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Universes

One

As if a statue

In the sandy arena of time,

I stood and stood and listened

The sun-drenched wind pulsate

On my skin, some light years away.

Whispers in the spiral of my ears,

Recurrent echo:          

“Son of marble,

can you sing and be immersed

                        into the syntax of her eyes,

the silent warble

that is love uni-versed?

            Or do you need to analyze?”

There are moments I witness

in the mirror a transient

supernova. 

A few months and many manuscripts later

I may collapse under my own weight.

Or perhaps I’ll find a self

Giving birth to another dancing star

Or a stillborn one;

It’s all a gamble, I know.

Page after page for the dying of the light.

 I entered

 My own event horizon

 electing marble over-

 and gasped in brief, electric agony:

‘ὤλετο,

 ὤλετο μοι νόστος’ ”

But I will not go gentle into that good fight.

Two

A leaf, the dripping on its midrib,

lightwaves in its veins

and deaths sowed into each plausible future.

Galaxy’s a spaceflower forming

fluorescent Edens, data

engraved in its genetic code.

Then spoke in wonder

DA

Data: what are we given?

Consider this receding image

something other than the sum

of it particles [Koffka, 1935];

Need not be more, Aristotle…

There’s but the struggle

for universatility.

Perche  …  giammai  ….

…  can only hope  … can only cope if not.

We’re too deep to flee this interstellar exile.

  

Three

to doG,

Well aren’t you a kick in time’s spine,

you little dog, you…

Shall I compare thee –

Fuck it. ‘Tis all too late for poetics;

who’s to reflect in such a goddamned stillness?

Go-go, you said, find him, find him, he’s

round the corner, sitting on a rock or

round his neck a rope. HA! Remember,

could you, that day of distorted mirrors.

What I interpret as two men waiting

in fact is, probably is, is it?

Cannot be me, do I just yield?

I’ve searched and searched and found none,

not Vladimir nor Estragon.

                                                            ,Godot

  

Four

There was a man at double speed,

who used velocity to veil a need;

when the need began to grow,

‘twas like a past without a glow;

when the past began to entangle,

‘twas like he couldn’t get an angle;

when the angle did at last appear

‘twas like a whirr inside his ear;

when the whirr began to seize,

‘twas like a wood of seizing trees;

when the trees began to roar,

‘twas like a crow in his core;

when my core began to crack,

‘twas like my name on a plaque.

when the plaque began to faint,

‘twas like some poet and a saint;

when those two began to read

‘twas breath and breath and birth indeed.

Five

Some slow shift on stone-

A sheen defrosting the snow,

nourishing absence

I’m a german pond,

where toads tongue the passing flies;

a sign warning: TOD!

Oleanders and

eucalypts bloom all over-

Hiroshima burns.

Universes, Ezra Hawking