The blue lapping violins on the turbid waterThere is a fair realism in the sense that the poem Can meet and exceed the imagination of the violins As if the violins are imagining the poet watching Them Watching the blue lapping notes Prior to but not really before the crescendo It was not just for that that Barbara finished her poems She finished them knowing that they extended Off the page and went out to sea Went out to work with the notes and the violins Again and again In some merger of art and life and collaboration As if remembering those days in New York When the boys gathered round and wore Their visuals on their sleeves Like late-night Jazz musicians Who can’t stop the beaming improv And Throw caution all caution To the guardians of new avants She taught me to listen and watch And feel everything and collect it And store it in my suitcase eyes knowing I could and would retrieve my past my Present nearby some future off-site If I owned my own museum If I owned that tunnel that clear vision Through the trance of memory and And furtive anticipation And it wasn’t just advice She lived her words and her stories And sang the role of ambassador For the fun of it For poetry’s sake For HD’s sake Like a happy prophet announcing A lyrical apocalypse A shining deliverance in words Meter And song By Douglas Pinson _______________________ Copyright 2008 Spinozoblue and Douglas Pinson. All rights reserved. The material on this site may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, cached, or otherwise used, except with the prior written permission of Spinozablue, Inc.
Poetry as Fun
(For Barbara Guest)
Poetry as fun because the poet laughs
And lives and breathes
The fibers of magnificat surrounding her surrounding him
Until dawn and then again when they see
