Hughlings Himwich

Done

Done.

I am yours

so

to speak:

he for she.

Two for one.

Rain

 

The fiction

of being here

or anywhere

that cloud there

it rains

in the mountains

Flores in nocte

 

Puella, cui multum et nimium dedi,                     

Redde mi meam laetitiam et meum mundum,    

Quem tibi amore meo perdidi;

Redde mi milia basiorum quae tibi dedi,

Et dabo tibi flores in nocte florentes.

now east now west

 

now east now west

 

the road has a mind of its own

and my feet obey

 

the rest of me stays
behind treelike

 

above

the sky grows gentle

 

MY HEART OPENS

 

the road goes on

as if not knowing

 

which way is best

Call to Life

There is no call to life

that does not come with the warning

you will never return

and, if you do, no one

will believe you were ever gone.

Your stories will become lies

even to yourself, yet

you will go on binding

your soul with whatever

spells will serve the truth.

Go then. Straight North.

Take the form of wolf or bear

sky or rain

until you take human shape again

and hear that call:

Come to where the heart is free

where all is all

and truth is song,

Spring Song

It is spring
And memories
Too hard to bear
Become something other
Than what has been

They grow
like seeds
out of the darkness
Into proofs
Of love

Where once there was
Just thought
swept through time
like leaves
there now is song

May every bird
With a broken wing
Find refuge here
and sing
for our delight. 

Out of ocean's stream

Out of ocean's stream
Comes mind
Form and flower
Comes this body
The soft full curve
Of your breast rising
Like the moon 
Comes joy 
Comes our story
And knowledge
Of its end:
It opens wholly
Into the pluraplenty
And the leaping beat
of the poluploisboios sea. 
 

Though others give you up for dead

 

Who is this girl who loves old men

and sings to those whose song will end?

All that she says is strangely true;

To her belong all the mystic blues.

Tears in her eyes become the sun;

Her home is where all rivers run.

It's she who dances on your bed

Though others give you up for dead.  

 

If you speak

This silence wants not your word

unless it be like wind to flower

raising its hallelujah to the bloom

of sky, unknowing as morning

kisses are to lovers not knowing

what else to say or do but sigh:

if you speak, I will surely die. 

TO AGATHON

Mind like wind

Wanders, not knowing

Where it goes, though

It has its reasons

And tells this story:

    O how the night mocks me!

    Where are thy stars

    that make the darkness

    whole and all things right? 

Nothing that is not soul

The light peels

like an orange or pear

And in that fragrant dark

you undress

Revealing nothing

that is not soul.  

I bite,

then swallow you whole.

They came in twos

They came 

in twos your eyes

your hands your breasts

your touch

 

In the end

there was only us. 

Loss

I couldn’t help staring

at these old man’s hands

my father’s hands

now mine now yours

“Not yet,” you say --

I take his in mine

We stand like trees

In winter and I

Remember the spring

That was and he

The one

That never will be.

O what's the use?

 

What's real is the ache

I feel when you say goodbye

and break the night 

 

What's true is the fall

I take when the sky opens

and you fly through

 

Yet there is the kiss

You gave to me tonight

When I asked the question 

 

So much is real,

So much is true,

So sweet your lips

 

O what’s the use?

All bird and song

Poets sing in the voice of birds

and write all upon the wind

 

and like the birds of summers gone

they rise like death like spring.

 

O do not tell me you understand

and feel that lift of wing

 

unless you too will speak a word

that makes this old heart ring.

 

Just so a bell from winter's keep

does wake me from my owl-like sleep: 

 

So fair a word, so fair a face

all wind and wing, all hawk and ache.

 

So falls your word upon my tongue

all breasts and skin, all bird and song.

 

Iambic Hexameter

And you will say what lovers say when lovers lie:

just so the moon outshines the night, the sun beguiled.

Burning of the Night

Fires burn less fiercely than do these thoughts

that would make war upon the very thing

that makes them right.

 

It is mind that creates the night

so this lust for life

this change from dark to light

may go on and die. 

 

It is against this my thoughts rebel

and doing so celebrate

the very thing I would destroy. 

