pavelspoetry.compavelspoetry.com/download/56/pavels-poems/2218/pavel-a-793-39… · Web viewIn an early summer morning. Just before the rising dawn. Pristine pure and virginal

PAVEL A (July 18, 1993–March 24, 1994) © Pavel Chichikov

VENUS AND THE FIREFLIES

In an early summer morningJust before the rising dawnPristine pure and virginalVenus of the sun

Demoiselle untouchableSatellite and paramourGleaming cold mephiticalDelight of her allure

Dotted in the aerialDemesnes of the gardenFireflies in schools of lightKindle beneath their warden

Insects in the copulateTense of time are lightingGrey and green the smokeOf dawn defining.

Either in the heavenlyOr the earthly meadowLight from light once moreUnbinds the shadow

Intricate endurableStill complete the rhythmInsect and the firmamentAcross a chasm

How from dust to demoiselleThe godhead playsHow from virgin nightThe sexual day.

Pavel ChichikovJuly 18, 1993

1


The two stained glass windowsOf the monarch butterflyAre not a random gift.The Church can fly.

Pavel ChichikovOctober 4, 1993

2


INSIDE THE SUN

A patch, a window pecked from shell,Inside a sodden skinOf amniotic innocence,A blackbird can begin

Then born the risen generaBreak singing from the shellAnd dry their wings inside the sun—The blackbirds never fell

When Eden’s park was flourishingWhen snake was coiled around the treeWhen Adam ate the perished fruit—Blackbird whistled merrily

Pavel ChichikovMay 21, 1993–May 26, 1994

3


Cast by a polluted sunPenumbra of a face appearsOn mirrors or in lakes and wellsOn walls, in fires.

Kiss the shadow of a faceOr grasp an image by the neckTurn and see the nape and knacker.Recognize cadavers by the coffins’ shapes.

Die and go beneath the trees.Define the distance by the destination.So far and yet the traveler seesA blinding bright completion.

Feeble sighted, blackness blindHe sees the castings of the deadIn mirrors or the shriveled stiff,Finds flesh that bleeds.

A suit of earth and button bonesDisrobes and finds a nakednessOf light transparencyForever blessed.

Forever blessed the globe and powerOf the sun that lights all sunsAbove all seas, above all seasonsLightly runs.

Pavel ChichikovJuly 21 1993

4


ANTIETAM BATTLE GHOST[[Battle Ghost]]

For Ed Smith

Complex of the sunken road, time and memory sumSplit boots and severed musket stocksSplinters jag and fix the skinUnremembered piths of leadPound bones of running men and break them.An old woman walking seeks them.

Down embankments, down the hedgeBreathless in the fog of powderMusket stink—cannonade and musket rattle cramsThem up against the skin of death, which breaksAnd lets them down—The drum-head slip and pull of dying

Lets them fallTo where the boreholes level off and tunnelsLead them—Musket ballCan spin no farther—Spent the grindAnd punch of boots against the soilThe hail of gravel from the ricochets

There the dead ones saunter, weightlessThrough the passages—sequesterAll they’ve seen and felt above—Dress right in blacknessSlip away from time’s unflowingTo where it is not linear

Underneath the battlefieldFind a resting place that spreads—Ghosts at rising mist the facesOf the dead still bellowing not far,Stifled in a slower placeThe cold dew and the fog.

Waves of painful wounds pound sideways, riseWhere fourspaced universes twine,Spectres in an early morning grieveFor grandsons rising, unaware and blind—A form of life that never dies

5


Goes widdershins around a church and disappears

On rising light. Old woman walking.


6


THE STONY FACE

The stony face of energy in rainThe dark face of indifferent cloudless nightUnliberated face loved by itselfA slave in service of despair and pain.

The clever mole deserves the beetle grubDeceiving foxes falsify the hareAnd spiders still deploy imprudently—The blundering bear disintegrates the web.

What cleverness for pay defeats itself?No brutal shrewdness consecrates dismayThe devil sells me cheaply for a hostA sacramental soul and hope’s black mass.

A loving friend whose blood runs down a crossDefiantly surprised I slay myselfThough willingly I turn away from lifeI still discover late my infinite loss

My phylum is a kingdom of misruleI lift my sight in temporary prayerEternal is the one who suffers thereHis face will not be cruel.


7


OCEAN

Near worlds I see behind the mirrorsThrough glass an ocean swings and surgesAzure rooms behind reflectionsInvisible everted cages

Small as glass, a chamber leadsTo some gigantic embarkationSpaces and the driving waveThat reaches vast conciliation

Mirror ghost, my alien faceSuperposed my own facadeThe fine symmetric foreground An immense parade

Behind my face the reaching windsAngels of a mirror planetIcons of the storms that judge—A howling senate

Unwalled forever limitlessMassively an ocean swellsTill higher than my eyes can seeIt falls—a crash of bells

Pavel ChichikovAugust 1, 1993

8


DREAM OF DAWN

I saw a massive, calm pretemporal seaFlat waved and folding ever downwardHushed falling on a shore, unhurried softness,In clear predawn, immense, complacent,A royal sea, a robe of time and massA breathing sea again to fold againRemonstrant sea immaculate with softnessSmooth unhurried sea expectantly aloneSmall folds still folding Undifferentiated vast and knowingThe self-sufficient ancient sea of morning And bells upright in dimness on the sandPoised on flaring mouths awaiting timeAnd all unmoving, but the sea is coldIn speechless voice the waves come everlastingAnd locked is light in dusk until duration Spills in wordless color and the skySpreads out above the sea and bellsFrom earth come offering their voicesPraising praising praising of the seaAnd all things see what time and light allowAnd all things know that light becomes his shadow.

