By estory
A face
In a photograph,
A figure in a video clip
Erased
A fingerprint,
An identification number,
A signature on a document
Misplaced
Among all the things misplaced
Like puzzle pieces out of puzzles
Of pieces
Lost
Like so many knickknacks
On so many shelves
In so many rooms
In so many apartments
Abandoned
A glimpse of a face
Or a hand,
Or a voice overheard
Inside
In between the flashbacks found
And played back,
And then lost again
Out of sight
Out of mind
Relics
Religated to museum shelves,
Gathering dust,
Losing significance
Flags planted on the moon,
Crumbling monuments of a past magnificence,
Legends from another time,
Exhibits of storied achievements
Like so many footsteps
Following in the footsteps
Left behind in the sand,
Worn away by the rain
| Author Notes | This is a poem of all those little moments that get lost in the shuffle, All those things we accumulate that seem to add up to nothing, all those achievements that get worn away in the eternity of time. The construction is in stanzas, to create that fragmented view of experience and all these unrelated yet interconnected moments of memories, hopes and dreams. Repetitions and alliteration have as much to do with the music of the language as rhyme or off rhyme in this poem; I am looking here for a new way of making music in language, and a more contemporary method of articulating the experience of living. estory |
By estory
Lines
And lines
And lines of text
Dialogue, dictation,
Facts and figures,
Instructions, information,
Quotes and quotations
Copied
And copied
And copied into facsimiles
Facsimiles of conversations
Taken out of context,
Conversation
Lines
And lines
Across pieces of paper
Like parallelograms
Within parallelograms
Of concepts, perceptions,
Descriptions of conceptions,
Conclusions escaping
In between the lines
In between
Lines and lines and lines of calculations
Embedded in endless lines of computer code
In endless lines of computer code
In endless lines
And lines
And lines of messages
Exchanged instantaneously
In the stratospheres of the Ethernet
| Author Notes | I had some fun with the mechanical, computerized format of this, a framework of the emotionless, mechanized production of language. It made for some different musics in the language, something new that I was going for. The poem's theme of course is the vapid, emptiness of contemporary electronic communication, the derivative feel of it, that undermines the meaning and leaves only the interesting patterns of the language itself. estory |
By estory
The shape of your face
And strands of your hair,
Your fingernails,
Your eyes
Lipstick and mascara,
Black silk stockings,
High heels
A taste of your body
On the tip of the tongue
Like raspberries in the morning
Your silhouette
Punctuating the air,
Not quite forgotten,
No longer there
Things hard to let go of
Echo like footsteps
Through the empty rooms
Lined with portraits
That no longer belong here,
Anymore, things
Like the first day of summer
Remembered in September,
Your face
That pale moon
Seen above roads stretching on to nowhere
| Author Notes | This is perhaps the quintessential romantic poem, that moment of lost love, still hanging in the air after its substance is gone. I tried to work in all those tangible physical images of attraction that ring in our minds, and also to work in elements of loss, the portraits that remind us of happier times, and the feeling of a relationship going nowhere, ending up like that moon, or that summer, that started out so promising and wound up empty and meaningless. Alliterations are a big part of the musical elements of this poem, and I tried to create drama out of the line breaks. estory |
By estory
Threads of faces, voices, music, dreams
Bits and pieces of our family and friends
Running through our lives like colors,
Creating the shapes and movements of our days;
Bits and pieces and glimpses of faces
Embroidered throughout our memories and dreams
Creating the threads of colors in our lives
Like so many voices, dreams and pieces of music
Starting and stopping and starting again,
Starting and stopping and
Glittering across the emptiness of a space
In so many colors, in so many shapes, so many threads
Threads becoming voices, voices becoming music,
A music of patterns of faces and voices
Glittering across the spaces of our lives
| Author Notes | What I aimed for here is a compilation of fragmented moments or emotions in life, stitched together into one vision of a life. A density of rhythmic and musical patterns of words, rather than measured meter and rhyme. It's at once haphazard, but also, due to the repetitions, rhythmic in its own way. I like to try new formats and styles, to stretch the definition of what's possible in making music with language. estory |
By estory
On the railroad station platforms
Where the daydreaming commuters wait,
Carried off each by his own daydream
Of snow covered railroad station platforms,
Championship football games,
Music, naked statues, silence
One follows one's own daydream,
And in it, the railroad trains begin to travel west,
And off to the west, across the river,
Over the expanses of bridges
And under the lengths of tunnels
The city they are going to sparkles in the river,
Its lights glittering like so many faces, so many voices,
Like so many people walking along the boulevards
Or talking up in the rooms of little apartments
Under the gargoyles of the townhouses
That seem like the dreams of the people inside them,
And we, in our dreams, forget who we were
And why we came here and where we came from,
And we walk arm in arm with people going to concerts,
Art museums, sidewalk cafes, theatres,
Looking up at the white spires of St. Patrick's Cathedral,
