I started to have some ideas for the poems, so it seemed to be the right time to start writing.
There will be a series of poems, and together they will be called
After the idea of bloodletting…because I like the idea of releasing “love” from the human body in order to somehow cure it…of love? of “incorrect” understandings or expressions of love? I’m not sure. But here’s the link to an article about the purposes of bloodletting, also included on page one of this blog as part of the “research”.
whether a whisper of sibilants and liquids
or consonant shouts
my urges to speak
pass my lips like rain surging
over waterbarrel lips
onto cool pebbles over dry sand
whether to speak the story
or the mathematics of the latitudes
I know both transfix
you, like a cat
watching a pendulum
keeping time with the to- and fro-ness
wishing instead for
a knot of many ropes
is a weaving
rather than a tightening of two joined
in an airless squeeze.
[I’m no Odysseus
(let me tell you)
but I’ve come to know
obstacles are no impediment
to the way of things
but the way itself]
But for argument’s sake
(or, if you’d prefer not to argue,
for the sake of deciding on a starting point)
let’s say I set out from Troy
(As did Odysseus after that war)
Troy 0, though (Read: Troy Zero),
(to step temporarily into the world of
soil-claiming flag-erecting rock-wall-building
I slithered on my belly down the muddy slope of Hisarlik to the Troad shores, slipped into the Aegean,
but to be clear:
Aegean was not the Aegean
Troy was not Troy
Hisarlik was not Hisarlik
Troad not Troad
Odysseus not Odysseus
Homer not Homer,
and wooden horses could still be trusted.
I floated on my back on the thick
dark salt water
revolutions of stars,
my own stories
my own songs
straight from the spheres to the bones in my head.
Then, merely a sharp rock against an unnamed shore.
That day the water was green capped with diamonds,
that night the diamonds rose among blue streaks in black sky.
Cradled in salt I keened gutterals to let the sky, to tell the sea.