 

Desire is but the burning of the night. 

It burns through soul and

makes this world a place of fright.

 

The poet stokes the fire with his words.

 His breath upon the embers glows. 

Autumn Rain

This autumn rain comes

on me strange

as you and I lie

beneath the ledge

hold hands and kiss

and say goodbye

 

When shall I see you again

In Winter when I am dead

or Spring when you flower

or Summer when you rise

with the waves upon the beach

and make love

to every passing eye

 

No, it will be as today

the rain drop drops

like leaves like tears

that hold our love

and all that's lost

 

I shall come

as surely as winter

and die a thousand deaths

 

You too will come

and lie upon these

fallen leaves

and give me up

 

again.

 

You shall come

as you always do

dressed in pearls

and make it rain. 

A Sudden Place

I am going out to look again

At what I thought I knew

And just might find

A sudden place

that I can bring you to  --

A place so near

Yet strangely far

As I this day from you.

What is time?

Before turning out

the light, I woke

to find you

gone, the bed

tightly drawn,

your comb clean

as your get-a-way:

it was as if you

were never there –

in the morning

you just smiled

as you always do

at my strange dreams

but this time

you said goodbye.

If things were as they are

 

If the earth

were to revolve

around the sun

we would see

it is the earth

that turns away

and brings on the night

 

If the moon were

itself to revolve

in time with earth

we would see its face 

forever veiled in darkness

as our own

If I were to see

myself in your eyes

I would see the dark-

ness there as my own

but now it would be you

and not the night I loved

 

 

Praying for rain

 

Where are the words

to say what can not be said

 

the words behind the words

like life before it happens

 

like love before it is

like thought before it is

everything

 

Omnia ex nihilo fiunt

 

the words behind the words

unspoken unheard

like rain

in a cloudless sky

 

like thunder rolling

soundlessly through air

 

your mouth your tongue

your teeth your lips

you breathe that air --

Speak for your life!

 

just so yours words

become wind

endlessly echoing

through every day and night

like drops in a cave

 

you laugh and cry 

you understand nothing

and everything

 

You say everything

and nothing. 

 

You pray for rain. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For David Foster Wallace

You saw ugliness within

and without 

but found beauty

in the curve

of your line

in that space

that words make.

It was another sort

of prayer and another

sort of grace. 

Gone to ground

Before the fall

I stood like a tree

Catching every breath

Of wind in my limbs

Like some sweet girl

Who laughs and jumps

Into her daddy’s arms.

That was before . . .

Then the big wind --

I held my ground

bending lifting

nothing . . .

nothing at all.

Then I broke

roots torn up

falling Into the night

of constellations

Bursting through

Leaves, the light

Scattering the sound

of a voice that cried

daddy, daddy

I thought you

would never die.

That voice, shattered

Into a million shards

Of light, suddenly

Caught my fall

and held my head

in her arms, singing

Where O Where Has

My Sweet Daddy Gone.

 

Gone to ground.

Gone home.

The Music of the Bow

βιός τῷ τόξῳ ὄνομα βίος ἔργον δὲ θάνατος. (Heraclitus, frag. 48)

The name of the bow (biós) is life (bíos), but its work is death.

 

the music of the bow

a song without sound

the silence of the storm

Kiss and Tell

 

Who but a god

Could look at you

Sweetly laughing

And not die

 

For a kiss, dying

Again and again

Like gods of spring

that never truly

 

Die, your lips

Like night

hold back the day

And close my eyes . . .

 

Awake! Awake!

You are no god

To kiss and tell

Of life and death.

 

Dance

 

Download Dance

What we hold as dear

 

What choice there is

is but a noose

wound up with hair.

 

Above the ground

our feet swing free

now here, now there.

 

It is like prayer

that lifts the sky

then dissolves in air.

 

Let me be clear!

Is there something else

you hold as dear?

Almost Spring

 

Almost human

but for wolf breath

and raven wing

and the thunder

in the throat

and this wild wind

that drives me

deep into the night

this hunger for life

for death, for spring

to come again

in what once was

a human heart.

Gone

 

Gone.

The way of memory.

Gone the way

Of rain

And song

and fire.

