight
if we don’t resist
if we don’t organize and unify and
get the power to control our own lives
Then we will wear
the exaggerated look of captivity
the stylized look of submission
the bizarre look of suicide
the dehumanized look of fear
and the decomposed look of repression
forever and ever and ever
And there it is

TAKE THIS RIVER by Henry Dumas

We move up a spine of earth
That bridges the river and the canal.
And where a dying white log, finger-like,
Floating off the bank, claws at the slope,
We stumble, and we laugh.
We slow beneath the moon’s eye;
Near the shine of the river’s blood face,
The canal’s veil of underbrush sweats frost,
And this ancient watery scar retains
The motionless tears of men with troubled spirits.
For like the whole earth,
This land of mine is soaked….

Shadows together,
We fall on the grass without a word.
We had run this far from the town.
We had taken the bony course, rocky and narrow,
He leading, I following.
Our breath streams into October
As the wind sucks our sweat and a leaf…

“We have come a long long way, mahn.”
He points over the river
Where it bends west, then east,
And leaves our sight.

“I guess we have,” I pant. “I can hear
My angry muscles talking to my bones.”
And we laugh.

The hood of night is coming.
Up the river, down the river
The sky and night kiss between the wind.

“You know,” Ben says, “this is where
I brought Evelyn….
Look. We sat on that log
And watched a river egret
Till it flew away with the evening.

“But mahn, she is a funny girl, Aiee!
But she looks like me Jamaica woman….
But she asks me all the questions, mahn.
I’m going to miss her mahn, Aiee!

“But I will . . . Ewie. Ewie I love you,
But I do Ewie . . . Ewie . . . ,” he says
And blows a kiss into the wind.
Broken shadows upon the canal
Form and blur, as leaves shudder again…again

“Tell me this, Ben,” I say.
“Do you love American girls?
You know, do most Jamaicans
Understand this country?”

We almost laugh. Our sweat is gone.
He whispers “Aiee” on a long low breath

And we turn full circle to the river,
Our backs to the blind canal.

“But I’m not most Jamaicans….
I’m only Ben, and tomorrow I’ll be gone,
And … Ewie, I love you….
Aiee! My woman, how can I love you?”

Blurred images upon the river
Flow together and we are there….

“What did she ask you?” I say.
“Everything and nothing, maybe.
But I couldn’t tell her all.”
We almost laugh. “‘Cause I
Don’t know it all, mahn.

“Look, see over there….
We walked down from there
Where the park ends
And the canal begins

Where that red shale rock
Down the slope there . . . see?
Sits itself up like a figure,
We first touch our hands . . .
And up floats this log,
Not in the river
But in the canal there
And it’s slimy and old
And I kick it back . . .
And mahn, she does too.
Then she asks me:
‘Bennie, if I cry
When you leave would you
Remember me more?’
Aiee! She’s a natural goddess!
And she asks me:
‘Bennie, when you think of Jamaica
Can you picture me there?’
And while she’s saying this,
She’s reaching for the river
Current like she’s feeling its pulse.
She asks me:
‘Bennie, America means something to you?
Maybe our meeting, our love? has
Something to do with America,
Like the river? Do you know Bennie?’
Aiee, Aiee, mahn I tell you
She might make me marry . . .
Aiee! Ewie, Jamaica . . . moon!
And how can I say anything?
I tell her:
‘Africa, somewhere is Africa.
Do you understand,’ I say to her,
And she look at me with the moon,
And I hear the wind and the leaves
And we do not laugh . . .
We are so close now no wind between us . . .
I say to her:
‘Ewie, I do not know America
Except maybe in my tears….
Maybe when I look out from Jamaica
Sometimes, at the ocean water….
Maybe then I know this country….
But I know that we, we Ewie….
I know that this river goes and goes.
She takes me to the ocean,
The mother of water
And then I am home.’
And she tells me she knows
By the silence in her eyes.
I reach our hands again down
And bathe them in the night current
And I say: ‘Take this river, Ewie….’
Aiee, wind around us, Aiee my God!
Only the night knows how we kiss.”

