The Daily Art Source
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ANSWER ME WITH POWER, PET
Last year at Antwerp it rained
Night fell at Antwerp
Day broke,
The seasons went on.
Last year at Antwerp the sun
Shone for part of a day
And then moodily disappeared
Clouds gathered
People moved
And shopped
And the merchants made or lost money
And there was some crime
And some were judged harshly
But lovers walked the streets
Even those whose love was secret
And people smiled
Or frowned
As they pleased
And the rivers moved on
And I
Circumambulated
The holy city.
Last year at Antwerp
Was a year without sun or rain
Or night
Or day
Last year Antwerp
DISAPPEARED WHOLLY
Vanishing into
My cloud-filled imagination
Until it became
My blood, my eyes,
My scabrous,
aging
body
***
—My scabrous,
aging
body
ALL RIGHT, YOU SAY YOU’RE A JAZZ POET,
does that mean you identify
Do you listen to Bach
with the girl singer
and to Charlie Parker
(with her single voice)
Do you see how
or with the band
Charlie Parker
with its MULTITUDE
is indebted
of
conflicting,
harmonizing
voices?
to Bach?
Jack Foley
LOW BLOOD SUGAR INCIDENT
Why did you come?
You called out for me.
What was I doing?
You were standing there. You were confused.
How did I get on the floor?
You sat down.
And then I couldn’t get up?
That’s right. I tried to bring a chair.
You gave me candy—Life Savers.
That’s right. Then you felt better.
I was able to stand up.
Yes.
I don’t remember. I must have got up to go to the bathroom.
Yes
.…
I went to the bathroom again and then back to bed. When I closed my eyes I saw small red stars flashing against a black sky.
5/25/14
THE SUMMER WOMEN
The women in their
Summer dresses
Breeze teasing them
As they whirl and
Stir
The summer women
Their bodies Move in
Clothes that cling—
Stay
Violently in
The mind
Stay
As they move
In summer,
In their summer
Clothes.
...
and the girls die too
death slams them
what joy it is
they goes into dark
like me or you
to tell a woman
the dark man holds them,
kisses.
something she does not know
Deathfather
incests them
and is interested in
—bad: what happens to me or you
worse: them
hearing—
THE MAN WHO FORGOT THE MOON
It seems unbelievable
Dreams of the desert—
And yet,
My world was coastal
Just as Borges said,
The vast Atlantic near at hand
It was true:
My ancestors
I forgot the moon, O Mother,
Wandered Fountain of Love,
The cold, changing light in the sky, Let me feel these sorrows
And were “uncontrollable”
Present every night. Grant that my heart
I come promising Burn
I put everything else in the book, And that the wounds
Night languages
Trees bank vaults fountain pens breasts smiles Of Crucifixion
Blinding suns Pierce my body
Gnats—everything. Let me
Lies
And yet I forgot the moon: la luna Weep for the
Crucified One
The moon— And stand beside you
The great project— In sorrow at the cross
I thought your world
A book including everything— That when my body
Dust Dies
Everything there is on the earth My soul may find
And yearning:
And what is above it
The Glories of Paradise
Land of caballeros, swords, and palm trees Virgin,
And below it— Grant
Land of learning
And there That I die Christ’s
death
And the incalculable That I bear the
Passion
That eye— And the remembrance
Ambiguities
Nowhere to be found in all my pages Of His wounds.
Of the real. Make me
Which go on for millions of words. Drunk
Do you dream you can rule deep water?
No moon. With the Way of the
Cross
Our promises And the blood of your
Son
My wife (who is in the book) Lest I be destroyed
Rise
Scorns me openly. By fire
Transforming us. Lest I be abandoned
My children On the Day
I am passing
Are objects of ridicule. Of Judgment.
Like a wave
They are the children Stabat Mater
Like a particle of dust
Of the man
Like a leaf.
Who forgot
Let the deceptions of love
The moon.
Blossom
What kind of a world is it
In these precise moments
That has no moon?
Of daring and uncertainty.
What kind of a world
I breathe in dust,
With nothing
We will be gone—yes?
That reflects
“Highest good
The sun’s deep rays?
Is like water.”