Or the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center,
Where the skaters skate into their pirouettes
| Author Notes | This poem tries to capture all of those millions of daydreams we have daydreamed while commuting to work in those great cities; in this case, of course, New York. I tried to let the architecture and the bustle of the city take you away into the little corners and into the lives of the individuals in the crowds behind the faces you see on the subway trains, along the streets, and it ends with that open ended uplifting image of the skaters on the skating rink, their dance lifting the dream into all kinds of possibilities. It is more than anything, a poem of hope estory |
By estory
Somewhere above us,
Somewhere
Where one can see the stars
And where one can listen to the sea,
A light illuminates a city made of glass,
A city made of glass
Like gold
Where crowds gather to listen to music,
Together, in a reverent silence,
Where everyday is Sunday
And every Sunday is in the spring,
Somewhere far away from here,
Somewhere not yet placed on our maps,
Not yet listed on the destinations of airlines,
The people who have gone before us
Wait for us, waiting for us
In a place where churches fill with sunlight,
Where there are no graves,
Somewhere passed the last exit,
The last planet in the sky
| Author Notes | This is a poem describing heaven, a hopeful poem, a poem of finding peace and harmony. Here we have to reach beyond the physical, beyond the man made, beyond even the natural, to arrive at the spiritual. The spring image is an Easter image, an image of the resurrection, where there are no graves, and the loved ones who have gone before us, wait for us. I tried to write it as obtuse as I could, to be inclusive of many different approaches, as I usually do. estory |
By estory
A shadow on the wall,
Outside the window
Footsteps, voices,
Thunder
Crashing waves of the sea
In a flash of lightning,
Clouds racing across the sky
A face
In the moon
Footsteps, voices,
Figures running across a beach,
Sinking in sand,
A green wave
Overtaking them
A broken window in the sky,
A hand reaching down from it
Through rain
A face in the crowd
Shining
Lifted up out of the ocean
| Author Notes | This is a surreal poem, a dream poem, and the abstract, fragmented imagery is what I thought best to capture this sense of a dream that you can somewhat recall, but only in fragments. What's left is a sense of emotion; fear, tension, and hope. The struggle of life against the forces of nature, or the spiritual forces controlling nature. It was inspired by a real dream I had several years ago. estory |
By estory
I
Pieces of music,
Pieces of
Places, faces,
Conversations, silences
Moments of time
Scattered across
Expanses, destinations,
Events in life
Faces in photographs,
Excerpts from conversations,
E-mails, souvenirs,
Fragmented figurines
Pieces of stories,
Pieces of
Characters, situations,
Glimpses of light
Photographs, fingerprints,
Pieces of faces
Dreams
Lost to the night
II
Pieces of poetry
Like bread
Broken and
Handed out
Hand by hand
Passed along
Throughout the crowd
And read out loud,
Intimate passages
Overheard by strangers,
By strangers repeated
And repeated
Until these secret treasures
Multiplied by the thousands,
Losing personal significance,
Misunderstood,
Misinterpreted,
Take flight
Like airplanes
Piloted above us,
Going out of earshot,
Becoming messages
Transmitted into
Outer space,
Signals
Lost to dead planets.
III
Her face in the morning,
A wild rose in bloom
The sound of rain on the windowpane,
A favorite love song
A piece of music,
A shooting star
The full moon,
A planted field
A relic,
An artifact
The calm after a storm,
The wakes of ships
IV
The fragments of these figurines,
The outstretched hands,
The dancing feet,
The dreaming heads
The headless dreams
Like snowflakes
Glittering
In the streetlight,
Appearing and disappearing
In the calico
Changeable skies
With their glimpses of stars
Glittering like pieces of glass
Like pieces of glass
Like pieces
| Author Notes | This is meant as an abstract impression of the emotions of life, a collage of images broken off of each other and whirling around us in an incomplete vision of experience. Our lives often seem like this; pieces of a puzzle which we know is significant, but we can't quite come up with the sum of the parts. Hence the broken up language, in the fragmented format. Part three is one of my favorite parts; I tried out this format of using couplets of pared images, mirroring each other and creating depth, stretching the meaning of each across the other. The result is still fragmentation, but a connected fragmentation. The last part ends where I always like to end up; in mid air, drifting off into the endlessness of possibilities. estory |
By estory
Descriptions of perceptions in sentences describing
Descriptions lost in translation
Describing
Information transformed from descriptions
Translated from information describing
Translations of information
Transformed
Words, transformed from ideas,
Levitating, levitating,
Lifted out of context,
Describing
Transformations
Magnificent in themselves,
Magnificent for nothing else,
Lifting us like alphabets
Lifted out of languages,
Levitating, levitating,
Above the information, the words
Transformed by ideas
Into interpretations
Interpreting
Moments of revelation,
Transfiguration
| Author Notes | In this poem, language transcends itself into the pure music of transfiguration, escaping definition into the realm of the music of the experience. The imagery of the letters in the alphabet levitating out of the sentences and phrases is kind of the central image of this action, and I wanted a density of sound, repeating patterns of slightly changing forms of words to produce the musical elements of change. Form follows function here. It's a very different way to make music in language, and I'm always fooling around with these new forms, trying to stretch poetry out of what has been, into what it might become. estory |
