UNTITLED POEM
The presence
of the dead
in every
corner
opens now
into a space
of names
& faces
that escape
from time
the lonely
dead
stare out at
us
they learn
to play
a game
& teach us
how to read
the times
before
& after
gathered
in our minds
a faceless
swarm
of the
departed
for as far
as we can see
the streets
of Paris
as they were
before
the names
of friends
we share
between us
on the flight
to berlin
other faces
with pale
substance
& grey hair (Amirgen
White Knee)
a
world
of
strangers
fathomless
across
from us
they
sit
&
stare out
at
the frozen
sky
barometers
of
change
the
living
&
the dead
together
take
my hand
in
yours
&
we will find
a
passage
to
a world
the
mind
remembers
&
the heart
can
share
the
resolution
that
the dead man
saves
for us
absent
a face
18.x.14
from A FURTHER WITNESS
1/
let me
consider
death
or drop it
even now
remembering
the hard
facts
I go down
by steps
into the crypt
nor can I
break
its spell
& linger
the word
tonight
is generation
others
after us
a world
so young
it dazzles
when I stride
its lanes
but cannot
name it
held back
by the ties
that bind
& yet
how silent
are
the young
& hale
the pale
blind
worshippers
among
the graves
for whom
the names
& faces
of our dead
will make
no sense
the worlds
we know
will vanish
leaving
scarce a trace
there is
no time
but now
which holds
all times
from which
we look
& see
the future
shutting down
2/
for Diane
writing something
to leave behind
is yet another kind of dream
when I awake I know
there will be no one left
to read it.
IKKYU
immersed
in light
the final
blindness
seals him
shut
his body
crammed
into a moving
car
the future
& the past
colliding
blown apart
I sign
the final
email
who
the others are
unknown
to me
the corners
of my mind
are dark
now
like the
universe
itself
unspoken
dropping
from my hand
the book
is not
a ball
of light
the pain
I feel
in leaving
cannot be
your pain
another kind
of dream
invades me
loving you
the way
ahead
the far side
of a wall
arises
newly built
a further
witness
beckons
in the name
of love
as powerful
as this
the present
tense
is all
we have
I count
the days
with you
our fingers
join
& come
apart
again
we live
on borrowed
time
words
left behind
the book
inside my
dream
too bright
for those
to whom
we write
or speak
& know
when we awake
there will be
no one left
to read it
© Jerome Rothenberg
///
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