C
Codreanu
Guest
A poem by A.R. Ammonds from "The Snow Poems", a volume I read every Winter. As I don't own the book, being long out of print, I must check it anew from the library every year.
How nice it would be to recieve the book as a Christmas gift
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/039304467X/qid=1134364767/sr=1-24/ref=sr_1_24/104-5085685-5861538?s=books&v=glance&n=283155
One at one with his desire
slurps not the bone soup
of syllables
but rises to the other's
rose and falls immediately
from
feeding desire
to recallection or anticipation
of desire
the business of the day
not bending the contour
out of the circle
one not at one with his
desire has not a whole
intention
and consequently no place
to go unqualified
or any single thing to
look for but one aspect
of himself knows the
otherness of another aspect
so that he cannot become
disentangled
into other otherness
all singers are blind, of course,
for the same reason that they
do not see the world
but thickets of
complication between
themselves and their desire:
so much loss for the little
rescue of a lilt, a passing
fine turn, a modulation
practiced and true:
art's
nonbeing's
dark consolation:
what a nice stanza! imagine just going
on: I think I've invented
rooms to walk through
or stand amazed
or lie sleepy in:
it is no place, though,
to rehearse the flesh
of the beloved,
it is no place to touch
or taste
enter or leave:
it is dry delight, whatever
service remains when
the church closes:
the sweepstakes of
no desire
whole as fulfillment:.
the sweetest passer of time
scheduled for emptiness:
the drug that makes erasure
bliss: an illusion some
of the uneasy can cover
misery with:
still when you think of the
nourishment of such delight as
over starvation,
what a numb pale
paradise! how constant
the music
dwelling among the constant
bushes, the deathlessness only
lifelessness can know
one not at one with his
desire still has to desire
so much more than nothing
this stanza compels
its way along: a
break will humble it:
form consumes:
form eliminates:
form forms the form
that extracts of the elixer from
the passage of change:
well, we mustn't let this
form reverse itself
into an opposite
though parallel
largely similar insistence:
must we?
a marvelous morning
dull grey aflood with the possibility of light
live unknown!
(that protean density a pane's
of that!) mirror
unmonitored by lets
the cliches of praise everything
through
well, no, the light changed
away into indistinguishable if you froze
gray, flicking wet dashes, a fog, that's,
gravity-sprung ellipses, on turned loose on
the windowpane: a bluster, how
colder, foggier, suddenly: snow fine's
a front entering us doors the stuff today
//
we have become now in
the afternoon balled up
horizenless in pearly
mist, a billion bits of snow
jostling this
way and that, coming
down and putting
differentiation down downy:
the temperature dropped
in an hour twenty degrees an hour
an hour
sheet-deep in sleet
I haven't written as
many words as an hour's
grains of sleet
and so far only a scattering
impression of white
has risen from the lawn:
one should go on till one's
hue is
unmistakeable
nature goes so far to make
us one of a kind
and treat us all alike
How nice it would be to recieve the book as a Christmas gift
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/039304467X/qid=1134364767/sr=1-24/ref=sr_1_24/104-5085685-5861538?s=books&v=glance&n=283155
One at one with his desire
slurps not the bone soup
of syllables
but rises to the other's
rose and falls immediately
from
feeding desire
to recallection or anticipation
of desire
the business of the day
not bending the contour
out of the circle
one not at one with his
desire has not a whole
intention
and consequently no place
to go unqualified
or any single thing to
look for but one aspect
of himself knows the
otherness of another aspect
so that he cannot become
disentangled
into other otherness
all singers are blind, of course,
for the same reason that they
do not see the world
but thickets of
complication between
themselves and their desire:
so much loss for the little
rescue of a lilt, a passing
fine turn, a modulation
practiced and true:
art's
nonbeing's
dark consolation:
what a nice stanza! imagine just going
on: I think I've invented
rooms to walk through
or stand amazed
or lie sleepy in:
it is no place, though,
to rehearse the flesh
of the beloved,
it is no place to touch
or taste
enter or leave:
it is dry delight, whatever
service remains when
the church closes:
the sweepstakes of
no desire
whole as fulfillment:.
the sweetest passer of time
scheduled for emptiness:
the drug that makes erasure
bliss: an illusion some
of the uneasy can cover
misery with:
still when you think of the
nourishment of such delight as
over starvation,
what a numb pale
paradise! how constant
the music
dwelling among the constant
bushes, the deathlessness only
lifelessness can know
one not at one with his
desire still has to desire
so much more than nothing
this stanza compels
its way along: a
break will humble it:
form consumes:
form eliminates:
form forms the form
that extracts of the elixer from
the passage of change:
well, we mustn't let this
form reverse itself
into an opposite
though parallel
largely similar insistence:
must we?
a marvelous morning
dull grey aflood with the possibility of light
live unknown!
(that protean density a pane's
of that!) mirror
unmonitored by lets
the cliches of praise everything
through
well, no, the light changed
away into indistinguishable if you froze
gray, flicking wet dashes, a fog, that's,
gravity-sprung ellipses, on turned loose on
the windowpane: a bluster, how
colder, foggier, suddenly: snow fine's
a front entering us doors the stuff today
//
we have become now in
the afternoon balled up
horizenless in pearly
mist, a billion bits of snow
jostling this
way and that, coming
down and putting
differentiation down downy:
the temperature dropped
in an hour twenty degrees an hour
an hour
sheet-deep in sleet
I haven't written as
many words as an hour's
grains of sleet
and so far only a scattering
impression of white
has risen from the lawn:
one should go on till one's
hue is
unmistakeable
nature goes so far to make
us one of a kind
and treat us all alike