By estory
A dinner table,
A window
An arrangement of flowers,
Scrapbooks and photograph albums
A bookcase with a reading lamp,
A stained glass window
Desks, desktops, a desktop computer
Twitter on the internet
A snow covered mountain peak,
A skyscraper
| Author Notes | This is a poem in couplets made up of paired images. it is deliberately ambiguous, designed to create a mood, a sense of romance, of memory, of creativity, of hope. It is a poem of glimpses of images, of snipets of sound, much the way we experience life today, in glimpses of images flashing by on the bus or train, or on tv. It is a world we only get a sense of, and find it hard to actually participate in estory |
By estory
Changes that we make, and changes we can't help,
The changing climate and the changing regulations
That change the world around us and change the way we work
For better or worse; changes in substance
And change rattling around in our pockets
As we change trains, change planes, change lanes
As if changing around the décor of our apartments
Or changing our clothes
Will change our outlook on life
After a while, we welcome change,
We hope for change
And vote for change,
Changing our addresses and changing our jobs,
Making changes of plans
And changing our partners,
Getting caught up in the changes of weather
And the changing seasons,
Changes in the landscape
And changing prices and changes in fortune,
All the things that change hands
And change directions and change places,
And then changing things back
When we don't like the changes.
| Author Notes | This poem really harks back to the type of poems I first started writing in Patterns; poems like Pieces and Waiting, in which a single word is explored in all its connotations, making all kinds of connections across a lifetime of experiences. I thought the word Change would make a great theme; not to mention the interesting musical elements in the word, itself. estory |
By estory
Blocks
Of buildings
In blocks of buildings
Of blocks
People walking around the blocks
Walking around the blocks
Looking up at the buildings
Apartment buildings, office buildings,
Courthouses, gothic churches
Skyscrapers
Skyscrapers with observation decks
Skylines
A man looking out of the window of an apartment building
A woman on the phone sitting in an office
People climbing the steps of the courthouse
A priest opening the door of the church
The arches above the door,
Those gargoyles on the lintels,
These columns rising around you,
That flying buttress
Parapets, cornices, arpetures, porticos,
Cornerstones, cubicles, stairwells, closets,
Entrance halls, waiting rooms, open air plazas,
Collonaded esplanades, courtyards
Atriums
Atriums with potted plants
Atriums with potted plants and fountains
Atriums with potted plants, fountains and skylights
Atriums with potted plants, fountains, skylights and escalators
Escalators,
Elevators
Buildings we look up to,
Buildings we look down from,
The office window that overlooks the park,
The revolving door in the lobby,
The nook behind the coffeemaker,
The empty stage in the concert hall
Illuminated spaces,
Elevated spaces,
The spires of the skyscrapers gleaming in the sun
| Author Notes | This poem is really more in the style of poems from Patterns like Pieces and Waiting, a poem built around a single word, that then goes off on many associated tangents, taking us to all kinds of things that have to do with buildings. Buildings can be intimidating, they can be inspiring, they can contain moments of significance in our lives. They can be empty spaces, or they can be frame experiences. They can seem cold and hard, or inviting and comfortable. In the end, they can serve as a metaphor for all kinds of experiences we feel each and every day as we walk around them, and indeed, live in them. estory |
By estory
Passengers
Passengers waiting in the passenger lounges
Security check points
The lines of passengers at the security check points
The lines of passengers going through the gates
The passengers walking through the concourses,
Passed the duty free shops
And the cocktail lounges
The windows in the cocktail lounges
Overlooking the planes on the runways
Air traffic controllers
Air traffic control towers
Flight patterns
Holding patterns
Take off clearance
Landing instructions
Arrivals
Departures
Destinations
The distant destinations of the passengers,
The transcontinental flights
The international flights
Non stop
And connecting flights
Pilots, stewardesses,
The stewardesses pushing the snack carts down the aisles
The pilots announcing approaching turbulence
Delays and cancellations,
Baggage claim carousels,
Electronic message boards
With their electronic messages
Arriving flights
Departing flights
Boarding sequences
And disembarking gangways
In flight movies
Emergency landing instructions
Runways and landing strips,
Flight paths and trajectories
Terminals
| Author Notes | Airports are a lot like life. You have the structure of society ordering and shepherding our movements, you have the frustrations of delays, cancellations, the proximity to people who you never meet, never share your experience with, but also the glimmers of hope, of a chance at a new start in a new place, the distant destinations. They are frustrating, exciting, marvelous and hollow all at the same time. I dedicated this to my friend Ulla, who probably has spent more time in airports than anyone I know, and who can maybe vouch for my premise. estory |
By estory
Lights, camera, action:
