Lanthanum 12.9

9

By that lofty, Italianate Woods-Gerry House

on the crest of the ridge (now part of RISD) –

at its very crown – stands a towering oak tree

like massive shipmast : twisted wild & sinuous

into a giant’s maze, as if by Circe’s spell.

I lingered beneath its dark green canopy

of semaphoring leaves, looking out at the city

below... old Providence, in shallow river-bowl.

Then I watched as one light cloud swelled out,

floating over the town – shaped like a hand

with blue eye in its palm.  A rainbow band

rimmed its perimeter, each hue gilded bright

with a single word – one of the 7 ancient virtues

(cardinal & theological) : Prudence, Temperance,

Justice & Fortitude; Faith, Hope & (in the violet

patch) Charity.  & then I spied, in the wheelhouse

of her wheeling house – Natasha!  Here to visit

me again, swathed in her cloudonutcar.  Henry,

she said, smiling – you’ve toured the periphery

of this great tesseract, & glimpsed (in orbit

of his mandorla) the beaming Lamb.  It’s time

to skip the third & last ring of this morris maze :

a golden cruciform circle (charted like Chartres)

where all the forms & figures coalesce – to chime

with that formless, invisible & omnipresent Lotos

floating in the heart of Everywoman, Everyman.

Diamond-hard rose compass – for orientation

of each soul (within one luminous J-cosmos).

6.18.12

Lanthanum 12.8

8

Earth blooms.  Born in pain, an Onion-man

lifts up her head.  Uncovers joy, in flower-

bed.  O Man, Woe-man... divine the power

of their Sower (yours).  Witness the plan (as

in my improvised summa-summation).  For

it is born & borne this way – (the universe) –

in wonder, transfigventurous.  From unheard-

of hearse (broken-in horsewagon, its mortal

remains) – amid most utter & remote darkness –

a Cognizance rehearses one inefferblescent play :

dazzling comedy of recognitions, in some byway

snoodle-narrow (entrance where you’ll bless,

be blessed – by turning, opening).  Shadow

me then, shade o’ shades (crown of Venetian

blind alloy).  Let thy wings decussate, Jonah,

o’er this flood (when I must dive, rise, go)...

                                *

I stood by the cliff again.  At Prospect Terrace.

Looking west.  & then thought-felt the presence

of Natasha by my side (greengold light – intense

staccat – through leaves overhead).  Her voice...

Step lightly now, laddie – wi’ me.  So I did.

In tandem with stone Roger, off the prow

of his canoe (winged Natasha helping now).

Into thin air.  Floated... & flew.  Behold,

my son (RW said) who walks with us... the bright

procession of the Magdalen.  I saw maid Mary,

by an Easter grave; behind her, cousin Juliet;

Hart Crane; John Berryman; & Lowry... T-

squared, aligned, orthogonal.  Under the Gate.

Barefoot, fluted (a mourning dove)... limping,

limpid.  There : Natasha.  Osip.  & (weeping)

Nadezhda.  Trinidad (steel-drummed).  Agate.

      6.16.12  

Lanthanum 12.7

7

To be in a little backyard garden in America

on a brilliant day in June, shining in plenitude,

splendor... I count myself lucky – my gratitude

welling from artesian vein, out on the prairie.

To accompany an old forlornness (prodigal,

homesick).  As ineluctably, imperturbably,

the year climbs toward akme – Bloomsday

jubilee, sun-perihelion – the whole pleroma

coincides... aligns this moment with old years

gone by.  Measureless summers in Mendelssohn

(or rather, summer’s intimations of infinity).  One

solemn hilltop iron sounds, droning... Vladimir’s

(Nabokov, in Petersburg).  & now I sense

a universal congruence, orthogonal... an upright,

cosmic Rome, vast, free & equable; full of delight.

Each planet scores a Providential masque – immense

high hymn of restoration (Georgic, of the Garden).

Its plot furrows the brow of every Eve, each Adam –

prodigal children of an errant plowman (Ham,

Shem, Japheth... every one).  & mine,

as well.  Sursum corda... let metaphysical Hope

lift up your heart.  As resolute Nadezhda

was sustained, persistent, on her own hard

long Lanthanum Road... by a goldfinch trope

of clear & singing air (tropic, salty... Crimean

tune).  Let this moist limb of milky air suffuse

your life, child-planet; let the bell ring (yours);

& may Mnemosyne be ever green (pine-paean).

