Ernest Hilbert Poems

One day we will be unsurprised to learn
That a revered talent or rare technique
Is simply the effect of a rowdy gland—
Still, prodigies are armed with talents unearned.
...

She reads palms, auras, and Tarot,
And tells her customers such things
They half yearn to hear, seem to know
Already... or what the future brings?
...

Pity the poor workhorse Philoctetes.
He smokes, watches lightning over the graves,
Exiled to a swampy, littered ruin.
Sophocles, Euripides, Aeschylus—
...

The vase itself is a spent shell casing—
Lush petals pour out like surging steam,
Lacquered battle-bent cuirasses, photograph
Of fireworks in humid July skies, racing
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Soaked snow gums and gems the trolley's glass pane.
I'm bundled inside ignoring my book.
Aquarium heat shields me from the white
Outside, muffled squeal of rails, dull glow drained
...

Inspired by The Drama of the Scharnhorst by Fritz-Otto Busch,1956

I am lonely, of course, hung-over, pale, and fat.
Hairs wash out, slither down, thatch up the shower drain.
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We sifted through his room at the museum,
Opened it like a tomb; sorted, emptied,
Claimed its small treasures: coins, copper sculptures,
Maps of an Augustan mausoleum,
...

Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector's passion borders on the chaos of memories. - Walter Benjamin


I don't collect them. They just accumulate,
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Is the ideal a ruler to crack knuckles
Or shaft sited to repair fractured bone?
A trellis to train vines through a season
Or fence to divide, secured by patrols?
...

For Henry Wessells

Even sci-fi gurus sometimes stumble.
Some small, seemingly obvious details
...