Let there be light,
Let there be more light
Shining a light on the subject
Light bulbs and search lights,
Incandescent lights and iridescent lights,
Neon lights and laser light
The headlights on your car that illuminate the road,
The taillights watched by the driver behind you,
The lights on the highway billboards lighting up the exit signs
The traffic in the intersections managed by those traffic lights
Turning the lights on,
Turning the lights off
Streetlights in which you can see parked cars and garbage cans,
An actor reciting a monologue in the cone of a stage light,
A ship using a lighthouse to navigate a point
Ultraviolet light,
Infrared light
A woman sitting under a reading light with a book of poems,
A man screwing a light bulb into a lampstand,
Lights upon lights in the windows of the apartment buildings
Candlelight
The light that goes on when you open the refrigerator door,
The light that goes off when you turn off the television,
The dinner you can eat sitting under the kitchen light
Sunlight, moonlight, and starlight,
Light sockets, lighting fixtures, mood lighting, night lights
The light at the top of the cellular transmission tower,
The light above the operating table,
The light at the end of the tunnel
Warning lights and signal lights,
The lights along the aisles of the movie theatres
Christmas lights
| Author Notes | Light is a big part of our lives, that we often take for granted. What would we do without all those lights? And then I started thinking of how much light affects our mood. It raises our spirits, it brings clarity and definition. It helps us navigate the world, it defines moments, it makes us happy. So here's to all those lights! estory |
By estory
This moment when life becomes
Still, this moment of small movements
Glittering like sunlight above
Stillness,
Where a flower blooms itself
Into eternity, and where eternity
Is the water beneath it, and its flowers
Are the light touching it
From above,
This stillness,
This stillness of air and of water and of light,
This moment of life in this moment of living
Glittering like sunlight above
This stillness,
Glittering
Like light above water
Gives shape to a flower,
Where the flower gives shape
To our dreams, where are dreams
Become still
| Author Notes | I wanted to articulate something of the experience of looking at one of Monet's waterlilly paintings with this poem. To me the waterlilly paintings capture the transcendence of life from a moment in the spring time to something eternal, something at once moving and motionless, or motionless in its moving. Here I tried to work in an effect of the small movements of Monet's brushwork in creating the details that open out into this poem of eternal beauty. estory |
By estory
I
I stand at the edge of the river
As the river leaves me behind
On its journey of a lifetime.
The more I watch it,
I find myself going with it,
Unburdening myself,
Gradually losing connections
And forms, following the waters
Into the water's
Movements and music.
Movements and music of distant mountains,
Undiscovered waterfalls,
Clouds reflected in crystalline lakes
And in a mysterious alchemy,
A renewed sense of being,
A reincarnation,
I travel the river's lengths
Until I am lost in an ocean.
II
I stand transfixed
In the river's movements,
A fallen leaf
Unrolling and unrolling
Through elemental baptisms,
A subterranean chorus
Singing untranslatable hymns,
With the hands of naiads
Passing over me,
Stripping me clean
Of everything I once was,
Immersed in the water's movements.
Where the water's movements
Transcend the water itself,
Outside of the world
And it's stones.
Dissolved in the spirit.
III
Within the river,
I hear voices
Calling me out of myself
And I come out of my skin,
Uncurling into whirlpools,
Currents, ripples,
Reflections of the sky,
Waterfalls.
I throw myself over,
Stretched into threads,
Ribbons off expressions,
Moments hanging in mid-air.
| Author Notes | This is another poem of an abstract sense of transcendence, of moving from one form of being, a sense of self, into another form of being, a sense of a spirit within the current of a greater Spirit. It is about leaving oneself behind and giving oneself up to this Spirit, and in so doing, gaining a new appreciation for joy, and being. estory |
By estory
That unchanged line of hills,
Landmarks and markings
Unobstructed viewpoints
Endlessly expanding space
An unmistakable silhouette of a certain city,
A setting, a time and a place of events
A separation of elements,
A dividing line
Unfenced fields,
Lands unclaimed
An edge
The jumping off point of a sphere
| Author Notes | This is one of those poems in a format I have been exploring over the last couple of years; one in which instead of rhyme, the couplets are pared according to contrasting images of a central symbol, in this case, horizons. Horizons mark our boundaries, challenge us to go on, divide us, bring us together, speak of the familiar, and also of the unknown. They are mysterious, a deep part of our soul. I wanted the images to be abstract enough to allow for interpretations from many viewpoints and experiences. estory |
By estory
I think of the life I live in glass,
The glass jars of jelly and preserves
Defining the glassy mornings
Of dreams like broken glasses
Seen in the rearview mirrors,
The poetry books I've read through my reading glasses,
That face I've watched in the glass of the mirror,
Growing older and older,
While the goldfish swim around in the glass
Aquarium. The hour glass empties,
As I sip a glass of wine, and the afternoon light
Brightens the glass in the windowpanes
Again. I look through the glass
Into the glass that holds the moon
In the telescope, the glass that holds
Chips of life in the microscope.