        6.16.12

Lanthanum 12.6

6

Fire salts the eye, & the eye grows strong.

Cézanne, in limestone, with the Neanderthals

(back 50 millennia).  An eye-in-hand.  Walls

of swift horses, in a U-shaped glaze (song-

thundering).  Here’s crane-bone flute, bowl

(Cahokia, red-handed... raven, owl).  Out of

the human womb... washed from subterranean

river-cave.  Fire in the eye will frame the whole.

Wind rocks midnight rushes, cataracting Nile.

A serious sound rose (elephant-ear) up from

Africa... thin sky-trace (arcing out of Yemen,

Ethiopia).  Humped in Sabbath shroud (awhile).

This fire welds, adamant (unknown solder) down

to diamond (arctic stone).  Melds a subtler mesh...

light untraceable fishnet.  Ordinance of Gilgamesh

& Moses – Jesus, Socrates... Love’s rule (golden).

& of that Covenant, parked in the inverted crypt

of our perversity – how praise we, tuning harp

& psaltery?  How shall it be?  & how escape

our tumbleweedy Babylon (high follyship

gone down)?  Fire smolders at heart of Man

to tear down Kings & Pow’rs.  He is coming

in her eye... Osiris, surfacing through rushing

stream.  At delta-verge, a river-orphan (grain

of wheat).  In slough of willow, cottonwood

(leaves oscillating in the wind).  The eye sees

the child rise (from dry marshes, Netherlands)

to hold the tyrant-sea at bay (his neighborhood).

        6.15.12

Lanthanum 12.5

5

An evening wave of gold washes through the porch

window.  Old glory.  Starlight, everywhere the same.

An equilibrium of memory... through the cruciform

tesseract (small unknown amethyst).  A torch

on scorching dive, from beetling limestone overhang

to pivot of my heart.  Where it whirls, smolders

like blazing spring – limitless Old Faithful water.

Path of cosmonarch Roy’s infinitesimal bell-clang

(sounding).  So weathered threads of redwhitblue

are interlaced with looming purple compassment.

An older flag... weedy, perhaps (Nile-sent).

Like Blackstone’s Yellowsweet – earliest apple

of them all.  Signifying starlight, space (a midnight

sun).  Molten earthhearth.  Where he was buried

on the 28th (5th-month), whose grave remained

unfound.  I waver like a raven (forth & right,

back & left) upon this vernal oxymoron, WB –

a necklace of dead bees (black honeygold) that

yet will fly... across the Finnish line.  Complete

Karelian restorative (green whispers of a tree).

A white birchboat lights out for eternity.

In the far north (past Itasca).  Where the 28

twin-stars (special relativity) make a figure 8

at the center (29th)... & open the mirrory

myrrh-box.  Magma-mystery (golden game

in her eye).  A memory of home, homing...

down Mendelssohn lane.  Through gloaming-

flame... old shroud’s ultraviolet spectrum.

  6.14.12  (Flag Day)

Lanthanum 12.4

4

The day was curtained with clouds & rain. & I

remained off-balance – knocked back by dream

of raven-sable, stellar origami.  Some game of

games... find the center of the mirrors (eye

of blackhole oven-hurricane).  M.-&-Emmy

Noetherealm.  Diamond-refractive oscillator,

Hamiltonian... treefold symmetry of straitened

bends, invariant surf beneath maximal extremity

of ashen world-lines (Simone, Celan, Black Elk

would sigh).  Invisible foundation... octahedral

cathedral (perfect Rock).  Play within basilica

or under wave of baobab (in peace, wee folk).

Monarch saunters along maximal geodesic,

dawdling at every milkweed pod, at ease

in universe.  Raven follows minimum (SW) –

his silver photopath of least resistance (flick,

fleck) reduced to feather-scratch on papyrus

(MW, MW).  To molten core (homing near

a river-matrix – confluence in MO).  Hear,

O Earthlings!  Twin wheels (red bluesroses)

convene-entwine into bright thread of porphyry

beneath a shady aegis (double-ewe, inverted V).