He stands up.
A raincloud sailing upon a leak, whirs
In the momentary embrace of our memories….
“Let’s run,” I say, “and warm these bones.”
But he trots a bit, then stops,
Looking at his Jamaica sky.
“Let’s run the long road west
Down the river road,” I say,
“And I’ll tell you of my woman….Aiee.”
We laugh, but we stop.
And then, up the spiny ridge
We race through the trees
Like spirited fingers of frosty air.
We move toward some blurred
Mechanical light edged like an egret
And swallowed by the night.
Into this land of mine.
And the wind is cold, a prodding
Finger at our backs.
The still earth. Except for us.
And from behind that ebon cloak,
The moon observes….
And we do not laugh
And we do not cry, And where the land slopes,
We take the river….
But we do not stumble,
We do not laugh,
We do not cry,
And we do not stop….

The Prince of Paradox 

If I could just understand 
what makes the one become again.
If I could just understand
the gall to demand; that that
flourishes even inside me.

I will wet the dust.
I will bring the rains.
I will mold this wet earth into a fist.
By the campfire, it bakes, I sit.

These passing moments,
I will hold on to them
to enamel a softer gaze.

The fist lies            in wait.
Violence never seems to sate.
Latent in the glance of a neighbor.
Paranoia waits for divinity at the locked door.

I sit and arrange a mosaic of shining things.
A well of light with which to cleave 
the concrete,
for now

for form is suffering 
and I can feel the wind starting to take me.
Oh, to be dust again! 
Please don’t shield your eyes from me this time.

Some poems by Henry Dumas

Knees of a Natural Man (for Jay Wright)

my ole man took me to the fulton fish market
we walk around in the guts and the scales

my ole man show me a dead fish, eyes like throat spit
he say “you hongry boy?” i say “naw, not yet”

my ole man show me how to pick the leavings
he say people throw away fish that not rotten

we scaling on our knees back uptown on lenox
sold five fish, keepin one for the pot

my ole man copped a bottle of wine
he say, “boy, build me a fire out in the lot”

backyard cat climbin up my leg for fish
i make a fire in the ash can

my ole man come when he smell fish
frank williams is with him, they got wine

my ole man say “the boy cotch the big one”
he tell big lie and slap me on the head

i give the guts to the cat and take me some wine
we walk around the sparks like we in hell

my ole man is laughin and coughin up wine
he say “you hongry boy” i say “naw, not yet”

next time i go to fulton fish market
first thing i do is take a long drink of wine

————————————————————

America

If an eagle be imprisoned
On the back of a coin
And the coin is tossed into the sky,
That coin will spin,
That coin will flutter,
But the eagle will never fly.

————————————————————

Thought

Love came to me and said:
What do you want of me?
Save me I said, Save me.
Love knelt down beside me
and love said:
If you knew the price
of coming to you,
you would ask nothing
but would give.

————————————————————

Love Song

Beloved,
I have to adore the earth:

The wind must have heard
your voice once.
It echoes and sings like you.

The soil must have tasted
you once.
It is laden with your scent.

The trees honor you
in gold
and blush when you pass.

I know why the north country
is frozen.
It has been trying to preserve
your memory.

I know why the desert
burns with fever.
It has wept too long without you.

On hands and knees,
the ocean begs up the beach,
and falls at your feet.

I have to adore
the mirror of the earth.
You have taught her well
how to be beautiful.

————————————————————

Play Ebony Play Ivory

        play ebony play ivory
play chords that
        speak primeval
        play ebony play ivory
play notes that
        speak my people…

        play ebony play ivory
play til air explodes
play til it subsides
        play ebony play ivory.

for the songless, the dead
who rot the earth
all these dead,
whose muted sour tongues
speak broken chords,
all these aging people
poison the heart of earth.

they cannot sing
they cannot play
they cannot breathe the early rhythm
they never heard the pulse of womb

so up! you bursting lungs
you spirits of morning breath
up! and make fingers
and play long and play soft
        play ebony play ivory.

play my people
all my people who breathe
the breath of earth
all my people who are keys and chords…

now touch
and hear and see
let your lungs scream
til they explode
til blood subsides
and flesh vibrates…
make chords that speak
play long play soft
        play ebony play ivory
        play ebony
        play ivory