Showing posts with label China. Show all posts
Showing posts with label China. Show all posts

3.24.2019

Oh say can you see / by the Topsfield town line

& so the grand explication rolls on...

R.D. READING GUIDE #7

TOPSFIELD  (p.9)

This poem clearly a rejoinder to the conflicted cul-de-sac of previous poem (“Black Peak”).  The aim seems to be clarification, but the murk only grows darker.

“Topsfield” : suburb of Boston, next door to Salem, Massachusetts

“Shaker plate / of light” : simplicity, clarity.  Memory of lakeside Shaker settlement near Lewiston, Maine

“one steady statute / of a dauntless ghost” : refers to “our W”, one of the poem’s heroes, Roger Williams (R.W.)

“O say // can you see / By the Topsfield / town line / Where Endicott / ripped / the King’s cross out / barehanded...” : national anthem transposed onto colonial Bay Colony.  The future Governor Endicott of Massachusetts was (at that time, anyway) an enthusiastic disciple of Roger Williams.  One day (in the 1630s) the excitable Endicott, inspired by Williams’ objections to King Charles I’s reinforcement of the Tudor “establishment” of a state-sponsored church, tore the cross out of his own militia’s Union Jack.  This was an early (and emotional)  expression of Roger Williams’ influential theory of the separation of church and state.  Very remotely echoed by Dante in his De Monarchia – the medieval version of a doctrine stipulating the separation of Pope and Emperor.  (Endicott, a resident of Topsfield, was next-door neighbor to Zaccheus Gould, the poet’s great++grandfather).

“Friend” : Quaker, Shaker

Twain’ll meet / Nought, around the bend” : some kind of prophetic cancelling of violent rivalries and conflicts (with a prefiguration of Mark Twain and the river)

Wauontam.  Let’s eat.” : a Narragansett welcome, to feasting (experienced by exiled Roger Williams)

“Tempestuous word... stirs up... chartered Concorde” : a lot packed into this stanza.  Let’s say the tempestuous and threatening prophetic word of someone like Roger Williams, in the 17th century, eventually grew and flourished into the “self-evident endowments” of the 18th century – the U.S. Bill of Rights – in some kind of constitutional alliance with France (“chartered Concorde”).

“Hip-hop’s // Charlie horse” : ambiguous image of a limping monarch (Charlie horse”)

“rocking, racking... icing on a cake of Peking / take-out orders” : the political concept of human liberty, originating in America with Williams, results in a challenge to the autocratic, lawless brutality of “Putin’s generic icing” and “Peking’s take-out orders”

“Aerial checkmate thing” : poetry’s inherent opposition to soul-tyranny.  Echoes of  Biblical Ariel (the Psalmist’s hope); and Nabokov, Montale (“checkmate thing”)

7.14.2017

in memoriam Liu Xiaobo



SAND-CASTLE
                                                i.m. Liu Xiaobo

The workmen are building a great new wall
beside my octagonal turtle-
hermitage – where Sophie’s little
ruddy chair sits patiently, for one & all.

Another chair remained in Stockholm,
waiting for a noble prince
to win his prize of Peace.
His prize is won.  He’s going home.

He held his vigil by Heavenly Gate.
Hatred can rot a person’s
wisdom & conscience,
enemy mentality poison the spirit

of a nation, inflict brutal life & death
struggles, destroy a country’s
tolerance, humanity...
They want to bury him deep in the earth

yet verily I say to you, unless
a grain of wheat falls
into earth & dies,
it remains alonebut if it dies

it bears much fruit.  I remember
the orange Chinese lantern
peeking its bright octagon
out of green shade.  Welcome glimmer

with hidden crimson berry – lamp
of mountain sheepherder
marked by the torture
cell like turtleshell (or scarab stamp)

                *

only to grope toward pine-green Liberty.
My beetle’s modest haruspex,
the ideogram for pontifex,
key row-your-boat for Vera City –

check the N-trail labyrinth.
This liver between Earth
& Sky was micro-moth
or Maximus (locked up til 44th

of July, by Bureau of Injustice).
His wounded knee, his tender
foot, his gentle mind were
furrowed brow, for cultivating scholars...

Thrones are made for serial tumblers.
You can demote King Tubby Lou,

kill Voodoo Queen Marie – so
what?  Arrestocrats come back in numbers

juggling for electric chairs.  Polly
Pound says so, the mystical
Apologist of Tyranny; she’ll
sow you Uncle Ez’s grapes – see

how they make great yappy whine!
(& his chinoise Confusion
still bakes a mean Rune
Cake.)  He not the Way, sez Hen.

The blot thickens.  Blue Emperor Mon-Ki,
with his twin princelings, Rude May-Hem
& Gilt Moon-Eye... descended from
Lord Me-Man, Minotaur of Die-Nasty...

                *

[sludge on the honey-scroll, I guess]
We circulate by arrow-
glance, the human sorrow
of disharmony (each creepy-eepy instance);

only the gentleness of Manitou
the windy sheep-liver
& fleet   lamb-giver
who stands   magnanimous & true

blue cedar (melodious   rainbow
of royal   Reality)
is King.  So let her be.
Your soul, sealed so, dear Liu Xiaobo –

your spouse, waiting by prison-house,
will flex her wings, & spread
your word – rise from the dead;
her torch (inalienable human justice)

shines from copper harbors & green hills;
over harm & over hate,
ever-flowing   light on light
descends   like turtledove   on twisted wills

to straighten ways   streams merging
into concord   toward the sea
Ocean of Charter 8   mercy
& fellowship   in gratitude   Thanksgiving

Day   after the battlefields are still
& Liberty beams   far & wide
her smile   across the tide
& turmoil of the mind’s   sand-castle jail

7.14.17

9.17.2015

Quiet river scenes

Some of the chords in this little 2-finger exercise (for Ravenna Diagram) came from a recent article in the New York Times about the Yulong River in China.

LITTLE STEPS

Halcyon late summer day
in the ancient yard.
Soft came the word
from kayak lips... like one stray

Chinese lantern, swinging orange
over weedy greens.
Quiet river scenes –
Yulong threading bamboo (drafty ange

d’or fisherman) between karst hills
& water buffalo –
bull’s-eye, ground zero
for the monsoon spring.  God wills

fish from such limestone streams.
The way to Promised Land runs
through your heart, O branded
Everyman.  Job’s hook redeems.

A living soul talks back to hieroglyphs
until they come to life. 
Osiris in the loosestrife
with French polio – Ravenna stiffs

in sketchy skiffs, rafting a mossy
Giuliana to her sunny
son – sweet honey
from a shack smokehole, in Galilee.

You won’t get it right away.
The flags are thick
with gold encaustic –
targets flip like livid hay

in a tornado eye – the limp
thread hangs from one
thread or another in
a Mandan sundance.  Nails crimp

crumpled limbs beneath a cloud
of starlings... when one
raven, crowing, spun
through your aching pupil – proud

oculus of Solomon,
Galla’s ripe acorn
crown of sylvan
horn – an evergreen

Ravenna Pinetop, skipping 88s around
your retina.  The iris
in her sheaf of cornea is
larval now – pupa plummets down

octagonal, folded to ground –
Hero in milkweed,
featherweight... freed
fiddlehead wing, cedar-bound.

The mountain lurks above the trees.
Imago flies to her source.
Monarch wafts a deft Morse
code in air – needles sing breeze.

A message-smudge, still incomplete,
yet untranslated.
Fisher King... checkmated?
Will fly again lambchildBeat?

Through bearskin smokehole, near
the North Pole, Glenn
plays baby Bach again –
so grand, these little steps!  So dear.

9.17.15