Thursday, November 6, 2014

Mary Lou Nielsen ----- poem sequence

Poems from a Previous Me – 1968
(Thoughts on the War in Vietnam)     Mary Lou Nielsen

I.
Dylan Thomas Breathes Again

Summertime swishes on a bank of dew,
Leaves shiver and quake,
waterfowls live long in a sea of time,
while fishes swim in love.

Tenderness breathes soft with
lips moist and feathery,
the burning tongue, the shivering love,
the desert foam of ages
and the lamp-quick laughter of a demon
beckon to all.

Only windy time now stalks the gardens
of the limitless night sky,
blue and stilled by the emptiness of cold.
The butt end of a burning star lights the sky,
and the gilt-edged fox guards her young
on the silhouette of doom.


II.
Revelation

Would I, could I, remember truth's eyes
in a vociferous calm resting clear,
Then would I meekly throw to God a piece of
rouletting Jesus asking, Saviour, Saviour,
Wherefore art thou but only dead in a
cheap onslought of vigor,
Chanting rhymes in ogling solitude,
Beating with lung worms cancerous spells
onto unknown gates.

Forgive us for forgetting time's trueness as we do
Forgetting the reality of pain's slanting turgid river,
Flooding onto unknown banks – dying, dying
As soon as moments show clearly the
calcification of our slime.

III.
Conviction

I will know because only then will I go
To London Town – and break the battering bridge and send it away,
E'er I remember how it once uplifted many kingly days
and burned to the ground thrice o'er.
And I will build a sea of dreams
To swim in madly, whereas the world turns just as mad
And I will build to you the monument of day
And the miracle of night
And show you songs not sung
And you shall tell me of your heaven that you made so mad
What a hasty job that breaks just as hastily
In the fidgeting calm of silence you will see me as I truly am,
And you of the virtuous thorn shall bring me down.

IV
March Blowing in May

Blow winds, you scare me with your whispering car rush,
Your lights which you uncover when the trees bend low –
Low, ye winds, lower yourself to me.
My breath is of thy heart –
Blow, winds, in tornadoes and festoons,
Harlequin swirls of whispering gods nod to passers-by.
We must remember now
In the dawn of early summer,
After the new spring has passed,
Birds no longer twitter and chirp
But are lulled to sleep
In deep, dense jungles of gloating earth.



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