Pavel ChichikovAugust 14, 1993

9


CHERUBS

One never sees them when alertBut only in the awful places—Filled with sleep and dreadful noiseCascading flame and carapaces—Hypocrites with prayerful tonguesInnocents of holy breathWho stamp with pink cherubic heelsAnd crush the earth to death

October 1, 1993

10


UNDERNEATH THE GARDEN

“This is war,” he saidBut all I could see was a garden of rosesHalf blown. Ragged, the stems thrust outLike naval guns against the cobalt skyAnd puffs of shriveled petals bloomed.Every facet of the sky was blue,Turning in a crystal lens,Mounted in a brazen socket.With a film of oilThe sun spilled ochre on the yellow brick.Christopher in concreteHeaved the Christ child on his back.A real dove limed white Saint Francis.“Come and see my workshop, for I am grimAnd full of war today.”He frightened me, and so I followed him.And there was a tombIn the chapel west and underneath the floorWhere once he had risen from the deadAnd there he laid him down and spoke:“I must go back again, to the black sphereAnd there to break the hinges of the gateFor all I have transformed have died again.”And it was cold there where he layClose and chilled with sweating of the stoneThat covered him.Where was the sun?“I will be hereBefore I come again.”


11


INEXHAUSTIBLE

First he struck a small white-blue sparkAnd laid it on the tip edge of his thumbAnd there it spun until he dropped his handThough it remained, spinning, where it hungBurning without support.

“This is mine,” he told me, and he covered With his palm.And when he had removed the shadow of his handThere was no light.But when I looked again I saw the globeStill shining where I had seen before his shadowAnd nothing more.

“Three times they had no sense I hadAbolished them and brought them back to lifeAnd this fourth time, for all they know of me,They will not be aware.”

And as I watched he cupped the palmOf his great handAs if to shield a small flame.


12


BETWEEN THE SECONDS

He showed me then the world he had constructed Between the seconds.It was a mass of metal universesGears and cogwheelsCold reflecting surfaces and sparkling wheelsThat spun for six eternitiesBut on the seventh rested.

He showed me then a blinking worldOf swift unfixable desireWhere chance attraction pulled the pastWith cables made of random threadAnd light of angelsOdds of cherubimAnd shapes of black geometries.

He built me then a world I couldn’t seeFor I was held within a sphereAnd wandered round the inner planeUntil I met my father and myselfAnd all the joyous deadWho toward the center stoodAnd lifted up their hands in exaltation.

He told me then of yet another world“Since these I showed were only propsAnd scenes in which you areA voice inside the voiceAnd all the other voices speak But none can know the worldExcept the binder of the book.”

“Show me the book,” I said,“And show me what is real,”But time moved on again.A false joy, a false hopeImprovident lies, voracious murderUnfaithful and unloving orderUnloyal uncaring cult

An idol fastened to a stoneWith bolts of death, pins of rain

Pavel Chichikov

13


POOR PETER

Down the column of the crossA trail of thickened blood and pissThis was a roman crucifixionNot myth or bliss

Not fairytale or death in bedOr unction of the light through linenThe moaning dead returned like snailsTo glisten on the Mount of Zion

A body fastened to the woodWith bolts of death and pins of rainHowever many times it takesHe dies again

Except for two or three they fledFor who would face the maul and ironAnd even Peter was a cowardBefore and since on Zion


14


The son is always dying, listen,Like thunder in the wall the storm approachesVisible the dark concussion swells in blacknessAnd the hills implode when lightning passes.

In this night I cannot find himThe hills unravel and my feet are snared in stoneAnd though I turn away I cannot look awayIn my hand the foul hammer with which I slay.

If I could without regretFlog and flay, mutilate and killAnd then forget, and then departI would have learned the murderer’s art.

But now in murderer’s rageThat tears me from myself with tongsMy heart from soul, my corpse from earthI have delivered blind rebirth.

If only I could find the treeWhere only the beloved hangsBut I have lost the one I never knewIn blackness lost the savior whom I slew.


15


THE GOOD THIEF

What sacrifice of Isaac is your will?What sacrament of bread not turned to stone?Or will you have me cast myself from walls?Or raise the living from a hill of bones?No bolt of faith no miracle of deathNot even wind from Negevs of compassionCan burn my hard and disobedient willConsume the diamond of my imperfection.And yet if dying in your death I seeIn broken bones the substance of your strengthIf in the cramped submission of your trialI find the measure of my heaven’s lengthThen what inflaming miracle need IWith all of heaven crucified nearby?


16


TO CHARGE DEAD WATER...

To charge dead water into living wineOr raise a devil from a writhing manWas not so much a miracle as truth:A demonstration of his power again.For did he not twist whirlwinds from the fieldAnd buried wheat raise up beside a vineAnd press the leaping suns with level seasAnd pull the head of death from deep within?He is the black abyss as well as lightBut not the lord of evil or dismayFor all that praises Him has come from nightAnd all who flame with praise will not decayFor as he bore us from a lightless wombThe Sacrificed has risen from the tomb.


17


DUST

I planted them in rains of drifting stoneI forged them in a uterus of fireI quenched them in a cold abyssal nightI poured them from a vessel of desireFrom day to darkness none of them could burnSo calmly death came round again like morningIn sleep the fertile seeds retook their shapesThen died again dissolved in formless yearning.But then I made a burning man of dustWhich knew my face and found another birthLike sightless trees which give themselves to lightOr crystal flowers blooming in the earth.Although it comes from stardust and the seaWhen life awakes it will be light like Me.


18


Lazarus did weep to see his Christ againWho stood before the tomb and beckoned him to followIn death before this death a yellow sun rose upThat passed through flesh like wind through shadow.

In heaven of the Son, imperishable Child,No agony of time distracts the praise of dayNo tree of life is morbid at the rootNo crib of space is love’s delay.

Lazarus came out to see his Christ again,Unwillingly resumed his living breath“To all who see my Lord’s eternal lifeThis is not life but death.”

Said He this be Your willLet Lazarus be still.


19


No risk, no death can sacrifice my soulIf spotless by some love it never dies,Be even once as merciful as HimThen once for all obtain His sacrifice.But those who kill without remorse or dread,Deliberate and cold in crime or lawCome speechless to the throne where I must standTo plead the mercy that I gave before.For if unheeding like some willful childIn passion or in clumsiness I breakThe living artifice my Father madeI still may hope His judgment to escape.But if my Lord delays and yet I killWhat prayer of mine should pacify His will?