I look through the glass
And see the broken glass glittering
On the sidewalk where an argument,
Sharp as glass pieces, scatters the light.
I think of glass bottles of beer,
Glass cases of clocks and cabinets,
Paperweights and glass crystals
Glittering in the chandeliers,
Bulletproof glass windshields,
Fiberglass insulation, the tinted glass
I sit behind with all of my sins,
The glory and the grace of the stained glass windows.
| Author Notes | This is a poem somewhat in the style of poems like Pieces and Waiting, Lights, but in a more opened up, conversational format. I wanted to create a poem with a little more flow to the fragmented imagery, a sense of the fragmentation of the whole, as it were. The music of the language here depends on the rhythm, and the echoing effects of the repetitions of 'glass', in varying forms. estory |
By estory
These cracked and broken figurines,
These pieces of hands and feet and heads
Scattered across the sidewalk
Windowpane of life, catching the light
Glittering in unembodied myriads of facial expressions,
Verbal exclamations, hand signals, poses
Articulating their aspirations
And those disappointments;
Moments of birth, toil, love, death
In a thousand pieces of
Glass, signs, time pieces,
Keys, coins, rings,
Stained glass windows
Of transformation and grace,
Until the dreams of the figurines
Are all that is left of them.
| Author Notes | This is a piece of abstract expressionism, a montage or collage of scattered images of life, the struggles and triumphs that make it up, and the things we hold in our hands that fall out of our hands at the end. And there, above us, in the light of the stained glass windows, are the dreams at the core of our spirit, that live on out of our broken bodies. estory |
By estory
I
Stained glass pieces
Of the glass
Mosaic,
Movements
Cut out and inlaid
Into crystal
Heads, faces,
Eyes
Imbedded in the pattern,
The multitude.
Each leaf,
An October morning,
One image of Christ,
Many arisings.
Poems in all kinds of colors,
Pulled from entire tapestries.
II
Sunlight scattered
Like diamonds
Across the faces
In the stained glass;
Impressions articulating
Abstract expressionism
Lost in the deciphering
Like a candelabra
Suspended in mid air.
Movements of moments,
Glimpses of the spirit,
Dreaming of resurrection
And transfiguration.
A mountain top
Where the world stands still.
Flowers bloom again.
III
I watched the moon
Balanced on the church steeple
Above the old neighborhood
Where the sky
Was only a fraction of what it once was
Over the mountains or the sea,
Just a reflection
On the roofs of cars
Crawling along in the traffic
In the tangled streets
of those immense cities
Unfolded out of maps
In the middle of nowhere.
IV
A face in a window
Becomes a fragment
Of flights of birds
Above the rooftops
Where we counted the stars
Over the television aerials
Transforming the silence
Into silent movies,
Black and white frames,
Gestures and poses
That seemed so much more substantial
Than where we are now.
| Author Notes | This is really abstract expressionism taken to another level. Broken images, pieces of moments, reassembled into collages of experience, somehow related, somehow creating a sense of the spirit of life. Here, the symbol of that spirit is light, scattered across the stained glass windows, illuminating the candleabras, the television aerials of moments. estory |
By estory
I
Across oceans of imagination,
Ships, islands, adventures
Carry us away
Into the distances of postcards
And these marvelous journeys
Taking us off of the edges of maps
Into the unknown,
Turn us inside out
And around and around
Until we forget where we came from
And where we are going.
It doesn't matter:
Space and time,
Movement and contemplation,
Work their strange magic
Just the same.
We find ourselves here,
There, everywhere.
And nowhere.
II
A face in the crowd
Gathered to hear the bells
Of Notre Dame
Sunlight illuminating
Matterhorn and Jungfrau
Beautiful girls walking slowly
Passed the bearded men of Ipanema
Silence in the walls
Of Shinto shrines
Stars studding the skies of the outback
Like castaways
III
Untethered, unstrung, unencumbered,
Outward bound,
We catch glimpses of towers
And mountains
Over the tarmac
And dream of waterfalls
Washing away the printouts
And the video screens.
Somewhere behind us
Traffic and transit
Stand still.
Webmail is gathering.
We take a deep breath
And look out of the window.
Thank God the world is disappearing
Into cloud and ocean.
