ROBERT
KELLY

If again
wakes, looks
at mirror
asks am I
two of me
or is seeing
dreaming still?

22.X.22

The broken pavement
the boy sheltering from rain
his head bent to shield
the book he studied,
Hebrew fluttering pages,
Or Aramaic, was it kabbalah,
I closed my eyes, he was gone,
sunset, no rain, the road
cracked still at my feet.
How far to go. How far
is it really from one to two,
can we get there in an hour,
can I get there in one life?
I knew at least I was that boy
once, the print was Greek,
doxa, mere opinion, falsehood?
Or thinking on its way to reason,
a guess, a book lost long ago.

21 October 2022

yes it is dawn after all
the dark receding
into the trees
weaves me with almost
a world to see,
little world, bushes,
birdbath, fence—
and fence means town
and town means true,
city, all of us and you.
The little song again
seeps from the sky.

20 October 2022

Soak a face cloth
with warm water,
wring it out a little.
Now rub it firmly
slowly on the stone
nearest your door.
Then carefully wring
out the last few drops
into a glass, you’ll want
an ounce or two. Then,
only then, set it out
in the sun, that very
night in moonlight
or darkness if no moon.
Next day take a scant
teaspoon of it. This
will cure you of time.

19 October 2022

Listen to the light
she said
and rode away

miles past the mountains
there is a city
where they chew on air

where they build on water
and walk on sunbeams
even late at night

mostly what they do there
though is waiting,
the teacher comes now and then

smelling of cinnamon
robed in cinnabar
wise, wise, wiser

even than words.

19.X.22

Suppose Eden was a prison
and the apple a key to get out.
How would we think of serpents?

Is there anything in the world
that isn’t really upside down?

We are deep-sea creatures
living at the rich
bottom of the ocean of sky.

18.X.22

the ceiling has much to say.
It has heard and smelled
so many things, witnessed
scenes out of Proust or worse,
kept the wrath of heaven from
falling on the slugabeds below.
Study on and study slow,
lie there and let your research
be excuse enough for lingering
two woolen and one cotton layer
deep beneath fascinating blank.

17 October 2022

It is a great epic for the Do-It-Yourself era, a long poem the subject matter of which is language, its heroes are pronouns and its story is whatever comes to mind as you read or hear it. Yes, you can hear it too! Line by line into the small eternity of your own forgetfulness.

16.X.22

Casuist of circumstance
I argue from the bottom,
never mind the flowery
steepletop of things–
bite the root. Permit
friendship. View skill
with caution–who knows
where a discus lands,
tricky as sunbeams
the kids in your class
way back then. Decide.
Make your mind up beforehand
what kind of day it will be.
Arguing with angels is allowed,
they listen but are hard to sway.
Shoes on! Pilgrimage resumes!

15 October 2022

The Chairman of the Bored
turns on the telly,
watches things hurtle against
each other for the sake
of a thing like a giant almond nut
they call a ball. Switch.
A high-pitched baritone
screams the news in French.
Click. Water shortage in…
he changes channels before
he can learn where, thirsty
already, Now here’s something:
Scottish detective on the trail of
he’s seen this one already.
Switch off. The big black screen
is dark, more interesting
than what it had once displayed.
It’s like a mirror, it shows
a dim vista of the room he’s in,
he sees himself in his chair,
things getting interesting at last.

14.X.22