20


When crippled with an illness none could breakI crept inside the shadow of a caveAnd there I pressed my blood against cold stoneAnd sat without instruction in the naveI waited in the dark until I heardDemented clocks still ticking in the graveThe celebrants of illness offered dreadConfusion was the homily they gaveThe bells rang out the rhythm of diseaseThe sacraments had nothing that could saveThe monstrance was the ocean of despairThe kneelers drowned beneath the seventh waveYet even in this hell there was a cureA febrifuge for darkness sovereign pureAnd all the fevers broke before the sunAdvancing from the tomb where it had come.


21


My father’s ship lies painfully aloneIn moorings of the rotting weed and windThe harborage a berth of pungent clayThe lines are gathered and the bollard pinnedWith cable ready to unloose the wayThe water black and silent in its bightA crew of beetles and the crab of deathAs pilot of the passage of the nightWith foaming pillows held between its teethIt moves in windless passage from the dockThe sails around the masthead in a wreathThe mourning of the seconds on the clock.Then all at once I hear Another groanAnd know my father does not sail alone.


22


THAT WHICH NEVER GREW...

That which never grew has grownAnd spread its arms above the groundIt roots in blood and broken boneIt blossoms in five painful wounds.The crown ascends above all spaceAnd there it spreads eternal leavesAbolishing the beam of deathA shade for every child who breathes.The tree bears fruit which never fellOn branches of surpassing strengthNo wind can break the feeble woodOr bend its swaying length.Small ground it needs to spread and riseAnd yet it covers paradise.


23


Seven billion parsecs in diameter.A prayer Crosses instantly.

October 28, 1993

24


Do you know what He is?Fast for three days and then take bread.As the body yearns for bread, The soul yearns for Him.As the stomach praises breadSo does the soul praise Him who created bread.He is the fulfillment of desire.He is life.


25


THE MIRROR

Was there a garden before a decline,The pink limbs of date palms transfixed in the sun?Oleander, tamarisk and feather-duster palmsAnd the mangrove’s deep grey inflection.No death in the water or land’s black reflectionOr nightmares’ dark red alarmsBut land and the river all together as oneAnd no death but the real death of time.It was there in a space of breath and breathAnd now it moves where you are transfixed—A world in seamless sunshinePure and solid though you are mist.I see it where you stand, my parodistOf real paradise, unfree and confined—Through your reflection’s ungardened death.

Pavel ChichikovNovember 1, 1993

26


HE WAS NOT A GOD

He was not a god, except that once on the mountain.He drank wine, he told stories, he danced at weddings.And all our healers drag devils from the sickThough none can stroll about in storms, it’s trueFrom one side of Harp Lake to the other.But then he was a god somehow in quietnessFor he would listen more than he spoke(The chronicles have nothing of his silences).It was the way he listenedFor none of us can listen with more than half a mind.But he would listen as the great wind listensAnd as he said you do not know the wind or its purposes.Come with me then, he said. Do not ask why or where.I will show you where the wind goes.And if he was God Himself, he would know.It goes to Me, He said, like a tame sparrowIn a great storm.


27


THE BODY

A cross not made for clouds and kingsA corpse not shining, they took it downA tomb not granite but common stoneA shroud not silk but weavers’ commonsA death not sweet but rank with odorsA prayer not pious with mourners’ tearsA grave not strewn with priestly flowers.Think you this body one of ours?He is not one with us but twoA mask of earth, a Son of HeavenA murdered man, a Man foreverThe foul blood, the blood forgiven.As we shall die, so we are shriven.


28


HIS POWER IS MUCH GREATER...

His power is much greater than the bread and wineExceeds the cross by height and depth of sorrowMy harsh and ordinary blood of lifeThese vitreous eyes, this bone and marrowBy Him are raised to be eternal flesh—We are His sacrament as He is ours—He breaks us and apportions us to love—We are the bread effective of His powers.We too, by Him, make watchers of the deadChange scraps to loaves, detain the lethal seaCompel the devils to release the madReturn to life when slaughtered on a tree.In sacrificial pain we take His placeIn resurrected life we are His grace.


29


MONSTER

Restless and sublime this darkness movesLike given night in marriage to the blindA concupiscence of the bed of prideThat rises where no pith of light may hideAmorphous shape, too dark to have a name,An absence of a form, an eating flood,Consuming step, devouring tideThat drowns its trace, amoebic blackened fiendMy offspring, scion, legatee, extinguished love,Which inks, abyssal shadow I have made,My step, my breath, my pulse, my every timeAnd place where failing I have prayed.And yet when I have called my Lord has comeAnd all that I have done He has undone.


30


And so the day would shatter like transparent stoneAnd never has the hand that prism made returnedThe surface to its faultless planes.

All seeing now is falsely aimed askewAnd though I look another in the faceThat look to look remains untrue.

And words though pinioned like black thunder fallBefore they reach their migratory goalAnd all unhearing swear by hell.

And you bright shadow I have seen beforeHave passed behind the window of the blindAbsorbed in some unfathomable core.

Before His altar then is all my speechAnd there the hand repairs what none can reach.


31


Strip off my skin, my stolen page of thought,My garment of devotions and defeatsAnd all conditions, comforts and deceitsWhich cover naked prayer with borrowed cloth.Pull off this rind which covers with regretThe proper soul rejoicing in Your powersAnd flay the clock which measures only hoursWhen time itself transcends its increment.Take off this mask that speaks without a tongueAnd fold the fleshless costume of a ghostUnsay a lying mass without a HostInspired breath that never drew a lung.Take off distraction, impotence and griefAnd clothe with mercy You who saved a thief.


32


RESURRECTION

A carcass or an angel’s husk?The wise angel forbears to tellIf twilight may be dawn or duskUnless the sun be visible.


33


DARK FLOWING TIME...

