the limits of logic precede the possibilities of poetry

                                         






         Geometry

 

                                     by David Henderson






 

Logic can only go so far

after that I must see-perceive-imagine

This geometry can help

I may reason logically thru theorem

and propositions galore,

but only what I perceive is real.

If after studying I am not changed

if after studying I still see the same

then all has gone for naught.

Geometry is to open up my mind

so I may see what has always been behind

the illusions that time

and space construct.

Space isn’t made of point and line

the points and lines are in the mind.

The physicists see space as curved

with particles that are quite blurred.

And, when I draw, everything is fat

there are no point and that is that.

The artists and the dreamer knows

that space is where an image grows.

For me it’s a sea in which I swim

a formless sea of hope and whim.

Thru my fear on Infinity and One

I structure space to confine

my imagination away from the idea

That all in One.

But, I can from this trap escape

I can see the geometry in which I wander

as but a structure I made to ponder.

I can dare to let fo the structures

and my fears

and look beyond

to see what is always there to see.

But, to let go, I must first grab on.

Geometry is both the grabbing on

and the letting go.

It is a logical structure

and a perceived meaning

Q.E.D.’s and “Oh! I see”’s

It is formal abstractions

and beautiful contraptions.

It is talking precisely about that

Which we know only fuzzily.

But, in the end, and, most of all,

it is seeing-perceiving

The meaning that

I AM.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Descartes would be so proud.....

.....

from:

   

       The   Room   Is   My   Refuge   From    Light









When can we go out to the fields,
Where light does not hurt, where birds do not shame?
We have lived too long in lots.
Cannot we, who have ruined his name,

Find a new place? cannot our justice
Go beyond?--They do not labor, he said,
Meaning the lilies. Must we,
Then, hold high the scribes and Pharisees?

Somehow, when ready, we shall pass
Under branches that touch the narrow gate;
And we, of single eye,
Shall see the pass, though we have come late.


As birds
  fly
from wires
  to roofs
to sky
  planes
go down
  behind
high buildings

Hurrying
home
  with
a new book:
its smell
mixing
   with
the cold air.

Not many on the streets.
Afternoon.
Late November.
Houses
Close
Together.
Sick.
Must get home.


My seeing is bad: things merge;
And I've come to darkness.
I've no wish to live. There are no birds
To sing, I fear, my going down to hell.
And, also, the dead,
There, who've sinned, too, will they ban me?

Now that I'm dying I see a
Path that bends toward a church door.
Once, when the sun struck
The nearby hills and fields,
I walked that path, where, to the right, under
Moving branches, on benches, nuns prayed.

I shall never again see the way.
Always, even among the damned,
I shall be sightless, and shall curse the Tree.
But, there, I thunk, I shall know
The past, as it pertains
To me, which is death.

An objective love,
Yes! but the mutability of
Man precludes Man from knowing God
Thru Man--and the psilan-
Thropic shepherd seared my mind.
So I think of the Well of Styx and cry.

And the peoples came down from the mountains--
And they built cities
For the rich--and the poor, who've
Suffered much, thought that if free from want,
They, too, would be gods--and the rich,
Who knew this, had laws made.

Go down, gladly, my soul.
Does it matter that I haven't long to live,
That there is none to weep for me?
No use, anyway,
I've lost the line that measures the mind,
I've failed to partake of being.

I'm done with it all--
So I'll kneel before the cross and pray:
How long, Lord? a week, two?




                         Frank Samperi











......

the secret language of conflict

From the Navajo Code Book

ARMOR besh-ye-ha-da-di-the
iron protector
BRITAIN toh-ta
between waters
CONVOY tkal-kah-o-nel
moving on water
DIVE BOMBER gini
chicken hawk
GERMANY besh-be-cha-he
iron hat
GRENADE ni-ma-si
potatoes
LIAISON da-a-he-gi-eneh
know other’s action
MINE SWEEPER cha
beaver
OBSERVATION PLANE ne-as-jah
owl
PYROTECHNIC coh-na-chanh
fancy fire


a poem devised from the found poem
this
excerpt from the famous code talkers of the Navajo

dedicated to Chester Nez
who noted before he died at age 93 the odd irony
of being wrenched from his language as a child
in american schools only to be asked to develop
a code tool which aided the american sea efforts
during  WW II....the code was navajo and then some












code talker poem


only
the odd dancer can move in and out
of the fancy fire without getting burnt
the way an owl can fly through thick forest
moving her wing  slightly to miss branches
or the beaver remains mindful of neighbors
and particular trees
there is the wisdom of all sentient life:
know the other's actions
be a liaison for your own survival
eat where you can
       and avoid death

exploding potatoes are percussions of war
thrown by germans and british alike
not even the iron hats protect
once the chicken hawks begin their assault

moving on water has its own peril-
in a sea-sick dream a code talker saw
that he was walking in Britain naked
save for the armour given him
gifts of a phantom convoy
delusions  of an iron protector


           -john hanson osb












......

Ecuador Shuar Erotic Suggestion

MAKE ME DRUNK WITH YOUR KISSES






Make me drunk with your kisses, my love
kiss my lips
untangle my hair with your silken fingers
explore with your hands the sacred song of the vanilla flower
untie the makich  anklet
remove the shakap  belt from my hips
naked, I await you

Live in my home
take me with the tenderness of your words
burn my fears
with the fire of your skin

Trace my path
with the oars of your raft
come to the shores of the beach,
my harbour of sand

Make me drunk with your kisses
with the chicha
fermented in saliva
with the wisdom of Arutam

Don't go, my love
I want to wake
in your arms like cotton
to dive
into your depths
to fall asleep
in the jewel of your eyes



            Maria Clara Sharupi Jua




                               trans.  Nataly Kelly








....

tombeau pour l'enfant

           Margaret



 


I don’t regret this year
of joy and pain, the laughter
stilled by silence. Though
I cannot know, I hope
that Love loves you and you
love those who live unbroken
but broken, holding each other
because we cannot hold you.

Pray for me, my daughter,
my Pearl, that I live through
these empty years to find
my family always loving
and life less cruel than kind




                    G.M.  PALMER















........