There is still time for daydreaming.
| Author Notes | I wanted to capture in this little piece something of the joys of travel; the feeling of leaving behind the work routines and the familiar commutes, and anticipating new places, new faces, the excitement of the unknown. So much of life seems to go by in bits and pieces nowadays; a glimpse of the Notre Dame, Mount Fuji, mountains and waterfalls, remain in our consciousness like pictures, moments not fully grasped, yet beautiful and promising. An imperfect experience of life is what we are left with; just enough to wet our tongues and not enough to completely satisfy us. estory |
By estory
I
Ahead, roads rise into
Distances, expanses;
Exit after exit
Takes us further and further
Away from home,
Familiar and routine
Frameworks and schedules
Defining us. En route,
These viaducts and turnpikes,
Trails, lanes, passes,
Expressways, superhighways, freeways,
By roads and detours
Deliver us into spaces
Expanding all around us
Without end or beginning.
Nothing but light, air, water and wind.
II
Chicago, Demoines.
Out on the prairie,
The flat, mother Earth
All around us
Abandons us
In the middle of nowhere.
Still, the sky, the sunlight,
The smell of cut grass
Places us here,
Now: a shadow across
Wheat and corn
In all their abundance.
It is good to be alive,
Looking at that old farmhouse,
Remembering the homesteaders,
Imagining their lives;
Spinning, sewing, splitting logs.
And looking ahead
To where we might go from here:
Cities of libraries and art museums,
High rises overlooking Lake Michigan,
Sculpture gardens, cathedrals,
Wifi and all its applications.
Detroit. Demoines. Chicago.
III
Mountains on the horizon
Point up to the stars,
A wind from the Pacific
Brings aromas of cherry trees
From Tokyo, the smell of pomegranets
Growing on the hillsides of China,
Tastes of wildflower honey
And the snows of the Himalayas.
There is always someplace further,
Beyond you, beckoning
And calling you on,
Tempting you to leave all you've ever known
Right where it is,
To meet the face of a Sherpa
On the path to Shangri-La.
Who knows if he's an angel from God?
| Author Notes | After writing Travels, I took a trip out to Beaufort and more ideas involved with travel started popping up in my head, and they unrolled into this encore of sorts to that poem. So with a bit of editing, I decided to post into this collection. I kind of like it more than the first poem, especially parts II and III. I really like the ending. Somehow this idea of the eternity of travel, the endlessness of the wanderlust spirit, seems intriguing to me. The idea that there is always someplace further on, someplace magical, with magical people to meet in it. estory |
By estory
She once said that she thought that she could hear
My feelings
And our love,
As if in a dream,
Seemed like a whole other world
Caught up in the moment
Like a bird in the morning.
It is true:
Among lovers,
One hears another's heart beating,
And the wind in the treetops
Like music;
The sound of her head
Cradled like a crystal ball
In my hand.
| Author Notes | This is a more romantic poem, done in an open, free verse style, much like the wind in the treetops itself. I wanted images that spoke of dreams, of clairvoyance, of the intertwined relationship in a mystic, magical sense. That feeling of knowing what someone feels without saying it. estory |
By estory
As if I could hold you
Just as you are,
With all of your feelings
And your memories,
Body, mind and soul,
All of your hopes and dreams,
All of your family and friends,
With your education and your career,
Your hobbies and preferences,
All in one motion,
One embrace,
A single kiss,
A poem
As if You could give yourself to me,
Like a beautiful sculpture,
A work of art,
A delicacy,
Something that I could taste
In the heat of the moment
Like wine
As you move underneath me
Lost in the passion
Working itself and working itself
Into a single flower of expression
As if it might last
Here, in between us,
Within us, becoming something more
Than a moment of release,
An empty dress
As if might be a moment of revelation,
A pure, simple understanding
Of what is beautiful and meaningful
In the world
As if it might not fade quickly
In the open air,
The changing seasons,
The passing days and months and years
| Author Notes | This is a poem about the fractured nature of relationships, the inability to comprehend the totality and the enormity of what it means to be an individual, and the difficulty in cementing a relationship out of two enormous individuals. It's very modern in look and feel, kind of minimalist in the presentation of stripped down, bare bones images. A tone of lament. A plea for understanding of the human condition. It's an imperfect world and an imperfect life, we are left with here. But hope springs eternal just the same. estory |
By estory
Opening the door
Closing the door behind you
Front doors, back doors, side doors
French doors, pocket doors, double doors
The bathroom door
The closet door
The parlor door
The bedroom door
The door to the pharmacy,
The door to the shoe store,
The door to the bank,
The door to the church
Trying to decide which door
This door or that door
The door to your future,
The door to your past
Automatic doors, sliding doors
Knocking on the door
And ringing the doorbell
Doorways
Doorstoppers
Doorknobs
What goes on behind closed doors
Doormen holding the door
And doormen keeping you out
The door to the office
The door to your apartment
The door to the movie theatre
The door to the police station
Slamming a door
Breaking down a door
Locking the door
Revolving doors
| Author Notes | Another one of these poems that I had fun with thinking of all the moments of life we have come in contact with doors of some kind; the doors we open, the doors we close, the doors we have to go through and the choices we make in deciding which doors to go through. And where they lead us. estory |
By estory
Turn on the machine.