Dark flowing time, a cast in stone or mudA molding of a crab, a dog, a flowerNo trace of organs or of living bloodNo sympathetic mind remains, a mind no longer,Nothing sings, or spreads its crest, displaysA flight of wings in failing dusk,No myth explains forever, no starveling praysAnd lingers, no vicious gossip’s pungent musk Persists, no theft or murder resurrects its dread,No human fame abides, or wealth and propertyNot gold which turns to stable, silent leadNot stone which boils in stone convectively,No form retains a shape, no thought expendsThe pouring of His love, His grace no endEndures, no heaven fills with molten yearsAnd all is well though none of time endures.


34


I HAVE NO ONE BUT YOU...

I have no one but you, but you are everywhere,Light that shines through stone as well as space,Impenetrable and yet transparent, dim as darkness,Bright as all that shines together as One.We love no selves, but we are loved for you.Adorable garden and lamb adoredFrom the fountain of your heart I saw not bloodBut lifeIn a stream that filled the cup of remembering.Worship is remembering.


35


THE CHALICE

Ocean of PeaceI have nothing to offerI offer youThe white crown Of the running seaBounded and boundlessThe blue garment of your shouldersEverseething and eternalAnd night fallingA weightless shadowYour own giftsA metaphorA costumeAnd a mortal sacrificeAn empty vesselFilled with storms


36


THE FRUIT OF HEAVEN...

The fruit of heaven on this treeIs not such food as I may eatBefore with spike and maul and woodI crucify a man like meUnbearable deliveranceForgiveable and culpableTo hang a creature from a crossAs discipline for innocenceAnd yet my fault is punishmentAnd pang as great as any deathHe is the offspring of my soulMy son and father sacramentHe is a help of fearsome priceA savior and a sacrifice


37


THE BANISHED ONE

Exiled into nothingnessHe tried to defenestrate the stars.Lifting the masses in the cradle of his armsHe pushed them into space.Blinding, bluewhite, they burned him away.But still more stars appearedFilling the empty sockets of the universe.And yet his afterimageBlind and immaterialPressed the image of a star against its breast.More being appeared, and he, a ghostCould not get rid of it.Weeping, he clutched the riddle to his heartAnd fell.And still falls.


38


THE LOCK

The greatest cybernetic system is the biosphereSo interlocked by life and deathIt must have been created by a locksmith.In fact, it is a opened lockThe tumblers falling into place, the door revealingAn empty room.

It has been unlockedThe hinges sprungAnd light released.What key have youThat will unlock His door,Unlock your tomb?


39


I found a working mirror near a treeHalf buried in the loamy groundThe blackened silver partly rubbed awayAnd yet the image in the other half was sound:It showed not me but features of another worldFor no one I have known has equal insolence,Insipid greed, indifference and deceitTo this reflected mien whose petulanceAnd pride were equal to the vilest cruelty.And yet there was resemblance to my ownGenerically, as if an eye or nose or chinExpressed enough the pattern of the inward bone.O wonderful machine, no moving parts and yetA mirror can produce unlimited regret. I crushed the glass until there was no traceOf what had been a common human face.


40


THE HILLSIDE

The steady hiss of the wind over timeRubs like cloth on amberAnd over graves.

Time glows and covers deathWith a soft mantle of light,A caul of neverending.

Above the headstones time flowsAnd the candles burn.The saints are sprinkled with seconds.

All the deadAre baptized here.Even the flowers are immortal.


41


THE CHURCH

This crypt, this copse as cold as snowWith groins of hemlock, spruce and pineRoots confine the columns’ gripThe fibers cracking as they twist The weather preaches tongues of windA speech of sharp inflected squallsExpostulating gusts of sleetA bending volume bound in frostA sway of altars and of branchesFrames a window fixed in placeThe walls are darkness, windows’ lightThe stellar candles of the night.

Pavel ChichikovDecember 3, 1993

42


THE ROAD

How many parasangs to Susa?How many parsecs to Andromeda?To where, to which outlying star?To which vicinity?Quite close, beside you, is a quiet manWho tells you all you need to knowAbout the route march and the camp, the periplusThe road to everywhereItinerary, path and seaStar and space along the highway,Trajectory and flight.He knows coordinates and azimuthAnd right ascension.All maps are hisAnd true north and the compass roseInertial course-corrected contour mapsAnd spinning gyroscopes of time returning.He is near youAnd he knows the way.Only say.Where are you going?

I wish to go Where he has come from.

Then only say:I wish to go.


43


THE MESSENGER

Again the messenger.He too came from infinityCollided with beingAnd reappeared on the other side.He too violated symmetryFor that which had been lost in timeArose from death.He too was aimedAlong a tube of transfinite geometryWhose volume enfolds its walls.In a shower of souls He died and came to life.He will come again to measure them.


44


THE JOINING

And in compassion from that placeHe came to save us from disgraceWhat realm, what kingdom or domainDelivers Him to us againFrom what location comes the GuestTo serve the marriage of the blessedIn what dimension, long and wideDoes mercy and its heaven hide?

Inside the spaces of the stoneThere is the One who is aloneBetween my thoughts I feel the weightOf Him who has no predicateWithin the joinings of the hoursStands the castle of His powersInside the blindness of our eyesAppears the vision of his guise

No matter what I feel or seeInvisible, untouched is HeAnd yet this place I cannot goIs all I know or need to know


45


BRIGHTNESS

Imperative, immaculate, and still so far awaySometimes a silver torc by nightSometimes a pewter shield by dayThough men have walked across its bright inlay

All bright things with a lens and lightAre measured in a lunar wayBut never passions by their sight,We only make them visible displayed

And yet the lights we cannot see, all bodies tooCompel the brightest satellites, and all are true


46


A room that’s lockedIs a cellThough the door is miles away


47


DO NOT REGARD US

Do not regard us with dismayWe are not your judgment dayOr death or illness or contemptWe are merely innocentNot asking or conceiving birthImpartial infants on this earthA human being isn’t sinIt’s your injustice puts it inWe are the quiet pool you stirThe sum of sorrow you deferThough when you come before the courtWe are your crime, your wrong, your tortWho never sued or made complaintExcept to suffer your constraintMore mystery it is to senseYour anguish is our innocence


48


SWEET MARY

Sweet Mary bore an only SonSo may we bear such a OneThe miracle was not the birthHer own free will was all its worthFor God may do whatever needsBut still with men and women treatsAs sovereign with a sovereign powerIt was consent that brought God lowerIt was her freedom picked Him upIt was her own lips drank His cupSo may we freely drink that oneAs Mary bore an only Son


49


BLACK DUNG

Satan’s black dungIs money.Hell is fungible.