Ravangled, juristic M, immured in lonely grave

near Olivet : an eagle-OMO, turning every way,

invariant.  Under steel-gray rain, a brooding arch

hurled into clay turns up again... shines sevenfold

in sunseine-rainreign (ghostdance replay).  Bold

glory-plot – unbinding Slave of Slavs... watch!

          6.13.12 

Lanthanum 12.3

3

A moody, gusty, late-sprung day in Providence.

Unsettled air.  Not ominous exactly – tense,

preoccupied... or is it only me?  Whence

cometh this foreboding prescience?

A mind of patchy sail, pulled here & there...

pieces of some scrambled anagram, flung

jigsaw maze – scattered, unsolvable.  Unstrung

riddle-song snagged in folding dentist’s chair –

the Higher Consciousness!  Blindspot in mind’s eye,

shadow just behind you now... king’s conundrum

for a jester’s toy.  Let’s play!  OK....  Loom

tall St. Louis into T.S. Eliot (so cloister’d, he)

– then tie the remainder with a silver cord.

Now say what saintly eu, unique & solitary,

sheathes his horn within a maiden modesty?

The truth’s not of this world (Étoile du Nord).

Our ball games pivot on a pointless point.

I saw a floating Rock of darkness – limestone

higher than I am.  Infinite facets, slanting, shone

like shady diamond.  Inviolable Heiligeist, anoint

the Lamb with clear gemstream, beside the city

of JM (144 wells echoed).  A raven-wingèd man

drew near, declared : I once was Wm. Blackstone;

I have a new name now – Black Elkstone.  Charity

bled me; Wisdom led me; I panned the motherlode

of my soul (poor costly everything) right here :

deep cosmos-cradle of the six directions... clear

pure lanthanum-node.  My windy Rhody road.

6.12.12

Lanthanum 12.2

2

I was snoring on Sunday, on the old red couch

near the porch window, when I woke with a start –

startled, flung from sleep in a sudden fright.  What

was it?  The dream was silent... a kind of conch

or hyperspace of utter midnight blackness

which suddenly folded/infolded upon itself.

Quick, razorsharp raptor, clenching stiff

armorclaw – hawk, out of its fastness

lancing hooded laser-glance, spotting prey...

It looked like a batwing (folding/unfolding)

dusted with tiny motes of silver (oscillating

light).  The shape spoke to me in some way.

Instant, silent... with command.  If I dare

paraphrase what the No-Voice said to me,

it went something like – So, Henry... you

wish to harpoon the Tern? – then prepare

to look beyond this scene.  Time silvers plow

& poet’s voice.  He chants; the song turns up

deep time-strata, plows earth to aerie (topsoil

brow).  Silver, black, back, forth... wing now,

Raven-knife, SW, SW... MW (Voronezh,

Voronezh).  Your task, to discover Itasca

at heart of Alma Noetherwhorl (blackest

coil of galaxies... pivot at the eggdzhz)...

& then I saw the Time-river as a tree, rooted

in ruddy veins of one like a sunny Bruno-Man.

At the molten heart of the universe – trans-

muted into forms unknown (everliving, infinite).

6.11.12

Lanthanum 12.1

1

unless the Lord builds the house, the builders build in vain

A cloudy noon in June, in Providence.

The year draws out toward its longest day.

Hobo – or is it Henry now? – will try to say

once more what ails him... is it loneliness?

Sprawled on a broken bench at Prospect Terrace...

(or dryness? – now his hectic dream’s dispersed,

it seems)...  By that low cliff... as if over a coast

of absent turf, a sea of air.  He feels depressed.

Recall a day like this, out for a walk with you

tasting stray honeysuckle, that still cascades

in creamy orange & green over the palisade

on George... under a high & quiet royal blue.

& then I heard the softest sound... a sweet

low-warbling-mellifluent air-flute (through

sea-grass, prairie rushes).  O Henry, will you

never, ever learn?  I’m here, my slow, effete

& doubtful comrade – here always.  Remember

now : implanted Love is as a tiny mustardseed

of fire.  It burns through your sad frozen world

of lost desire, to build anew : Cosmos, tempered

by justice – by transparency & truth (clear air

above Lanthanum Rd).  Metaphysical Providence

is born this way – each day : out of beneficence

& magnanimity, God’s brimming Ocean River –

endless lovingkindness.  Deepest Mississippi joy!

