Posts Tagged ‘Sept 11 poem’

The Entire of Elsinore

February 16, 2019

A gravedigger need not be grave. Nor need
He be alone. Horatio stood alone and grave;
Hamlet had wanted him to ‘stay center stage,’
As he put it. ‘Sententious, stentorian
And smiling.’ Elsinore was a war.

Now he wanted more. ‘A play is the thing.
To kill a king’. He wanted real proof before
He and Yorick could ‘off the fool’. He wanted
‘A truth with truth’. And more. Horatio knew
What was wrong. That fucking ghost could be

Just about anything, a stray specter,
A glint of light in the wrong eye, a rip in
In God’s fabric, anything. Anselm’s proof
Of God had proved it all. Existence was
That which cannot be allowed to fall.

But soft…for a mise-en-abysm to work—
And this is surely what Hamlet must have had
In mind—a crazy quilt of reflections
Would have to be in place. The entirety
Of Elsinore’s sin would be needed. El-sin-ore.


What survives thought is thought, right, darling, right?

September 10, 2011

See those starlings?  Don’t think tableau vivant
Here. Birds are just a variable, with their
So-called indifference to the blaze of light.
They are like thoughts in semaphore, they want
A tree to stay a tree, a bird to stay
A bird… but suppose starlings can return in dreams
As toucans, and semaphore can become
As alive as any sycamore tree. Let’s say
What survives thought is thought itself. Suppose
Nuts crack against the ground like jumping bullets
In a contest with gravity, that giants war
Against something too grave to be simple tableaus.
Let’s say those birds singing in the semaphore
Tree dream a little dream; that it’s a metaphor.