Poems At Port Trakl Part One - Poem by Daniel Brick
For early morning there's always
Sangria, what's left over from yesterday.
the fruits all dissolved, imparting
an even sweetness to the tall glass.
At noon, I will drink four medium-sized glasses
of Zinfandel, as I watch the sun shine through
the bottle, yellow filtering red,
a hybrid color suggesting wholeness, repose.
'Another glass, please.' In late afternoon,
after walking along the shoreline, and
watching land and sea exchange places,
again and again, in the trembling air,
I will share conversation and Tawny Port
with whatever friend lounges in the bar.
We drink strong black coffee in between
bottles of wine to keep us focused on
whatever topic we choose... to stave off
the boredom of continuous intoxication.
Suddenly, darkness contains me! I must have
dozed off. For how long? No matter: it is surely
time for Burgundy.The rest of the night belongs
to Burgundy. It will squelch whatever stuff
floats up from within and swims before my idle eyes.
I have made a resolution, my friend,
wrote it on the back of this shipping schedule.
And I want you to witness it. 'I, an ancient
citizen of Port Trakl, swear to write only
the truth, from this hour forward. No more
rhapsodies and praise-songs, no more Love Epics
addressed to absent women, no more honeyed words
packed into fat lines of verse. All this
I abjure from this hour forth.' Well,
we know what to expect next: I will sink
into a corner of a warehouse somewhere
in Port Trakl. If you find me in a couple of days,
ask me how I feel about the NEW ME....
'Stop talking nonsense, sailor.
Do as you will, just don't blame us at Port Trakl.'
IN VINO VERITAS
Hasn't every drunkard spoken those words,
lodged in his overheated brain?
What does it really mean? That whatever
my intoxicated voice says is true?
That no lie can slip past my lips
as long as stupor crushes my mind?
Does it mean I am only a puppet,
dangling from the chord of Fate?
Or am I a displaced puppet master,
capable of doing great things?
Let me think... No, first I will
sample the shipment of new wines
from faraway Hungary. After that....
Comments about Poems At Port Trakl Part One by Daniel Brick
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You