Gone into trees,

earth and sky.

Gone beyond

The going, no longer

Gone, no longer lost.

For You

I am old. I am young.

I am thirteen. I am an ancient child.

Winter

 

A bear walks in winter

Every growl commanding

The moon to rise, the sun

To dim, holds back

The spring, its claws

marking the trees

With fire, a song

More ancient than man.

Burn

 

Mind is alive

with the same

force that drives 

the stars to seek

their own demise

 

so mind creates

the light that guides

our steps at night

yet yearns

for that very dark

ness that alone endures

and alone

makes all things right.

 

Burn, burn

with the beauty

of the night. 

 

Stars Below

 

Mind runs like water

over rock and root

and seeks to fall

to the stars below.

Below the pond

 

On a walk through the field we come out below the pond

And see a bird floating as if on its own reflection

 

It is still early though the light seems of an evening

When first I found rest in the quiet of your eyes. 

 

I keep you close

 

The loneliest thought

Is not knowing you are there

and care for me.

 

It is like rain that falls

but does not reach

the ground. 

 

Yea but for love

you would not be here at all:

I keep you close. 

 

 

 

December 21

In deepest winter

clouds gather along the ridge.

It is all souls' night. 

 

Those who help not

 

Those who help not

those in need

who come their way

 

Are worthless

as those who stay inside

and fear the rain.

 

It is what is:

No more to ask

No more to give.

 

Rain cleans all bones the same.  

 

But for night

 

But for night

When eyes are blind

When you and I

 

Think as one

And touch as though

Were earth and sky

 

(So turn around

In mind and space

Our sighs in time)

 

Love would break

Like light the day

Those it would unite. 

 

Warning

 

so close your eyes

and let the dark

ness be thy sight

 

and If you die

there's none to say

I lied.

For Ber

For Ber

 

like laughter or

like light to those

who know themselves

to be like trees

that root themselves

in common ground

though mind apart

for he is free

to give himself

so generously

Not another word

not another word

why even that

why not silence a blank page

cause one is also other

a phantom that can not be driven off

that lurks and lures and loves to be what it is not

the mirror holds no image yet

the other there waiting patient suffering

creates itself even in darkness

for the darkness is

we stride ever through

And if we turn within

"For Christ's sake, not another

Ariel

On a bat’s wing I am flying:
Poetry is the art of dying.

There is a girl

There is a girl
so fell and free
she wants for love
like a memory

her hair like night
covers all the ground
and leaves behind
no trace of me.

What is not there

Like a woman
who does not know
she is beautiful
turns to a mirror

and looks and looks
but does not find
what is not there

and does not know
the mirror clings
to her form

and ravishes her,
body and soul

so too the sun
burns and brings
all to life,

mere shadows
on the ground.

The night leaps up

The night leaps up
And paints the sky
Just so a kiss
Draws a lover’s sigh.

You love so much
You long to die
Your eyes are stars
Your soul is fire.

No You

What will you do
What will you do
You have to live
And do and do

O you O you
What will you do
No one comes
To rescue you

So too so too
They'll come for you
They'll talk you up
And do and do

No one knows
No no one knows
Just what it's like
To be like you

O you O you
What will you do
There's no one there
To be there for you.

Even if . . . .

Even if it is true that who we think we are is but a narrative the brain constructs, even if consciousness itself is every bit as much a construction as that narrative (as is that very light by which we see itself but neural machination), even if consciousness, I say, is an illusion, it is not nothing. Whatever consciousness is, it possesses quality and all the activity of the brain goes to create and maintain that quality. The quality of consciousness is our reality; it is what makes life worth living or not. You know it well. It is the rhythm of the sea, always at one with itself though wave after wave breaks upon the shore. We are forever returning to that sea

Night

I turn to you to find the light
and like a tree that grasps the earth
these arms embrace the wind
like you my heart

as earth through darkness sweeps
around the sun I turn
and turn to you
and kiss the night.

I know the dying

I know the dying
And the dying
sigh

Like the light these eyes
Like these eyes
the night

So still the rhythm
of a heart
that's torn

Forlorn forgotten
Longed for
adored.