50


The Church has no wall around it And the bitter sea goes in and out.Only the altar is above high tide.


51


WHAT KING ARE YOU...

What king are you who wears a black crownAre you sleep, or rain or daylight’s woundAnd why so tall as if to denyAll sight of the sun to the earth and the sky?No flesh on my body or blood in my heartMutation of reason, freak of black artI live without living, no pulse in my wristI am your impartial antagonist.I slaughter my subjects to stuff down my gorgeBut have not a gullet for chanting a dirgeThe kingdom of pity exists far awayEnvoys of mercy I torture and slay.I am war whom you think you have banished for agesEach time I have paused between my outrages.


52


CAN’T YOU SEE..

Can’t you see him stretched across the groundThe earth a giant crucifix implied,A sacrifice who shares redeemer’s wounds:Four bullets and a splinter in the side.We simulators follow Him in deedIn multiplying bread and wine and healingBut miracles of murder in the bloodHave nothing of the power of redeeming.Since we have never taken up the graceAnd sanctifying love of His forbearingLike warring dogs or apes we kill for spaceAnd decorate the killers as God fearing.Collaborating whores are not the sameAs pious Martha and the Magdalene.


53


EXODUS 24: 10

I cannot reach next year by running fastOr yet by stepping backwards see the pastNo pulling hard on temporal lines will drawA string of futures or what came beforeNot even seconds there can be accessedThe time inside my frame is not compressedAnd yet the sapphire carpet never endsAnd all the futures wind between its strandsIt comes from when to then like some great riverAs deep and wide and massive as foreverAnd though I stay as motionless as stoneIt floods around my fossile flesh and boneAnd carries forward all that I have beenUntil the world is judged and at an end.


54


OUT OF PRISON

Chesterton and BellocCalled for beer and baconThe faithful trampers of the roadCould not have been mistakenNor could the Risen LordBefore that He was risen—Wedding wine and banquetAre heaven out of prison


55


THE ANGEL

Fair wind blowing, birds before it sailFish impelled by surges breach and leapAnd so an angel roused before God’s willIs manifest in light while others sleepAnd fills the room with day that has no shadowWeightless as a joy he settles thereWordless he unfolds his breathless wingsAnd spreads them in a luminescent prayerAnd only then announces what he bringsFirst light must come and run before tomorrow


56


CLOWNS IN HEAVEN

If heaven is as far to goAs when I stubbed my aching toeThen all of heaven seems but sentTo sate a devilish merriment

But if my heaven hasn’t theseObstructing clouds and bloody kneesThen off to heaven I will goUnbandaging my aching toe

And if a clown should wander thereAnd slip a pratfall in the airI’d most severely maul the heathenFor making it a slapstick heaven


57


EASTER IN WINTER

The Gates of Horn and Ivory have been closedAnd all prophetic traffic is forbiddenA censorship of morons is imposedThe treasury of mercy is a middenIn myths it was Andromeda in fettersAnd now the sea and not the maid’s in thrallEach charlatan imposes on his bettersSince truth and lying are symmetricalBut heaven’s only buried not entombedIn catacombs a fetal truth is curledThe caverns are a clean and wholesome wombTo bear the bloody issue of a worldLet all illusion suffer what must comeTo speak a truth a lie must be undoneThat this is life and life there is no otherAnd every one must crucify his brother


58


Spewed on by a delicate of fairiesLied on by effeminate SalierisBear what must be born without complainingA liar’s puke is noisome but not staining.


59


Frankincense and myrrh compel respectBut too triumphant is the song to HimNo King of Israel suckles in the strawThe donkey and the ox their present bringOf humble breath to warm the sleeping SaviorTheir watchful eyes reflect the burning starThough foreign men are led by intellectThe wiser servants do not come from far


60


Our species always changes, never learnsThe timely helix twists with comic turnsIn history all acts symmetric areLike beetles fighting battles in a jar


61


BASILICA

In stoppings of a breath You come to meAnd there inside basilicas of spaceYou grant a sudden leave to let me seeThe chapels, choirs, transepts of your graceA universe of dusk which is not YouWhich all domains of time cannot expressEndlessness of aisles I wander throughTo lose myself in infinite regressAnd when I have exhausted all my strengthI stop where I have started and I waitTo hear the footsteps of your grace at lengthApproach from vastness dim and implicateThen almost when I see You through my sinI lose the likeness though I breathe again


62


THE VISITORS

Grey as the tombstonesA yearling and a doeBound across the road

Fragrant as the clouds Snow on the hillsideAnd the white graves

Slow and whiteThe late sun fallsAnd fades

WindlessThe stonesLean against the snow

How lovedAnd lonelySeem the dead

But the dusk and the fleeing deerWhere do they goIn the field and the wood

I saw their eyesTheir graceBut not their destination

Across the white fieldThey ranBut where?


63


WHAT JACOB SAW

Reductionists,Do you think the angels run up the ladderWithout running down it?At the bottom they are strange quarksOr menOr gusts of wind. In the middle they are dreams and premonitions.At the top the angels spread like great cloudsLike hammerheads of causeLike the future which disperses to infinityContained somehow.And what did Jacob wrestle withBefore dawn?The futureCome as a visionFuriousIntractable.Angels are the futureRising and fallingAnd they break the bones of all save One.


