Image Station 21 - To Wit - To Woo - To Wound - And Last: A Dissemblance For Robin Blaser & Meredith Quartermain, Borrowing A Theme From Strand, A Slant From Dickinson, A Haunting Poem by Warren Falcon

NOTE: The poem's title entire is this (since it will not fit into Poemhunter's title window in full) :

Image Station 21 - To Wit - To Woo - To Wound - And Last: A Dissemblance For Robin Blaser & Meredith Quartermain, Borrowing A Theme From Strand, A Slant From Dickinson, A Haunting Dependency From W.C. Williams, A Caper - A Sunder In Caustic From Blaser]


In a field I am the absence of field - Mark Strand

upon a red wheel barrow - William Carlos Williams

I dwell in Possibility—A fairer House than Prose - Emily Dickinson

I love the way crows walk...
to wit - to woo - to wound - and last - Robin Blaser



Who?


someone to send to, these


the impertinent tocks

the unmannered ticks that

tickle spur the near

grackle's cough, IT


a statement

makes which

is the

displace

ment

of air


In spaces

without known

design the

tree, close,

wanders too


ponders a

coughing bird

its musical

fourths disclose

concurring


with traffic down

the hill and out

over

the bay

where gulls

wing

unheard

on the

hill yet

seen yet

dip in time

with the

grackle's

hack


all is parsed

paired

quartered

remaindered

squared

among apparent

but unprovable

perhaps disproven

- if reason is the thing -

things


Who

but the old
painter missing
an eye
flicks in
measure
too

tapping toe

countless
endings
as they go

of smoke and fire

the scratch
once

twice
the strike

a match begins

it is all
all over again


Again

there
atop
the
hill
he
sits

on the chipped stoop

the flaking paint (not

to be
mistaken
for moss
or manna
or for
an eye's
remorse)

flakes


He can still
hear clearly

a thing

a song

or two

in thirds

and fourths

one eye can take
in the smatter
not dismissing
the missing other

(there always is
something gone
something undone)

the image stations
juxtapose

flatly (mono)
yet hear the
cleared throat's
black roundabout

washed out

the traffic's
turning
back

the sounds
(implied only)
in bay's waves

sunlight
on the winking caps

in the sinking troughs

the
spin of
hunger flashed
on

wings

white

the

sea

gray

but for

the sparks

suggesting
gulls daubed
quickly
upon the
water's
canvas

their tips
mute each
downward
movement

coughing
coughing

too

and again

in rhyme

timed

~~~~~~why,

they are
coughlets

~~~~~~yes

upon which
so much
depends

forgetting the
transport

the color

the states of dryness

which may or
may not

feed
any notion
archaic of
time or
beauty

nor wetness
slake

dependencies
shadows

gathered
round

or

spirals
deeds

'no matter'

of air
for that
matter

unsettled

seeking a nest
or home

even an eave
within which

one may (shall we)


re-gather


in the water's

throat

the bell tones

there, their

displacing as

does a grackle

the near air


even the further

found change


sensed only


sometimes heard

sometimes not


It begins always

with a bird

black

devoid

not to be dismissed

not to be forgot


Which


Who


in forgetfulness
let him not
dissolve the
plot
implicit
invisible
within the
unkennable
the indivisible

yet known by sight
and in the seeing
divided parsed
for rehearsals
alone

again
a revelation

or perhaps
a summation

of
contracting
wings

that
they
the gulls
are

disassemblers

screaming

all the while
the waves consider

all the while
slapping time

and tide

The one eyed
painter too
flicks and claps

repeats silently

as he will and is
want

his lips moving
as

does a spider make
a

quieter order
in

a darker corner

no sight needed

only sense and silk

beneath an obvious
wheelbarrow (on its
back) astride the
brown thistles

the wheel's bent

completes no circle
not one turn to signify
a round (-alay about)


long grass between
thin planks braids
the worn lattice

a whirling wind
holds a hollow within

lends
a reprise of
weight or perhaps
only a mind's

commotion above
matter denoting

dimension

depth
of field

again 'no matter'

the yard's motions
go unnoticed

the one hand over
the one good eye

and the missing
vocals

the shapening words
in exaggeration

do mouth

do borrow

to woo
a semblance
that lasts -

Who

Seeing the light
(thinks he does)

that it is good

and in the seeing
divides the light
from the darkness
(which is not the
grackle) .

And he calls the
light Day, and the
darkness he calls
Night (which is
a pattern of gulls) .

And the evening
and the morning
are the first day.