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Selected Poetry
Poetry from travels: Distance Leaves The Painter The GPO Random Musings: Exit to Street stuck in a traffic jam after the wedding Verses on September 11th: Times Like This Canticle A Gentle Wind Verses from compositions: Diffractions River's Rain (excerpt) Lullaby |
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The painter paints not what he sees but what he wants to. The perfection of his art lies in the omission of those things unecessary And the elaboration of those truly beautiful. Pavlovsk 2005 |
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ELEGY:
TIMES LIKE THIS
(11 September 2001) I. It’s times like this When time stands still The air’s amiss and Dry until The voices come. It’s times like these when Thoughts begun A search for reason But there’s none To be found. Yesterday there were concerns Now they disappear. In times like these we must discern What it is that we hold dear. Yesterday things mattered; Work, talent, Love.... Today they have been shattered In rainfall from above. What was once is now no more; What once thrived is dead. And Future Lights in silence roar Bring not Hope but Dread. A homeless died with a bourgeoisie, A doctor with a thief; All were equal on that day That ended up in grief But started out as any other. America becomes
a word
With a meaning that’s unclear; After all, it is absurd-- To our countrymen so dear. This is America. |
II.
And should we live as normally And to ourselves thus lie? Or, gaze into the Storm to see Ev’ry nuance of the sky.... The Falling drops of Rain Living now to Die? And should we feign an angered rage, Like those which hover here; Or cast out Anger from the stage And realize that it’s Fear. ...They weren’t in control And neither are we And now they’re gone... When will it be? A goal pursued though all our days Seem futile in the light Of chance and circumstance and ways That force the Fall of Night. Tragedy and things to grieve Fill books of History; But ‘tis easier by far to believe When it’s something you can see... ...Or, can’t see Anymore. And things that seemed so much trouble Problems, deadlines, fights.... Are lost in the Shadows of the rubble.... Dark Hours help you see the Light. -------
What once was no more will be; We watched our futures cast We march on with uncertainty And Fear the action last And realize twenty years from now Our Future is Our Past. |
Canticle, 9.10.02-9.11.02
One year ago today this Night was like any other. One year ago Life trickled by unnoticed. One year ago I was asleep. One year ago Today no one stood on this Hill and watched and cried but Tomorrow, they will; Tomorrow the impact will shake the ground as much as It did One Year Ago. and a Soul as angered and confused and Scared as it was Then can hide behind a white ribbon... One year ago Today i was Asleep. That was the night that led to a day just as Black; a chill in the air a tremble in Our hearts. And our eyes fixed on the Site and then after fixed on the Sky Above. one year ago today i was asleep... One Year Ago Tomorrow was the day of Sirens Announcements: A plane? we awoke to Tragedy and witnessed only more as the day went on. one year ago Tomorrow there were people on this Hill watching Crying trying to comprehend. the silent catastrophe a plume of Smoke and It was gone. ...and watching it on television those people--- Those faces. then the Chaos ensued--- a frantic search for blame and for Beloved Family. who lost a father? an aunt? a mother? we all lost a Mother. a protective, self-sacrificing Mother who Tried with all Her might but could not save her children. then there was Silence walking outside, a pause Nothing. One looks above nothing. as if the Last planes ever to fly were those which Never landed. one year ago Tomorrow there was a quiet, a still and Tomorrow there will be a Quiet as well a silent Requiem a silent reminder a white ribbon strikes the floor with the sound of a building Crashing to Earth. with the sound of all the Silent screams all the shattered Lives. One year ago today, I was Asleep but Tonight I Am Awake. and now it is the Day. Midnight; It has begun. one year ago today i was asleep a year has passed, and This time I Am Awake. but i am only awake to see what Once was and i am only awake to hear the Echoes of history. A year has passed now i am awake a Year has passed Now let Them sleep let them sleep. |
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A gentle wind Sept 11, 2003 A breeze still blows In the still of the night A breeze still blows The air still moves Silently forward. And for those who can still taste the ash The breeze will never blow clean The moving air shall never erase The gentle wind shall not move The Memory For It is burned in our souls. But what of the Others? The greatest of all tragedies Is tragedy forgotten... What of Those for whom the breeze Is just a breeze-- For whom the sun Is still shining-- Who do not see the ash and smoke --Who still see things as they always were? Things are not how they always were-- Things are now the way future generations Will look back and say This is how things always were. But for us, all of Us, We know what once was We watched it vanish We watched it ripped from us And destroyed before our eyes. We are the generation who knows what was before And can see what lies after. And yet, with so much gone, A memory remains But is fading fast Lost in a dust cloud Which is carried away By the gentle wind. Perhaps our minds do not want to see Our hearts do not want to feel-- What of Those who had no choice? What if We were looking out a window At the great skyline of New York City With our eyes so fixed on every point Because we knew, as smoke enveloped our bodies, filled our nostrils, and choked off our vision, that it would be the last sight We would ever see? They cannot guard The Memory-- We must guard It for Them. We must keep It alive, No matter how dim, how weak, it becomes. We are the keepers of The Light And musn’t allow the gentle breeze To snuff It out. |
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We only travel the distance of our own hearts. Only see what we want to. And when we reach the borders of ourselves find our beginning, and go back again with no end in sight. 12 May 2005, Prague Menu |
 Life. Live. Leave. Leaves. Leaves can tell much about life. |
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 Stuck in a traffic jam after the wedding We become people again Thinking ordinary thoughts Seeing with dim eyes-- But just before We were in a magic land Saw fanciful sights Thought beautiful thoughts. You see, when we are presented with magic, We become magical, But remain ordinary Until something rips us from ourselves. 15 June 05, Moscow |
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The GPO I can see the guns and haze on the grounds of the GPO the marching nameless, and the flames the night that brought no dawn. I can smell the smoke and powder  and hear the shouts and screams on the street at my feet I was there. I can hear the hollers echo the halls of the GPO I can feel the stone walls crumble and explode as I look out on the street see the shadows at my feet lit ablaze by the fires above. I can feel your loss and valor the air of the GPO these walls in silence tell what I now know I see the beginning and an end hear an anthem and a dirge seek the ghosts and see myself standing proudly our feet and our souls in the rubble of the GPO. 3 June 2005, Dublin |
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Graphic Poem / Program Note to V.49 Diffractions Diffractions is an abstract for oboe trio which is based on the phenomenon observed when light is shone through a diffraction grating; what was observed as one color becomes many, indeed every, color; and yet, as the grating is shifted, the resultant colors shift; the rainbow dances and dies, resulting in the one first color a l o n e. white light. |
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Excerpt from V.99, The River's Rain
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Original Poem which inspired V.84, Lullaby Our Children Their ears can hear no lullabies, Their faces shall ne’er see the dawn, The Autumn Evening of their lives Has come so soon. Voices of laughter silenced Twinkling eyes dimmed in the smoke above in graves below. A wooden plank-a marker for a life unlived a time too soon. Yet through all the grief, who consoles them? Who will laugh for them, now their voices fail? Who will greet the sun now their vision fades? And who shall sing them lullabies? Who will stand and sing through the dark, till dawn? Who will stand, keeping watch Till these Autumn Evenings fade? Who will stand and sing amid the wooden planks, who were our children? Menu |
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To Lechemere via Park
Random stark, steel dresses on the street And me Walking, Pounding, glancing around Riding the Concrete Way to Silken Roads Understood, till we get there. And where from here? Exit to street. Boston, 13 Sept 2006 Menu |
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