Large shape of Forth of July. . .

take-off & return (counter-time)

Stubborn somewhat like a Finnegan-Wakean burial (the book ended, literally & figuratively, on Good Friday evening). The 7 large "panels" of Grassblade Light, like a slow & gradual rebirth out of death & winter. This section (from the second panel, "Letters to Elena") illustrates to some extent the "syncretic" amalgam of Crane/Russia/apocalyptic time-warp renewal:


         An airborne bluejay chasing shadows
 augurs fever's end – a port-in-air
 ship in a purple jar –
 blue joy or sadness, luminous.

         Petersburg Mews – nine times around
 with cat in tow – tiptoeing cat-
 o-nines leashed to the bowsprit
 there, where Time swam aground –

         your skin warmblooded blond limestone
 uplifted toward one temperate curve
 echoing heaven once again.  I carve
 a window out of sanded syllables soon

         through an hourglass formed by one paw
 slipped into yours.  Sound of cello...
 textured... faraway Gabriel's piano,
 all G minor... empty flask, unporous now.

         The yardarm swings these shadows...
 as the groundswell of the deep wave combs
 my shears away all hands now comes
 the anchor like a diving kingfisher goes

         down toward never-Davy Jonas, and
 the wind turns ready about and hard a-
 loo blew V blue J a whack ralay raloo ra-
 lonniga-lubber galoo baleen – grand

         banks of whales above us blowsprit, spout
 brit, sprout out loud and lubricate that
 navigator's coughing chugboat – so
 zesty with taffeta – so transvested with trout!


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