On Reading Cioran
Leaf caught in a branch of ice,
I am unsleeping,
neither dead, nor dreaming,
I exist when I
it makes me feel
You think because you
are not God,
I don't know you.
But I've been here as long as you,
I know the territory:
(it's yours and mine) ,
our marriage is
the first map.
The Insomnia of Galaxies
not knowing where they end,
but swirling by each other endlessly,
a sea of one accident succeeding another,
moons circling moons,
breath succeeding breath,
sleep, you, sleep, in stillness rest.
a picture of Giacometti's
Woman Standing stands on the sill,
next to dead roses and a clock.
On a chair, a book propped-open, wide-awake,
shows a woman Utamaro drew once.
she sticks a toothpick
through closed lips.
Outside it snows—
who is "it"?
In another room
thinks he knows what whoever is snowing
is going to do with it.
A series of "it"s
underlines the truth—
he doesn't know who snows either,
but streaks the early morning with a stream of empty sound.
In the air over the lake
the big birds fly, wheeling;
they scissor the light,
pattern over pattern, invisible scribbling,
dive into the trees
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Comments about this poem (Insomnia:A Sextet by Ioanna Carlsen )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
William Ernest Henley
(1849 - 1902)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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