Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Séamas Cain


[written in memory
of my grandmother
Bríd Ní hAndradháin]

Yearningly /  longingly /  to the
Sweating of the brain * thorns as
Thorns reaching~ lovingly
She was like a pale rose
Thrusting /  attaining /  thorn shrub
She was tenacious cause of irritation
Short sharp pointing hard leafless
Varying stem

Rose of red
Rose of white
Luxuriousness /  beautiful /  yet
Simple affection~ lush
I trust you (she said)
Plant with prickly stems
Growing with becomingness
Abounding and good vigour
I love the radiance of true
Simplicity (she said)
Speak (I said)

Eyes the color of russet
Blue white skin of tissue
She was purity of parchment
Prepared as a surface :
Interwoven mesh~
Mottled by bleeding injuries on
Occasional rareties /
Mark of archaic hurt and
Scarcity~ lack of densities
She was volume of the
Crowd~ objectified~ obsidian
I am the whirlwind (she said)
Alabaster face (I said)
Many streaming panting wind
And rain to the hard and
Glassy dark rocks /
High to the suffering shores

Cargoes of the land
Cargoes of the wood
Spouting to sound by blowing
O the Lady O'Handrahaun
Driven (she said)
Bursting explosion~ blowing motion
She was holding her own face
Cold fingers : to graze past something
A light touch in passing
Loveliness / lovely
Brushing finger motion
Royal face thunder~ continuously
I in brightness and with luck (she said)


[written in memory of my
friend David J. Vittorio]

i wallow in dirty water that
in unmortal silence ignites
a yellow carp the smotherer
of its own melting hues
a heart & a cistern shake
as the carp leaps over the
ambers & blues to uranium
nevertheless nevertheless
i wallow in carp water

i want a rat's landscape
soft light in shallowing deeps
the processes of cannibals
or a christ-fisher

breezes came from land
then, in a trance, a cascade
of feathery quires as the
seasurges of uranium & gorse
blew from a dying flame

or, was it the stillness of
fishspawn that glazed in the
smouldering fires & rocky ashes?

a tumescent horse raced towards me
sadly, i haltered my bruised horse

the sun's rim sank, but
it left breath to trees
yells arrayed their rank on rank as
mere packets for milk-clots & huffs
i crushed a fading crimson ball

mouse-holes are lapping
the floor of a mouse's hall
the neon of gunpowder & razors
more level than the sea
or vomit the melting-point
of loving phantasy for
a corrosive seagull

moon like a white rose shines as
neon for thatchers of detergent

low murmurs rode on the
lava of geraniums to gallop
where many shells of
twisted trumpets collapse


Copyright © 2014 by Séamas Cain



No comments:

Post a Comment