I want memories that germinateI want
the caterpillar to stop eating the thick
leaf of the evening
I want to spread the shed years on us
as a mulch
longing:
a term for radical unwinding of the heart
in the dim unwritten folklore of the heart
in the dim unwritten folklore of the heart
sing to me softly
river has been running our forgotten dreams in one long
uncut movie
river has been running our forgotten dreams in one long
uncut movie
the only rule was not to know the rulesmade elsewhere
ears tuned
to the heavy rumour of your future
now
you snag on my thought like a red kite
in a leafless tree
lapsing blush by blush into my consciousness
echoes from that dreadful place, the blank page
that pool full of wonderful risk
we are not a simple people and we fear
the same simplicities we crave
this is a casting outward which
unwinds inside the chest
echoes from that dreadful place, the blank page
that pool full of wonderful risk
we are not a simple people and we fear
the same simplicities we crave
this is a casting outward which
unwinds inside the chest
you must wait for wind
as though your poor heart hadn't enough to put up with, now it's exploded, like popcorn battering the lid with fluffy white fists
when you
say "you" with that inflection something stirs
inside the word, echo
infected with laugh
as though your poor heart hadn't enough to put up with, now it's exploded, like popcorn battering the lid with fluffy white fists
when you
say "you" with that inflection something stirs
inside the word, echo
infected with laugh
if it ispossible to translate poetry, then,
what isn't?
when the heart
turning the word "forever"
into plainsong
learns to purr
the agitated
hearts and hearticles of what
we cannot say there is at present
the interwoven deerpaths of desirethe small redundant phrases with which one voice
solaces another
is it the listening that loosens,
letting its knots go, or the voice,
sayng those great unsaying to itself until
ovation on the inside equals ovation out?
a time for this,
a time for that, a time to let them both escape into
whateverness, a time to cast
away stones, to stop
building and remembering and building artful
monuments upon the memories.
to leave.
to step off into darker darkness,
that no moon we call new.
a time for that, a time to let them both escape into
whateverness, a time to cast
away stones, to stop
building and remembering and building artful
monuments upon the memories.
to leave.
to step off into darker darkness,
that no moon we call new.
Poetry excerpts from Don McKay ("Camber: Selected Poems")
Photography courtesy of TACF Youth Network Band & Co.
Photography courtesy of TACF Youth Network Band & Co.
