Saturday, April 23, 2011

Forgotten Poet

In this major minor poet's
mountain stories
stirring resonances strung
with Mingus, Mozart,
relishing the pure joy
of his language,
how he gathers poems
the way we cluster
flowers in a basket,
with a sense of sounds
acute enough that clocks
will tick away
his concentration,
horn of winds
in mountain trees
decree a verse
as overture or riff,
their gravity compelling
me to lean into
the sharp points
for a time,
until the man becomes
a shadow of the poet,
not the poem itself,
which is immortal.
...

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