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Rough Breathing

Page 3

by Harry Gilonis

versatile then,

  now immobile –

  an

  endless technique

  and a small

  coda

  VI

  structured and

  economical

  angled slopes,

  discontinuity

  there is no entity,

  only change

  a thicker base beneath

  folds and breaks

  the valley

  undrowned

  a new form

  has been found

  it must begin anywhere

  and continue

  “the descriptions which suggest themselves

  are all misleading”

  what is proved

  is withdrawn from doubt

  axiom:

  self-evident principle

  as it

  falls apart

  there’s a temptation

  to say more

  when everything

  has been described

  (not the result,

  but that we reach it)

  why bother

  about an end?

  ‘so far there is no such thing

  as an answer to your question’

  i.m. Steve Lacy

  on the white

  grass not the Object

  but the light

  where my feet

  would have notched

  its blades

  not the dew but

  a pool

  of moon

  Theory

  the cracks

  in an old wall,

  the shape

  of a cloud,

  the path of

  a falling leaf

  or the froth

  on a pint of beer

  lines for David Bellingham (and in memory M. E. S.)

  once repetition is empty

  it is empty, repetition

  say, is empty repetition

  repetition once empty is

  empty, is it repetition

  is it, say, repetition

  once repetition is empty

  repetition is empty it

  is empty, say, repetition

  Descant on a Theme by Brian Coffey

  chien: a fabulous bird with one eye and one wing, a pair

  must unite in order to fly. [doubled] a pair – man and wife

  Mathews’ Chinese-English Dictionary

  “In parable chinese fictive one-winged birds

  that fly together as one each lifting other”

  Brian Coffey, Advent I I

  one-eyed &

  one-winged

  they fly

  as one together

  leg joined with leg in

  pure winged linking,

  each wing with wing

  of an other, reflecting

  in the air

  suspendat

  hirundo

  with

  “unwearied affection”

  each

  by other taught

  each

  lifting the other

  light and easy

  they tumble in the air

  they float

  on the spring wind

  they bring

  the spring

  elthe, elthe

  chelidon

  swirling glide

  over scrub-oak & juniper

  ‘sunny gulleys

  in the mountains’

  skimming low

  over water,

  dipping, sipping

  its surface

  twin beaks

  scooping

  ephemer

  -optera

  dipping

  over

  river

  glitter

  chittering song

  of two as one

  tsink, tsink

  tswit, tswit,

  tsi-kuk

  thin singing

  in

  empty colonnades

  gliding

  in

  failing wind

  looped, linked

  with a cord

  of light, they

  swoop, sink;

  in accord,

  they alight

  settling

  in the osiers

  of an eyot

  on the river

  over white sand

  under black pines

  in slant light

  under cold moon,

  willow-cotton

  snow on snow

  at the lake’s edge

  ringed by winter

  all fly together

  “and after

  a most sweet

  singing

  submerge themselves

  and rise again

  in spring

  from far away

  a 100-stanza renga

  (odd-numbered stanzas: Harry Gilonis; even-numbered stanzas, Tony Baker)

  1

  Fern sits in the shade

  where we wallow green

  and thoughtless

  2

  in the shadows fired

  with thirst midst

  slack willows what-

  stand-well &

  truly rooted

  3

  behind the trees water falls

  TO THE HILLS peaty ghylls

  run in tiers on black fell moss

  Ure feet from Eden

  4

  …his ship towards –

  “sailed uphill –”

  annihilating each fixed star

  5

  the Leonids sputter & hiss, Rigel

  bobs at the masthead: le navire

  est dans la lumière, lovely

  on the water –

  6

  leaf-choked –

  dank grass beneath our bruised feet

  7

  a blue moon. nightblue apple trees.

  star-naked boys in the meadow.

  a frog. a leaf. a fire-fly. leaves.

  8

  asking myself: how come these things pile up at my door?

  answering: & do not the weeds too have right of access to the sun?

  9

  there’s no light under the orchard,

  under the hill; above, just the glimmer

  of Minuartia verna

  10

  a waste and howling wilderness

  this window open in

  to the infernal world

  11

  How long shall I heare the sighs and groanes

  O Tythes, Excize, Taxes, Pollings &c

  This government is firmly committed to

  12

  brute strength hauled up

  “dark matter”, undetectable, nameless

  names burnt against the wall the

  13

  petals blowing row on row,

  roots that clutch a-

  midst the stubble of Flanders fields

  14

  frost-wrecked

  stalks dug in

  every part the bright hectic

  tubby cotyledons

  15

  “in an inferior world”

  in a laich wind

  bog-cotton’s tiny cumuli

  snipe tumble drumming

  16

  drumming in an inferior

  world thunders at the tunnel-mouth the approaching

  magnates, lutenist, apoplectic, fish-man

  all gone beneath the mountain

  17

  a crevasse in the sky blue light under the black hill

  by the frozen water eyelids locked in frost

  cold sickle-moons in the boot-tops

  18

  …migrants

  at the light-ship…

  19

  between the poles at the lagoon’s edge

  “we two together…” under Orion

  swimming in black water

  20

  – breaks over

  our bed of scruffy heather

  21
<
br />   the shadow of young girls and flowers

  asleep on the broom-filled hill

  22

  doped air thick with cinders,

  the scorching desire for

  We

  have become the market

  & the market’s need all-consuming

  23

  Who will sell

  this wonderful morning

  and the air that we breathe

  EVERYTHING REDUCED

  a strong force, a single theory

  24

  for the infinitely

  small or large

  & another for

  fireflies brief oceans the unaccounted for the

  25

  unvisible –

  “seen the hills and they were just –”