Listen to the machine.
Watch the machine
Turn on the lights,
Order some wine,
Play a video
Turn off the lights.
Machines that make life convenient,
Machines making machines obsolete.
Robots on the assembly lines
Assembling our machines:
Cars taking us where we want to go,
Computers computing the problems we face,
Cellphones connecting us across time and space,
Televisions waiting for us when we get home.
Coffeemakers, refrigerators, microwave ovens,
Vacuum cleaners, air conditioners, electric stoves.
Messages on the answering machines.
The digital assistant anticipating our next move.
Clothes in the washing machine.
Dishes in the dishwasher.
Communication over the hand held computer.
We stop at the traffic signal, go when it turns green.
The card reader reads our number and approves.
I push a button to order fast food.
You choose a video game that makes you feel good.
Alarm clocks and mood lighting on remote control,
Personal information gathered and compiled,
Sorted out of internet searches, stored
And filed away in the cloud.
Becoming more and more digital,
Incrementally logical,
Fundamentally electrical,
Less and less spiritual.
Data and devices and gadgets and tools
Blinking and humming and clicking while in use,
Automatically adjusting themselves to our lives
Until there is nothing left but artificial light.
| Author Notes | In this poem I wanted a mechanical style, a mechanical rhythm, and I thought the use of rhyme here, which I normally don't use often, would serve to deepen that sense of rhythm. This is told in a hollow, toneless voice, a mechanical, artificial voice, matter of fact, to underscore the machine like atmosphere. I'm a big skeptic of technology, and where it is taking mankind. Life is more convenient with machines, easier, but less satisfying. What makes life satisfying is the effort we expend to reach our goals. There is something empty, soulless, about the automated, computerized, mechanized world. It is no good. estory |
By estory
Fingers on the keys of keyboards
strung together by the cables
Across fiber optic networks
On the all encompassing internet
Speak of friends and groups of friends
On facebook, twitter, youtube feeds
24 hours a day, seven days a week,
Every month of every year
Online in the internet,
Remote virtual reality
Checks and balances deleted,
Recompiled, rerouted, sent
Across the spans of the web
Of advertisements, calendars of events,
Shopping lists, credit card numbers,
Personal indentification
Exchanged for bitcoins
Exchanged for antidepressants
Exchanged for
Facebook photos, instagram messages,
Google, hotbox topics, domains
Ever expanding domains
And surveillance tecniques practiced
Across the street
Strung with coaxial cables
Connected into the world wide
Web
Me, you, they, we
Interacting within
Streams of data
Manipulated by protocols
And controls
On/off
Shared, deleted,
Groups of friends
You never meet
In person
Speak in terms and terminology
Behind the masks
Of generated personnas
In the social media space
Connected on the internet.
| Author Notes | A poem of communication and relationships on the internet, in a mechanized style, reflecting the nature of the experience of the digital world. estory |
By estory
(master voice):
Enabling,
Reconnecting,
Initializing;
(voice a) (voice b) (voice c) (voice d)
Shopping: Entertainment: News: Communications:
Product scan Video feed Commuter Instagram
and satisfaction selection traffic is twitter
evaluation download in bumper to facebook
price filter to streaming bumper messages
search engine movies, music, temperature email
configured for images, games, 94f chance messages
automatic pay interpersonal of thunder phone
pal purchase platforms, a shooting messages
and delivery networks of at a gas reply/send
scheduled and interpersonal station an exchange
number of units platforms, earthquake ask,
per transaction chatrooms, in Italy receive
compiled live feed a budget answer
recompiled blogs impasse the reply
into transaction dating sites resignation receive
history saved hotbox topics of the governor send
for profile animation films another school share
monitoring and meditation shooting a exchange
advertisement sessions, travel hurricane email
targeting documentaries carbon emissions transmit
automatic pornography sexual misconduct decode
robocall campaign video poker government share
management sports betting corruption post
programmed and music stream investigation receive
configured for audio visual illegal immigration reply
data bank
| Author Notes | This is designed for each voice part to be read vertically in an unpunctuated stream, simultaneously. It's a lot more complicated than the first performance piece, which had only two parts, but I think if done with four different voices, preferably two male, two female, and maybe some older and some younger performers, it could make for some interesting musical effects when read in a circle around the audience. I wanted to create an effect of the multiple platforms vying for our attention in our non-stop, data streaming world of today, and to illustrate how difficult it is for us to maintain our sense of self in such an environment. Can't wait for the reviews on this one. It is challenging and I would encourage you to read my essay, On Performance Poetry, and the first piece, Myself and someone else, to get a sense of what I am trying to do here. This is very different poetry from the mainstream. a side note: there is a problem with posting this on this site; the columns I created for each voice disappear in the post and it is all garbled. This is not going to work on Fanstory. estory |
By estory
I
When the separation we call 'cultures'
Divided the world
And then subdivided it
Into divisions dividing
What lies in between us,
What we have in common,
Misunderstood and misinterpreted
Through the translations and the pantomimes
Describing the gods, the leaders
Those that led us away from each other
Across oceans and continents
Into the founding of city states,
Those fantastic empires
We still see to this day,
In ruins, scattered around the globe,
Those pyramids pointing to the stars
Or some such place,
A summer solstice
Or winter solstice,
A forgotten ceremony
Described in the fragments
Of sacred tablets
Scattered across the dust
On the tops of the mountains.
