Yes
is the No Where
that leads to
Some Where or
Some When, but
always to an
Any-When, an
Any-Where.
Yes
whips Some Where
and Back When
into Here-Now:
No When,
No There.
No
is the Non-Where
that cannot lead,
cannot follow,
cannot do anything
but hang curtains of
illusion between us.
No
jerked out of Satan's mouth mid-plummet,
greeted Moses after Sinai,
cloaked Judas's lips
during his god-kiss,
takes little bites out of
our daily redemption.
Yes
is the Here that
pinpoints Now,
focuses our hearts like
candles mid-night,
like a scream on a
quiet summer's night.
Yes
escaped Jesus's mouth
accepting pounded nails,
danced in Stephen's blood,
dissolved barriers 'tween
mortal enemies,
plasters o'er cracks
in our good intentions.
No
was good enough in
Its Day, made us look
more intelligent, more
urbane: critics, noses tipped.
But Now,
Yes
must be given Its Due,
must claim center stage
in our heart's theatre, in
our dreams of Perfection.
Then
we'll move on to
Yes-No
and
No-Yes,
live in Then-Now
making plans for
Now-When.
We are falling from the moment we are born. Until forty, we don’t know this. We think we’re going forward, outward, “Onward!” Growing; not understanding we are Shrinking, no, crystalizing into the final Jewel we are, will be, maybe. So much Wiggle-room, so many paths, so Endowed with timelessness!
At forty, we understand, turn, Brace for the fall— Realizing we haven’t jumped up— Realizing we’ve hurtled ourselves toward our doom— Realizing falling’s inevitability: We thought we’re responsible! We acknowledge falling, but abstractly: “There’s plenty of time!”
Our sixties—a.k.a. When Our Parents Die—we See the barrier against which we all Crash. We understand: not only Didn’t we start anything, We won’t be able to End it, either.
These moments of clearer revelation, Shorn of pretense (hopefully), Our backs against the wall of our Inexcusable behavior, our Youthful ‘revelations’, our Moments we thought were heart-rending, Heart-ending, Our happiness we thought Never-ending, our Aimless or purposeful existence, regardless, Brought us here, To this place where Time is short— Dreams are ending— Fruition MUST occur or Be buried forever while we Begin to plant ourselves in the ground— Then…then…we see clearly what can be done, And what can’t, and We do it. Or we don’t. As it always was! As it can be! It’s our best/worst time, Happiness. Fear. Resignation.
Our diamond-quest involves vast pressure. Let it come, let it come. Harden, clarify, Add color, sparkle, luminescence— They mean something: To yourself, to Those who wait, to Those who follow, and again, To yourself.
First: 'There’s a problem with poetry,' He said. 'Today all poets Want to compress meaning into Too few words. This squeezing of Words, accordion-like, Displays the poet’s desire To be obscure, To force the reader To find the meaning, Giving away nothing, Hiding mediocrity by claiming My meaning is clear to those Who know.’
Second: Poetry today problems itself: Compressing fruitful meaning until Pulp disappears, leaving it Compressed to star-dense Proportions, a light-sucking Mass. Makes me Sick Reading stuff like that.
Third: Poetry today Suffering from Minimalism, Obscurism, Densification. Searching for meaning, This reader finds only Sickness.
Fourth: Consider today’s poem— Dense with meaning— Makes me sick!
Of course any English major knows that writers, perhaps because of their beleaguered early years, have nothing up on car salesmen, realtors, or grain dealers in terms of ethical behavior.
They built this marriage as one They sensed a need, they searched, They found each other. Said, “We’ll build on solid rock, Full in the teeth of storms That Life will hurl at us. Where winds of public pressure Howl–demanding that we bend– We shall stand unbending.”
They placed love-stone on love-stone With care-full hearts. They built For strength by leaning in, Encircling their love with walls That have no end. They topped This edifice of love with One Central Light. Transparently they prismed out This Light: two directions, One purpose, guiding, Enlightening by being.
They tend this monument That it may never crumble. We can’t conceive its non- Existence; surely it Has always been there. We Thank them, though we know They did not build for us: Their love’s completeness Stands before us.
(My parents celebrated their 50th on 26 July, 2002. Ten years later they celebrated the 60th. My father passed away the next year, but well after 61st. I’m not totally satisfied with it, but I don’t think it becomes better after almost 20 years…unless it’s rewritten entirely. I’m having a bit of frustration trying to get WordPress to do what I want. I want the poem to be in the center of the page, but to be left-justified for instance. And one of the lines is supposed to be broken across two physical lines, a la Shakespeare, but WP takes out the spaces I put in to make it so.)
all the voices in my head 