  “seen one tree and you’ve seen –”

  the fern’s signature

  in the coal, the new bracken’s crozier –

  26

  the warbler in the osier –

  o nothing could be finer

  wotchercock, sang the mynah

  27

  ‘Dinah’ sung in the Public, chalk dust by the darts mat, flat

  beer & talk ebb & flow, going down on the cards, in the yard

  by the cludgie falling drunkenly upwards into a pool of stars

  28

  our drenched words

  still cling to as spores …

  If one could listen at the sound of their falling

  would make a music uneclipsable, before & after ours

  29

  the houses wheel over the earth

  stars sporadic No music

  from these spheres

  30

  where silence is, the other night

  a gay stream tripped –

  I seasonally adjust myself:

  put on more clothes

  31

  “ottim time – an’ the livs is fallin’ –”

  with such easy loss of innocence

  the trees shed their leaf aprons

  32

  without strings, mountains, junk, floating free

  up the river that we are

  free agents

  in the want of, wanting rid of it

  33

  the island used up, “the sea

  which is death”, a river

  aflame orange

  what forests perish from sick effluviums

  34

  what tree burgeons over sterile earth –

  not a mushroom gathered

  this rainless summer

  35

  hot like a stove in the desert night

  moon’s not silver but yellow

  splashes on our skin

  parched as earth, hungrier

  36

  for love,

  for one full hull charged

  with the weight of us,

  of each our stowing

  37

  at rest, buoyant

  entangled

  in lilies

  38

  on the water-pools

  we delve in

  ridiculously familiar

  39

  below the water-line

  kelp used for glass & soap:

  & rent charged

  for the land under the water

  40

  the ten authorities

  permanently poised

  in comfort your own home

  41

  in time

  this fainful bsiness

  will will soonfeul soon

  will soon be onert

  42

  [leave

  this

  space

  blank]

  43

  moving across the water

  black and grey meet at the horizon

  in a kind of dancing light

  water drips from the vertical oars

  44

  to salute a botched job

  sluiced silence for fifty years

  convincement in the magnitudes of stars

  45

  in quiet sitting, in the bronze

  of the bracken the star

  arises Altair in your hair

  46

  after all these years

  six new moons, blue & crazy

  paved frost on a rubble-filled heap ‘dop’

  for a brambly

  47

  rainheavy and pissed on by the púca – splats –

  rips web – De lineis insectabilibus only house

  unless it rains – tatters – Brier Spider

  unhoused – ditto Oonops in my teapot

  48

  cupped hillocks tripped up a rip-off

  off Stoops gnatty in a downpour where

  lights collapse to loop the nightslope

  49

  stoked Aga smoke slopes up back

  ice is crisp on the steps up to the Miners’

  seems there are faults, reserves exhausted

  and a flower frozen on the window, morning

  50

  dark as night

  covered in this

  black stuff

  men drift away: the hills don’t

  stay either – shiftless, insufficient

  51

  they drift in the current

  coated in black gurry

  beyond prejudice or reason

  will we talk about the black birds?

  52

  will we suffer exoneration?

  will we scrape a living from the pipelines?

  & who is there of the herring-smacks will play pibroch?

  53

  no-one hears the small music; the wind

  in the whin, the flights of warblers,

  the sedge’s humming drone; nor, tiny thunder,

  the birl, the dirl, the skirl of the urlar of the heather

  54

  nor kittling of dwarfish house-mice

  (nest best in the hessian of cold meat stores,

  little mountains of fur & feather)

  55

  t follow the harrow a hell-fr-leather perr-yu-weet plummet

  56

  slapdash to let loop the old

  leaves drip groundward

  57

  each one treeless

  but each fungus home

  to generations of worms

  “fruit not void of utilitie”

  58

  for the wine thrives by patience

  & the wise man asks not

  wherein his soul shall be clothed…

  (coloured bulbs dance at the entrance to the pier…

  59

  and there is light crowning the thorns of the wire

  and the crossbeams and the shined metal

  aligned & twisted skyward

  for a day of howling

  60

  stark carcass bottomless

  stripped to the pitstone. Spit

  pith & decorous.

  “for the fire fox must cross the great water”

  61

  lit by fox-fire and Artemisia

  round three peaks

  “derived from Definitive Maps”

  bring lavender home from the moor

  its roots & ours intertwined

  62

  upon the skirts

  of Ingleborough Hill snowed tofts

  dug, thence scarred, now unheard of

  63

  a little north of Folly

  pine under a duvet of

  snow humped snouts aside of

  smouts walling moving up a

  beacon moon

  64

  above the frith, contemplating

  Solomon in all his tory

  lands &

  the distempered economics of unlabouring hands

  65

  that sweat be converted into ease

  that the sun shine at night-time

  66

  that the topters fall not on my allotment

  that the glow-worms, espec
ially those of Lathkill, be not extinguished

  67

  the sodium night-light does not dispirit

  golden it glows into a new day

  68

  brings groundsel & pappus-dust:

  that we are as they are, our

  outer lungs

  suck carbon from milked air

 

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