September 5, 2007

In my mind her peoples’ past holds flooded hollows
graced with rays that part or bend through salt water.
Now is a bubble that rises like a gaze. Thirty years
before my bubble was blown, there was war, and worse.

Today I tell her we are not different;
she tells me our souls are. A cruel covenant?
I see her in Jerusalem: a jewel under dawn’s sun.
Her soul hovers and pulses like amethyst turning.

It is beautiful enough to be true. Or perhaps all she knows
and all I know is memory, on no shore.
This brave old world is too big for stories,
they whisper to each other

like the condemned. They are tired of knowing
and of being birthed into the wide hollow
that love leaves. Yet somehow she shields
their words for this, like fruit, or keys.


5 Responses to “hollow”

  1. aah.
    i will receive this as my answer.

  2. Yes, I am clearly still around, if that was your question. More poems soon, I suspect; I’m going through a dry patch.

  3. endless,
    my question was related to yr last poem…there is no story. here it is again below. but i do think your poem does answer the question somehow.

    writers, dreamers, who come to the place where faith in words is lost…samuel becket for example.

    there is no story.
    but we continue to tell
    or gesture towards something.
    breath does go on.
    so, if its not a story what is it?

  4. I suppose it’s an acceptance that narrative is imposed, not inherent in things. But that doesn’t mean things must cease unfolding.

    In the context of this poem, I accept that beliefs I don’t share may still have their degree of truth or usefulness in the world, despite my view that ultimately they are being imposed.

  5. dear endless,
    in a sense all is imposed, we are born into an already existing frame, the human world, we are gendered, socialized, language makes certain thoughts possible and certain things still remain outside of language…like touch and smell and probably many other things we can’t name. but you are a poet. a writer of words that destroys a certain kind of thought (narrative) for another kind of thought.it is the gaps inbetween.
    and you are good at it.

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