a poem by Ben Mazer, from Open Letters Monthly:
“THE MOVIES. HOME LIFE. CHILDHOOD. PAST CENTURIES. FACES AND TALK. PAINTINGS AND SENSATIONS. STUBBORN SHYNESS. BRIGHTBIRDS FLOWERING MORNING. ORSON WELLES. CITIZEN KANE. MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS. TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN. DAVID COPPERFIELD. TREASURE ISLAND. THE KID. ORPHANS. POPPY. MISTAKEN IDENTITY. LIGHT IN THE HALLWAY. ROSES OF DAWNING OVER THE SHOULDER. POE. POE. NOT EVEN DARKNESS. NEVER GIVE A SUCKER AN EVEN BREAK. AND THERE IS NO TIME, NO TIME. NO. WITH THE CAT HOWLING TO BE LET IN. NO NEED TO WRITE. ONLY THIS WHAT I’M TELLING YOU. TELLING MYSELF. THERE IS A BEGINNING TO ALL THIS. AN OCCASION. SCOTTISH BAGPIPES ARE ITS EQUIVALENT, BUT IT BEAMS DOWN IN SPECKLED LIGHTS. SPOKEN LIGHTS. I WOULDN’T SAY. GOAT LIGHT. SAWDUST. WINDMILL. GATHERING. OR SILENCE OF TEARS, LIKE RAIN ON THE HILL STREET, HOVERING OVER THE GREEN GRASS, SILENCE OF NEIGHBORS, SILENCE OF BEETHOVEN. CHARLIE’S SALOON. PASTRAMI, CORNED BEEF, ROOTBEER AND A PICKLE. FRENCH FRIES. MOM AND DAD. SISTER. NIGHT OUT. THE STRANGE SUNRISE, OR WAS IT SUNSET, COVERED OVER THE TEAR OF THE EYES OF THE CHILD. ONE EVENING IN A DECADE. IN THE TRAFFIC TRUCKED OUT OVER THE MOMENT. OVER THE BRIDGE AND THE TRAFFIC AND THE WEATHER OF THE MOMENT. WHERE THE SHADOWS GRIND INTO A COLOR THAT ONLY YOU AND GOD SEE, OR ONLY YOU SEE, BUT IF GOD SEES IT, OR IT IS LIKE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE SEE, THEN IT IS AS IF IT WERE RECORDED IN A CALENDAR, BROADCAST, TRANSCRIPT OR PERPETUAL TRIBUNE IN THE STADIUM OF EXISTENCE.
[. . .]”
Read the rest at Open Letters Monthly. . .
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