…I Till

Part VII: hermess

 

sound of a dancer, the elegant ease

of an elephant, please, a moment

or so fore the belles in these

also sing in their china blue wings,

& the rain in those clay pots

balance on pole-top a plate

o’er a chair, & the ottoman

stops at the top of the stairs

 

a man, who so merit a fool a share

of, among rags from aground,

o’erland, an ol’ pole-fisher about,

as the wing’d thing northerly

sound, ‘mid the wickery thicket,

a figury cloud, and the weir

by the bottom a shallow allow,

for his sandals & cinnabar jars

 

aye, as a silver spoon & fork

so well, aye now, a spoon,

the fork is on, aye so, a weir

as sings to till it’s up,

& mold it so as soon

as sow again, as comin’

from a risin’ of a wing-led ease;

that fork sometimes I find it

 

does an all matter an aul,

either here over her o’er there,

if I’m wanting as been fore a sea;

more an oarless there at rest,

& I’m restin’ at that,

for a little wild one, or

the childe, an atlas aknee,

an as well enough each

 

an in-wall sat a figure as

an outer door interfere,

as a passage in cold wear,

as wise for the elder of

aye by o’clock & its some,

if its any know time; I tell

by a hand of the ringin’ of

belles by the sure seas surround

 

handles by the rats & a rantin’

the rate by an hour as well

as a feast for a porter,

the pinch-backs & clowns,

drag  up a drown’d man,

pull down a frown on a flea,

as ever an after as afore is,

here’s another of others so nigh

 

aye enclose, as in a garden well,

a bringer of from far along,

a sky so clear your near ago,

nor aye the wind forsake a sail,

a ragged shawl, a briary,

a fair trade, the scree, the shore;

to hang the while a tenon to

a rabbet, hold now a maelstrom

 

sparrows and herons and terns,

all in the tall grasses urge

long-necks and short-bills beyond,

shoal’d auks and free-landers round;

some in the blue, some of the bran,

as the ganderings peck wide

and slow as the rasp and the nail,

the foreground a figure in reeds

8 thoughts on “…I Till

  1. poet of the old school -wonderful. so all is not lost and the skill exists yet. not sure what it took to pull out, but thank you. does the heart good. i remember, like a kiss from ages gone. skill and gentility

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    1. I had no conscious thought of any other during the writing, nor even myself…looking at it now,
      I’ll give a nod to Dame Edith Sitwell, now and then. It is from 2004, not the ’90s, but has yet some roots there in earlier work. Thank you, Jeremy

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      1. Jeremy Nathan Marks says:

        You are welcome. The work is definitely your own but its richness reminds me of the greats. Comparisons are difficult to make because when we make them we don’t want to make the person we are trying to honor think that their work is not of its own. I really enjoy your poetry and I admire the richness and density of your language. Your poetry challenges me in a way the work of other poets (whose work I also value) does not. I feel “bettered” by reading you. 🙂

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