Poem 9

Poem 8

Poem 7

Poem 6

Poem 5

Poem 4

Poem 3

Poem 2

Poems

My cat

When I turn on my gas fireplace, my cat comes to sit in front of it to share in the warmth. She has no idea where the gas comes from, all the pipes and pumps, the global political machinations, the physics of gas dynamics, the ignitor that makes such a comforting click and rush of the flames. But she doesn't care.
And when I extinguish the flames, she leaves.
Without regret.


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Beethoven.

Got am email from Paul asking if I want tickets to the Ninth symphony.
Thinking about Beethoven.
Remembering that I have seen it.
And also Fidelio.
At the Teatro La Fenice in Venice.
Ein engle descending the stairs.
That years later, I had dinner at
the Ristorante La Fenice with Rosella and Emma.
They were pretending to smoke cigarettes,
using bread sticks.
They were certain that the carabinieri would arrest them because they were underage.
We spotted an old woman, a police spy no doubt,
leaning out a window above us.
Dinner turned into a thriller.
Worthy of Beethoven.
A young Beethoven perhaps.



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Mr. Y

The name of God
It's only right not to utter the name of GOD.
Once we, in our language, conceived of the Ineffable as God then we could no longer prevent anyone from turning the word into whatever seemed desirable and instead of acceding to omnipotence we render the word impotent.
We freeze the possibility of infinitude into petty wish fulfillment.
We created GOD by naming it.
By refusing to name the Ineffable, we keep Wonder alive.
To name something is to control it.
To refuse to name something is an act of honor.
Maybe every word is like that. In that it takes on an existence of it's own above and beyond it's referent.
A hamburger is first the thing itself and only later the word "hamburger" but once it is no longer the original thing, then it becomes your hamburger instead of my hamburger then it acquires your meaning and not all the nuances that the thing means to me. In fact, it achieves lowest common denominator status, a crude map with many blank areas with the empty spaces to be filled in by the user, to be filled maybe wildly.
But it does attain a life of it's own.
Poetry tries to keep language honest and humble.
A musical note is here and gone.
An act is here and gone.
A word is nearly immortal.

Vivid moment 2

Standing in line at the grocery store, there is an old man fumbling for change who Looks at me and apologizes. His unkempt beard and crippled fingers and strong smell notwithstanding , I put my arm around his shoulder and say, " I'm in no hurry". Sehow he mentions that he's a pagan and I concur. Withot remembering everything, I recall that science also figured into the conversation and so I reccommended the book that i'm reading, The End of Mr. Y. He said that he reads three books a week and said not only would he try to find it, he wanted my

Vivid moment 1

Vivid moment 1

Talking  to Tommy. 

Tommy, can you hear me?
Can you feel me near you?

We are both seekers.
Are there others?

Off to the Hindu Kush. 

When I get back,
Let's do life. 
Wednesday okay?

Right now

Right now is god.
God is right now.
Autumn morning.

Vivid moments

Today is as vivid as I want it to be, as is God.

Walking

Stepping outside, into the cold acridity of an autumn morning, i might as well be biting into a little madeleine for the onrush of walks past: the zattere with San Giorgio across the bacino, the Sawtooth Mt range on the road from Boise to Stanley, the 8 K of the red clay road from Koun Fao to Koun Abrouzzo in the ivory coast.  

The sun appears...

Of the river flecked...

Do old rocks...