Now go... explore!  Beyond those azure gates...

So I rose up to the old cliffside – looked west

again... my heart buoyant.  Freedom, ahoy!

      6.9.12

Lanthanum 11.22

22

When the mist cleared, and I saw blue sky again

I found myself in the shadow of that tall oak

where Natasha & I had squirreled, in Prospect Park.

Then I saw a solitary cloud suddenly halt – descend

just overhead.  It was that Cumulo-Muse herself,

in her C-boat : she stood in the cockpit, smiling,

by a sunny Son of Man – their arms embracing

one another’s shoulders as they piloted a swift

approach.  You’re free now, Henry, Natasha said;

your burden of light lifted, the Way lies open.  &

you no longer need my lens – power of vision

is your own.  Look back toward that river road –

see for yourself.  I turned again toward St. Louis.

Saw an Arch beside the river – its substance now

pure rainbow, while a majestic evening sun, low

in the sky, looked back... radiating calm & peace

in azure & vermilion waves.  When Man returns,

& reckons rightly his redemption, & the Love

from which it stems... then all shall be saved –

Earth will rest, enfold a planetary equilibrium.

We must leave for a while, Henry – you have

yet more to learn now, on your own. & so

off they flew.  I stood there, watched them go...

yet sensed, somehow (under the architrave

nearby) I was not alone.  & then the granite

face of Roger Williams slowly, slyly. slightly

swiveled... smiled... at me.  Hail, Henry, my

friend, the Founder said.  You’ve put it right –

my gospel – all along.  The Father has instilled

the Golden Rule for all mankind to share – none

shall tyrannize over a neighbor, who has known

that Law within.  So Providence will be fulfilled –

when every child imbibes the milk of Agape,

& every soul repents, turns back, is healed.

At last, each one must face his own congealèd

sin : O city corrupt – dark as any sullen satrapy;

& only through that marrow door

can we find wisdom : equilibrium

to wed vocation to res publicum

with conscience – soul coraggio –

a limestone liberty.  Roger lifts an open hand

& waves... & then returns to his engraved

eternity.  Felt, strangely, in my soul, strafed

with deeds misdone.  High tides of suffering &

pain, inflicted on those near to me... neighbors

in life.  Only God’s mercy might redeem my soul

from utmost darkness, desolation.  This the whole

of that beginning of wisdom then : a true remorse.

I closed my eyes.  Seemed to be afoot in dream,

up Morris Avenue, past Temple Emanu-El.  Gold

honeycomb... a sunlit salience, prized as of old

in modesty (‘mid Babylon trials).  Into some

anointing oil... some olive grove.  As if my soul

became a sketch... Cézanne, Bruegel... The Road

to Calvary.  A crowd of peasants, soldiers, rude

jongleurs... hustling a fragile reed into his role

(bent, broken, crucified).  We can’t know You

as You are.  Only a man destroyed by wrong.

Only lamb, splayed for hangry-raging throng...

human emblem of self-murder.  Imago (blue).

I opened my eyes.  I stood on a wide steppe

or prairie, not far from home.  Old Black Elk,

the Catholic Lakota, was making signs (Milky

Way, Evergreen) with his friend Martin (steep

soul of Atlanta).  & then he lifted his clay pipe

toward the six directions, in a diamond shape –

silent, smoky salience; took me by the nape

of my neck – turned me toward the gap

in a rainbow.  Toward the West (beyond Volga

& Dnieper).  Go into the forest now, Henry –

the wilderness.  I follow his peremptory

& fatherly command... into Romania.

Where was I?  Not in Providence Rhode Island.

Infinities of leaves rustled above my head, &

all around.  Shade was dense, trackless.  Thin

bands of light shivered beneath enormous stands

of beech & pine.  I followed a hum of fluting

rills, that seemed to bend & fork into one

stream.  The light intensified... the sun

winked through the branches... something

droned, far off – kaleidoscopic, piercing clang

sustained in waves across sea-slanted prows

of trees.  & then I came into a clearing.  Now

the source of all that sound appeared.  Clad

all in wood, the timber gathered to a peakèd

crown, hid from rude men.  Its wall is icon –

every wrinkled seam & weathered grain sown

with inwoven blessed acolytes.  King David

tunes his psaltery, Maximus gables his book;

Plato & Socrates... Moses & Joan of Arc...

tendrils of grapevines twirl around their walk

through shady sylvan grave (to Jordan-brook).

