a little treasury of

nothing, nothing, nothing, 

nothing at all

Muir, Jeffers, Keyes, Thomas, Barker, Ransom, Hardy, Bridges, Yeats, Watkins, Manifold, Lawrence, Auden, Eberh'art, Williams, Lindsay, Wylie, MacLeish, Bogan, Sitwell, Trench, MacNeice, Dickinson, Moore, Owen, Mathews, Sandburg, Pound, Hodgson, Bishop)

by Roberto Lavidez

     

      I

the idle life

I lead

is like

a pleasant

sleep

wherein

I rest and

heed the

dreams that

by me sweep

there had

been years

of passion

scorching

cold and

much despair

and anger

heaving high

care whitely

watching

sorrows

manifold

among

the young

among

the weak

and old

and the

pensive spirit

of pity

whispered

“why?”

there used

to be debate

of soul

and body

the soul

storming

incontinent

with shrew’s

tongue

against what

natural

brilliance

body

had loved

who shall

end my

dream’s

confusion?

life is a loom

weaving

illusion

I remember

I remember

I have played

with god

for a woman

I have staked

with my god

for truth

I have lost

to my god

as a man

clear-eyed

his dice

be not

of ruth

I see

a road

beyond

nowhere

defined by

cirrus and

blue air

I saw

a man

but he

is gone

his shadow

gone into

the sun

and the

dreamer

turns away

from his

visionary

herds

and his

splendid

yesterday

turns

to meet

the loathly

birds

flocking

round him

from the

skies

waiting for

the flesh

that dies

there in

the starless

dark

the poise

the hover

there with

vast wings

across the

cancelled

skies

there in

the sudden

blackness

the black

pall of

nothing

nothing

nothing

nothing

at all

   II

still falls

the rain

in the field

of blood

where the

small hopes

breed and the

human brain

nurtures

its greed

that worm

with the

brow of Cain

there the

beginning

finds the end

before beginning

ever can be

I had

the heart

to relate

the loss

of my charms

the paradise

pets I kept

in my pocket

the bird

the tulip trumpet

the phallic

water pistol

I had

the heart to have

mourned them

but no word

we shall see

the sky

without birds

the wind

will blow

no leaves

will ruffle

no new river

we shall walk

in the desert

together

I flung myself

down on

the earth

full length

on the

great earth

full length

I wept out

the dark

load of

human love

better to

unloose

a flock of

screams

into the rain

swing open

the door

hung by

the nerves

over deeps

of evil

I know that

I shall meet

my fate

somewhere

among the

clouds above

those that

I fight

I do not hate

those that

I guard

I do not love

the heart was

a-weeping

and crying

so small

fol de rol

de raly o!

fol de rol!

the heart was

a-weeping

and crying

so small

are you hurt

my child

are you

hurt at all?

pain has

an element

of blank

it cannot

recollect

when it began

or if there

were a day

when it

was not

O life

life

let me

breathe

a dugout rat!

not worse

than ours

the existences

rats lead

nosing along

at night

down some

safe rut

they find a

shell-proof

home before

they rot

   III

come and

show me

another city

with lifted

head singing

so proud

to be alive

and coarse

and strong

and cunning

it is better

we should

go into Asia

or any other

tunnel where

the world

recedes or

turn blind

wantons

like the gulls

who scream

and rip the

edge off

any ideal

or dream

o look

look in

the mirror

o look in

your distress

life remains

a blessing

although you

cannot bless

when the

world turns

upside down

you say we’ll

emigrate to the

Eastern shore

aboard a

river-boat

from Baltimore

do hold yourself

together and

fight with

a hit-hit

here and

a hit-hit

there

and a

comfortable

feeling

at night

that you’ve

let in

a little air

I could as

hardly make

a moral fit

around it

as around

a lightning-flash

there is

no moral

that’s the

point of it

no moral

now if I speak

my words

can belong

to no book

for my fingers

mingle the

language of

water and dove

ending here

at the source

the journey

they took

there are

things

that are

important

beyond all

this fiddle

reading it

however

with a perfect

contempt

for it

one discovers

in it after all

a place for

the genuine

what is the

metre of the

dictionary?

the size of

genesis?

the short

spark’s gender?

shade without

shape?

the shape of

Pharoaoh’s

echo?

   

   IV

but this

I steadily

assure you

is not the

world’s end

nor even

the end of

a civilization

it is not

so late as

you think

given nature

time…

heart so

subtle now

and trembling

what a marvel

to be wise

to love never

in this

manner

but I can’t

be talkin’

of love

dear

I can’t

be talkin’

of love

if there be

one thing

I can’t talk of

that one thing

do be love

©robertolavidez2014