64


OCEANS

You knew me blindly floating in the wombAnd knew me when the earth was poured from spaceThe nightless dayless ocean your domainMy gusty death a ripple on its faceAnd yet not only me but every chanceThe circumstance of music and of timeThe mystery of meeting and of lossIs also yours as all events are primeAnd so preposterous universes bearThe offspring of an oceanic whimEncounters of a virus and a prayerConcordances of water and of sinI cannot know what baptized oceans beBut heaven’s blinding sight has made me see


65


THE SHREDS OF WINTER

The shreds of winter hang behind the yearThe heavy sun is rumbling up its trackIt makes a thunder fill the zodiac—The roving hunter searches for the bearRough winds convey fine weather

A gushing sunlight fills the stream with fryAnd crocus pushes snowdrifts to the sideThe spawn of insects pulsates and divides—The ruddy eye of Taurus blinks on highRough winds convey fine weather

The time to stretch and wander will commenceIn all the flocks that rest with CapricornAnd soon the best of goslings will be born—The hatching of a present innocenceRough winds convey fine weather

The zenith of the sun is far awayBut nothing can divert the upward aimThough long to wait the ending is the same—Remember this upon a winter dayRough winds convey fine weather

Pavel ChichikovJanuary 1, 1994

66


I SAW A MADMAN..

I saw a madman walking on a plainIn each hand a stone with which to shapeAnother stone as image of the sameUntil a breed of stones dividing leaptUpright and menacing into a wallAnd this arranged itself in rooms and towersThen as a tumor spread imperialThrough every continent until one powerPinned with massive weight the skin beneathA suffocating cancer of the rockA city of an all dividing deathMetastasized from one primeval stockAnd then I prayed O Lord save and forgiveAnd free our souls which still refuse to live


67


THE FOUNTAIN

When into a garden Adam cameAt once he saw a fountain flowing freeA calyx like a mirror filled its brimAnd over lip the water fell awayThe stars and sun together drank thereinThe smooth complacent surface of the pondAnd all the past and future were a glimAs if the gleaming surface were profoundAnd then he leaned and looked and saw all timeSet spinning like the facets of a gemBut nothing of his own was living thereAnd all was empty of the signs of himThen looking down he asked reflected fear“How can the world exist though I be not aware?”But nothing answered back this imagoExcept the water coming forth to flow


68


A SONG

You have never lapsed, my Lord,Though all creation must dependOn faith and mercy that You sendTo all who sing according to Your word

From urgent fire to living breadTo everlasting lovingnessYou send the solace of the blessedTo all who sing according to Your word

Compassionate, You sent the seedThat grew in Mary’s living wombAnd ripened in a savior’s tombTo all who sing according to Your word

Rebellious creatures that You madeDeliver us from dreadful skillIf we forgive another’s illFor all are born according to Your word

Give us now our needful foodSo that we have the strength to singBoth here and in Your reckoningDeliver us according to Your word

Always let us sing the chordAmen amen that praises YouA darkness ending canticleOf all who sing according to Your word


69


MIGRATION

Heaven did not see a further need for him on earth And soit carried him to where the rushes growPale blue-green spikes defending what the marshes knowThe nests of water fowl, crabs and currents of a sluggish indigo

And there the Queen of Heaven spoke: “This is my robe’s pale color blue and here the halberds of my guard defenders showWhat floods of sorrow flow down every drowning avenueAnd see my crown of feathers from the breastsOf curlews”

And then she touched him with a catkin wand of deaththat touching of it took away his human breathSo joyfully he rose and spread the beating of the breadthOf mallard wings that migrating he came to Heaven’s River’s mouth


70


THE RIDER

Cumbered by his jolly swag Death advances on his nagHorse and rider sleepless roamBut always make their way toward homeStill riding on the pallid horseAn arch conservative of courseHe carries all along the wayA sackful of humanityRogues and robbers, saints and foolsDoctors lawyers, lovers, ghoulsFarmers, tradesmen, scientistsPessimists and optimistsHousewives fishwives prostitutesPresidents of institutesMurderers of confidenceCriminals and innocentsMoney men and ragged poorYoungish women, those matureBabes and dotards, boys and girlsDiplomats and vicious churlsBishops, bonzes, well and illIntelligent and brainless dullEveryone falls in the sackThat’s tossed behind his bony backWhere the jolly rider goesNo one knows, or says he knowsBut tell me if you think you’re ableWhere the rider keeps his stable

He keeps it in a secret woodAnd you will find it when you should Pray God He spare you such a plightAnd gives you day, not endless night


71


THE JUDGE

Heaven comes and heaven goes aloft

A far bright bird as big as specks in eyesBut here below is under-paradiseAnd hard as stone though angel wings be softFrom misers’ mouths no golden coins are coughedIn mothers’ arms no murdered babes are savedNo justice keeps a whipping from a slaveThe snouts of swine tend always to the troughAnd yet somehow the hypocrite speaks trueThough powerful disciple of the devilConfessions on a deathbed are not fewFor who could see forever and dissembleAnd tyrants see the innocents they slewThough massacres had never made them tremble


72


THE HIVE

The cord of life is cut and put awayThe human string that’s bound together with anotherAnd now all dogs are brown, all cats are greyAnd every mother’s son is mother’s brother.No individuation of the will,In unison they sympathize on cuesInternally begotten by the breed—Though some are workers, others are the newFertilized elite whom others feed.So now what is their goal, is it the loanOf wealth or land or elevated stateThat formerly made kings kill for a throne?A death means nothing now, there is no fate.Unconsciously the world rejects its soul,All for the hive that goes upon two legs:A Queen of men is nothing but her eggs.