      6.6.12

Lanthanum 11.21

21

See... O sip & see...

from brooklets of a careworn face

a-brim with gleeful cheer, nevertheless

this everlasting, omnipresent Victory.

Rivulets of tears from infinite eyes

like rainfall through the channels of a tree

slanting in streams across Hagia Sophie –

its 28 arcs from limbs of cottonwood rise

now, to celebrate the Mighty Ghost’s winsome-

creative indestructibility : for out of nothing

has our cosmos come, to be an everlasting

home – our undefiled, restored kingdom

& under Purgatory’s transient sky

we grow absent-minded... forget

that lucky heaven-vault on high

is a limber, everlasting habitat

of Love.  I saw a monarch drift over the Arch

making his way across the 50 patchwork fields

of Jubilee... & through the 7 sabbath-days (bells

pealed in ecstasy), into the secret element (patch

of most rare earth of all) : into the myrrh-box

heart of a mandorla, there – the cypress chest

Natasha-Magdalen held close to heart.  Best

man & groom... water, wine in one... Rock’s

Old Faithful splash-landing.  Man-door.

Sheep-gate.  Shepherd, lamb, in one – your

little Tree of J, grown great lambshade.  Hear,

O Israel!  Examine the vintage.  Harvest is near. 

6.5.12

Lanthanum 11.20

20

I was glad when they said unto me : Let us

go into the house of the Lord, whispered Natasha.

Come now, Henry – lift up with me those everlasting

doors.  I saw two massive, lambent wheels of rose

roll smoothly into place, and merge, and cross –

& form a smaller, oblong shape, like a mandorla.

Understand, Henry – these lenses magnify, &

signify, the ringèd iris of my eye.  So Maximus

perceived (with his own microfine discernment)

the harmony of every two-in-one – of each

polarity – sealed by this third integrity of peace

& union.  So Mediation frames the firmament.

I’ll whisper it, in an outline –

its hour has not yet come;

the chessgame of measureless heaven

is mated with sweat – & wisdom.

In me, Henry – Natasha – she who limped along

with him, toward Osip’s lonely grave – in me you

see the Ghost of many a Mary : the mother who

gave birth to God; she who witnessed his strong

trial; & she who held him in the garden, signing

to her alone (before the rest) his overwhelming

Victory.  She spoke, & then I saw two wings

of tall cross-lambinated timber, slowly opening

within the Gate.  Light burst across

the river, through the portal... & I saw

a shrouded, bearded, smiling face – in awe

I recognized Him – we had met before...  O

      6.5.12

Lanthanum 11.19

19

Birth-pangs, they said... murmurs my cloudy friend.

I look into her tender face... sad-luminous moon

turning her smile toward joy.  Something funny

happened today – let’s take a detour round that bend.

She lifts her magnifying glass again.  Two figures

in a heart-shaped, lilac shade – at first I thought

Black Elk, MLK?  Or Blackstone, Roger?  Was it

Whitman & Hart Crane?  Or Francesco of Assisi

with his Sienese sis, Caterina?  Under the High Line

parkway, in Manhattan – finding a newsmap of the

sky – Wolf Song & Billy, by River 4iver.  Eh...

why?  I asked.  Said she, What’s love?  Its sign?

So much pain... where’s the wellspring of sweet airs?

In the rain drops, she cried... I felt her tears.

Eyes, mine, welled in turn.  The wind bears, heart

to heart, the swelling riverglory that we share –

your story... mine.  She raised the crystal triad

to my eyes again.  I saw a blazing yellow star

& one minute black pebble, drifting like a tear

across its face.  Looked down to the riverside –

the two brothers still stood beside the Gate –

the whirlmist dissipated... Comes lastful measure

of Mankind, whispered Natasha.  Transfigured

here... my soul doth magnify.  & then a great

Someone broke through that limestone clay

beneath the Arch... a buried man, like Joseph

from his brothers’ well – like a flowering staff

of almond, out of frozen ground... today.  Today.

6.5.12