I had a "three ghazal" morning yesterday—just one of those things—& I’m posting them here. A couple of acknowledgments are in order. It’s been years since I’ve read Through the Looking Glass, so I’m indebted to Sandra Leigh of the fantastic Amazing Voyages of the Turtle for reminding me of this; & then Eberle reminded me that Lord Peter Wimsey also quotes that line in one of the wonderful Dorothy Sayers’ mysteries. Also, certain among you may notice the L Cohen rip-off at the end of “6 Impossible Things Before Breakfast”—I’m sure Citizen K at least won’t miss it.
Hope you enjoy these.
Ghazal 4/27
redwinged blackbirds trilling from willow
limb to willow limb as the morning unfolds most blue & yellow
a daffodil bouquet in a white & green vase almost gone past the
blooms slightly wrinkled & fatigued a consciousness
vanishing as it shrivels—a rest home in Florida the staff
puffing cigarettes by the walkway the morning light quiet thru
tall windows—not knowing the time or the day or the circumstance—a
boat in the grey Gulf of Mexico rolling across the swell the
cormorants the scarcity of things to say amongst the orange bouys &
white gulls an am radio tuned to the Ray Conniff Orchestra’s
sharpened
strings in Vermont in a green July humming with grey wasps nests
suspended above the workshop’s screen windows, the tablesaw’s
dire hum the shellac's metallic fish presence a
summer evening grey in the garden amongst orange poppies
the pipe smoke’s choking sweetness dispelled thru the trellis this
Idaho morning shifting to grey above the blue blue hills
"6 Impossible Things Before Breakfast"
blue dahlias a bass clarinet strewed thru golden gate park that mango
california forenoon you didn’t drop by for java & poems & smokes the
orange tulip rufous hummingbird dreams in this April’s new moon
perigee midnight amongst phosphorescent solar lights afloat in the
dark-
ling garden—the hex sign sunrise emerging from Lake Erie a
milk-paint
yellow horizon swabbing brushstrokes across the harmonic
convergence a
vibraphone nestled amongst yellowed birch leaves last October the
leaves afloat in the Weiser River’s troubled glass—magenta
ice plants scattered across the Ocean Beach dunes that lime green
Saturday you couldn’t make it for bicycling & java the Blue Ridge
Virginia brick walkway dotted with dogwood petals those fractal
Petrarchan sonnets scattered by footsteps speaking in off-rhymes
only
Distance Equals Rate Times Time
the distance between a grey stone diner in South Hero, VT &
this green salad day April 27th 2009—the unsettled sky
the goldfinches’ hollow whistle—the distance as
measured against the speed of light or any imagined constant—
I have nothing to say about the white cirrus clouds as they canoed
over the motley sky in a distant Vermont October—a Camel straight a
plaid
scarf a cream turtleneck an instamatic camera the wind de-
scending thru Canadian silver birches their fall leaves in-
congruous lemons shaken in a grey breeze—the cattle across the
road grazing on new grass the prussian blue clouds waiting for birds
to
measure the distance to & in fact my mind wandering—the
geese veering across the bosom of Sage Hill late last month
there isn’t any circumference there isn’t any
fixed center there isn’t any sky blue nothingness to fly back into
John Hayes
© 2009
UPDATE: Thanks for the positive responses. Upon reflection, I decided to get rid of the epigram for the "6 impossible things before breakfast" poem. Not that I don't like Lewis Carroll; I love his writing; but the epigram was about as long as the poem - thus unwieldy - & also what drew me was the phrase itself more then the context. THANKS AGAIN EVERYONE.