73


DENSITY

Matter is not gross but denseIt sinks like stones in water to the bottom of the wellThere it lies, while stars of dayShine down from nightAs light, the lepton, streams away


74


CYGNUS

The next time to the garden Adam cameHe reached and stirred the fountain’s gleaming faceAnd Deneb shone between the ulna and the radius—Black and suave the sheen of his integumentA carapace perdurable, immaculateAnd all the crystal flowers in the garden fell Upon the ringing of the crystal bell

The cygnet on the surface of the skyPlowed its velvet webs across the nightAs acolytes approached the altar lightWith sacraments on salvers made of steelAs if the crystal blood and flesh were realWhile Adam scanned as though he were entrancedThe faceless image of his countenance


75


THE WORKER

I look and find you treading in a flowerBee of my desire and my frightYour silver wings are spread from hour to hourThe center of the blossom is the nightYour eyes are compound facets of all thingsYour abdomen is striped with beads of prayerRepentance is the vein that streaks your wingsCompassion is the nectar you suck thereThe entrance to your hive is resurrectionThe brooding cells of beelets are the tombThe sweetness of the honey your perfectionEternal life is stored within the combThe tabernacle flower of the fieldBlooms though every sun to winter yieldAnd always in the blossom is the beeTo pollinate redeeming mystery


76


FATHER

He fell into the white snowdrift of a reverieOr the black snow of sleep.How could I follow him there, or call him father?But when I see You in the tabernacleI know You are waiting All-wise and powerfulPatient as shadows that follow the sunOr the darkness of the sanctuary.You are my FatherAlien creator, for I amThe impatient ignorant observer.What have I inherited from You?Have you sent another Son, YourselfTo me?I am destructive and improvidentWeightless and windblownAnd I will squander everything.Have I named You father in a phrase?And still You are the innocenceThat covers everythingNo more silent than he.


77


SOMETHING HERE MORE CLEVER...

Something here more clever than the roadThat sews the soft horizon with a threadSomething here more beautiful than fireThat most consumes the living flesh with redAnd something here more innocent than dreadThat shuts the easy flowing of desireA musical and silver mode

A wind that plays the stop hole deadA song that has no music but a Word A Spirit dressed with fireMore liquid than desireMore brilliant than the whitest snow


78


PITIFUL DROWNINGFor E.D.

A lady told me otherwiseAbout the Maker’s cordial faceOblivion was not His mindOr death a grieving placeBut all who drown are welcome thereTo light that heals our raceFrom illness and disgraceAnd grief without a trace


79


Did he complain again of night that bleary slutOr day, priapic sunlight stiff with rutOr sterile God who fumbles and is still?It is his own reflection makes him illAnd like some dying insect in the darkHe scrapes and bows and shrivels in his wall—He is the worm of death, an anti-larkWho creeps instead of rising to his workHe is an empty carapace of prideWho molts the black mortality inside

May Christ reserve the daylight of His graceTo all who blind the vision of His faceAnd may they blink and see the living sunThat shines without unsighting any one


80


PARITY

Complacent trees that dress the leavesSelf-satisfied the wandering wavesInsouciant all spiders suckThe flesh of lizards into muckBut was there yet another fallWhen earth and beasts knew more controlHad morals then, not instinct’s fussOf dark unconscious innocence?Have they descended into graceMoved into empty paradiseAs we moved out to wander hereWhere all our motives are unclearWith complementary lack of strifeTheir life to ours an anti-life?


81


NOW

Where do paintings come from, or the songsThat spring like paintings from the wallsAs round as living persons areExcept more live than any man or woman?Not one of us could make a thing like that.

They do not come from anywhere but hereThey are invisible and yet they burst from hereThrough usA moment and a place that never movesWhile we are always moving till we dieAnd always flat and nervous in our four dimensions—Like long-stretched strings that quiver.I would not care to walk across eternity on such a wire.But songs immovable that reach from earth to heavenGrow from now but once and then remain.


82


THOSE WHO KNOW...

Those who know me know my churchFrom sin to folly there I lurchAnd take the bread and wine of sorrowFrom One who knew His death tomorrow.All who climb the glassy trailOf reconciliation failAnd all who swear to purifyAre fools from then until they die.But still I feel each time I eatThe flesh of sorrow in His meatAnd when I drink the winy bloodI am consuming heaven’s food.Though foot and soul are rooted thereI stand still and He draws near.


83


US

He took them as they came, I thinkAs randomly as birds pick grain from groundJust “you” and “you” and “you”To be disciples casually foundA fisherman, a tax man and a spyNine others chosen as the Lord passed byAs coarse, as mean, as cowardly as anyNot quick to understand, not generousOr even kind to one another—us.He made one walk the water in a stormAnd all cure invalids and devil-driveAnd yet they ran away when He was crucified.No princes of the Church could He have wishedTheir fingers stank from cleaning of the fish.


84


ON THE HILL

The whole world is on the hillWhere three were nailed and crucifiedFor all who lived or ever willAssemble in the massive crowd Dead, not dead, in human formAnd those in life whose limbs and faceTo us would seem deformedBut are the natural look of grace,Their future bodies made and born.And in the afternoon foreverThey watch and hear the painful breathOf God approaching near to deathThough it will keep Him never.The silence and the waiting are forever.But time with painful mercy He will sever.


85


THE STAR

Look from behind the cross and see what He can seeDevils, angels, saints and mingled ordinary —Created beings past and present, those to comeWho watch their own creator die, ablaze in spiritual poverty.All shadows fall behind them.


86


JOSEPH

A clever fellow, but to what purpose, canon law is all he knowsDates of councils, doctrines, bulls, tracts that drive us comatoseBetter gambler, better drinker, better keeper of the barThat has a beer pull and a parlor for the wife of Potiphar


87


THE COMMISSION

He said that we would handle snakes of dreadDrink poison at the world’s prophetic wellsCure invalids of secular diseaseAccomplish this and not fall ill ourselvesHe said we would command all tongues of fireAnd not be burned by uttering the truthWould baptize thirsty creatures by the riverThat flows from ground that never suffered droughtWould harvest our salvation in His sheafCondemn the clever and console the thiefRebuke the powerful and love the mildReclaim the guilty and defend the childWould cure the moral leper’s rotting limb—Remember this commission comes from Him.