II
A hand
From a hand
Reaching out to grasp
What is no longer there,
Some idea at the center of us
We can't quite fathom
Or put together
Out of its pieces;
An isolated chromosome
Of a genealogical connection
To an ancestor
Inside of us,
Diluted through evolutions
Like fragments of glass
Across fragments of sand
Across immeasurable miles
Across the immeasurable miles of time
That we call history,
We try to decipher
What is undecipherable,
Trying to find a place
That no longer exists,
Reconstructing it
Out of fragments of plans for it.
III
What separates us now
Is more than distance,
More than an evolution
From a starting point;
The breaking of a ceremonial urn
Into a thousand pieces
Of a thousand pieces
Of
Dreams, hope, faith, trust, love
Scattered across our civilizations
Around landmarks we no longer recognize,
That whole piece, that sacred place
A moment in time,
A flash of light,
A lightning moment
Lost in the voids of space.
IV
Those mysterious gods
Like faces on vases,
Abstract, symbolic,
Vaguely drawn
Thousands of years ago
Where we stood
Once, together,
Listening to the sermons
Of Moses,
Or Christ,
Or Buddha,
Or Mohammed,
Their words
A shared Eden,
A tree of knowledge
A paradise
Glittering overhead
Like stars above oceans
Where the gathered multitudes
Stare at each other, speaking in tongues.
V
Speaking in tongues
Of languages broken apart
Into pieces,
Into
Descriptions of shared experiences,
Dreams, faith, love, hope
Like the faces on vases
Found across the globe
Describe us to ourselves
In pictographs, hieroglyphics,
Phonics, monoliths;
Those fabulous monoliths
Inscribed with forgotten symbols;
Suns, moons, stars,
Pointing out heaven,
God.
| Author Notes | This poem is a complicated poem of the fracture and fragmentation of our human species. It is about the common ancestry we have, the common emotions we share, our hopes and dreams, lost in the diversity of languages and cultures that have evolved over eons. It is about the hazy memories of the origins of those feelings and sensibilities, and about reaching back to put these things together and finding we can't quite put them together anymore. I had fun with the musical elements of the repetitions of phrases and words, and the fractured stanza structure. It is long, but I feel if you love poetry, why stop writing? why stop reading? estory |
By estory
Voice A Voice B
(male) (female)
I don't know I don't know
What I wanted. What happened.
I know I wanted I needed space,
To get someplace. I needed
I wanted a career, To find myself,
I wanted to In all of this.
Be somebody. I know
I wanted kids, I didn't just want
I wanted To follow along.
All kinds of things. I wanted to go places,
Have my own life.
It didn't work out
That way. I suppose It just wasn't working
I didn't think Out the way I thought
It all out It was supposed
All the way through. To work out.
I have my own life,
I didn't know You know.
What to say,
All the time. What I'm saying
But in the end, Is that there is
I have to think More to life
Of myself. Than me and you.
There is me.
What I want.
What I need.
What I need.
What I want.
I need my space.
I need some time I have to make more time
To think about me For myself, find
And where I am Where I am
In all of this. In my life.
Where I want to go.
So I guess I'll call you
This is goodbye. When I get there.
If I get there.
| Author Notes | This is my first performance poem, and I wanted to keep it as simple as possible. This is for two simultaneous voices; spaces indicate breaks in speaking, so one voice will be talking in some spots while the other is silent. And vice versa. The voices here speak of a break up, an emotional divorce, as they focus on themselves and increasingly have no room for the other person in their conversation. I tried to work this for lots of musical effects; phasing of similar sounds, words, and phrases, counterpoints, and simultaneous sound effects, sometimes denser, sometimes less dense and diverging. The two voices speaking together of two very different lives lived at the same time in a relationship, two very different egos diverging, I think really captures the sense of how two people cannot be really in a relationship without compromise and a common viewpoint. I thought the theme would be a perfect trial for the construction. Let me know what you think. |
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