88


THE VISION

Above my head, behind my eyeA ripened vision flashes byA corridor of yellow wheatA candle shedding light not heatA tabernacle tall and wideNot bigger than the One insideAs far away as any starBut closer than my eyelids areAs weightless as all other visionAs massive as my Lord’s decisionNo play on words but realer thanThe metaphor of man or womanMore permanent than night and dayIt shatters when I look away


89


THE VIGIL

“Ungiving swine. Moral midge.You must laugh to see me sitting here.”“There’s no hurry to condemn.”I see His face, forever patient,Amused, not laughing,A long face, a shade of pale greenLike wood covered by mold,Bigger than the tabernacle.He barely fits this face inside the ChurchAnd yet it floats thereWeightless and serene.“How can you love me? This?”But then I sleep.How many times have I slept there,Safely, near the house of vigil?


90


A DOG OF ICE

I see a flag behind the altarLike some shivering dog At the Master’s fire.A dog of ice.


91


WAS HEAVEN VACANT

Was heaven vacant, when the Lord went walking in the garden? When he spoke with Job, were all the oceansleft without a steward?If he loves my soul, has he nothing else to dobut scrutinize it?His eye is undivided as he takes each morsel of the hostAnd breaks each wafer of his sacred heart.


92


THE SATELLITE

When you have taken light from meTo face my vision and my mindNo vision will be remain to seeYour deathly visionary wounds.Like dark sides of the earthly moonWhich pivots its succeeding faceTo face your pure celestial noon{Forever poised to rotate in its grace}Your satellite the human soulSpins axis-wise its halves of nightTurns once the dark from pole to poleTo face forever living light from light.To fear a death like this is foolish dreadThat lights the faces of the planetary dead.

Pavel ChichikovFebruary 1, 1994

93


WINTER REFUGE

In her chapel candles coax and sound of bees,The ceiling painted summer flowers.True, the old confession box is never usedWinter wind pleads through the hoursFreezing time in place with accusation—Mutter all your winter sins and she seems quietly amused.Coming from a summer place to standIn her niche for as long as she and I might pleaseShe warms you with azure, reconciliationNo more wordful than a summer windSpreads yellow zephyrs to withstandThe freezing trials of love and mitigation.


94


THE INFESTATION

Out of the massive God-containing arkAssembled in the wound within his sideWith doors not higher than a human childAnd all the space of eons held insideI see a host of mutinous defiledRebellious migrants, mouths unsanctified,Swarming out of the host devouring dark.Since he has lent his breathing to the drownedAnd willed his peaceful joy to lamentation Bequeathed his calm to idiotic crowdsAnd passports to the last obliterationNo city can be built except with cloudsNo state without corrupt prevaricationAnd maggots swarm where blood and flesh was found.Until we count this sacrificial priceWe cannot know the strangeness of his sacrifice.


95


THE QUESTION

Eternal ring a soldier plaits of thornsLow hill of heaven’s height and hell’s abyssNo entropy the end of time and spaceA sepulchre where buried is reborn—Unleavened bread that sanctifies all fleshConverted wine that rectifies all bloodA carpenter who multiplies the fishNot by an art but simply by a wishA crippled man who carries off his bedA sightless man who sees a myriadA rotting man rejected by the tombA human child inside a virgin’s wombNo paradox, impossibilityIs less or more than everything I seeFor why should you and I be here to speakOf banquets to the poor, heaven to the meek?


96


THE WORKER

In this bin there’s granite for the moonIn that box there’s carbon for the sunHow small this universe compared with himNo bigger than the corner of a room.How large compared with numbers is the numberOf universes filled with cosmic lumber?How many times has energy been fixedAwakening with time the word “exist”?As if to children opening his treasureThe jeweler of the world displays at leisureBit by bit the setting then the gleamAnd then the facets of a diamond dream—Hard and bright the structure of the worldThough hard to see, impossible to build.


97


SHAPE CHANGER

A cloud came down upon the tent of meetingBut clouds are always changing in the windAs when a dream withdraws in early morningLeaving sheets of memory behind:A face I may remember or a lookA corridor compressing into distanceA journey made against the wind’s resistanceThe printless pages of a domesday book.The cloud was never more than any dreamBut dreams contain the meaning of the cloudAs beds control the running of a streamOr corridors the moving of a crowd.The cloud is changing only when we seeThe shapeless altar of solidity.


98


THE SNAKE

A long and winding sinuous roadBut where it comes to no one seesA probe of darkly secret holesIt burrows where the marmot fleesA bird’s nest thief, a rodent slayerA serpent wise, a death delayerA coil of immortalityA tempter on an ancient tree—But also stick and snake in oneAn immanent comparisonAmbiguous, disjoined in halfA creature and a prophet’s staffA tongue that’s forked, a meaning splitA magic sign, a heel that’s bit


99


ME

As I go walking down the road I misplace me.Where can I find me?Did I leave me behind me?

I come walking down the road to me.Should I let me find me?Should I leave me behind me?

I would be less encumbered without meAs me without a double needs no meTo double purchase my identity


100


THE HALO

Circle symbol, golden sunAround the heads of those who stayedLoving Mary, faithful John

A yellow disc, symbolic graceLess marked or substantial thanThe pity in a human face

Loving mother, faithful friendNot even human terror kept them From the end, and past the end


101


IF THE STREAMS...

If the streams have frozenHas water been abolished?If I cannot seeHas sunlight been annulled?Where is the track I have abandoned—Or has the track abandoned me?


102


MUSIC

In this world all changes showThat music is whatever grows—The elements from energyFrom substance light’s infinityAnd everything in time is goodBecause it changes naught from shouldSo in the next world all shall beChanges on eternity


103


LET GO

Let go of all the secrets that confessLet go of time in summer’s green abandonLet go of winter’s bluewhite shade of noonLet go of night’s impending endlessnessFor nothing holds to keep us, neither friendNor body, loves, imaginings and woeAnd only joyful innocence we knowAnd only new beginning may not end


104


Shiny with congealed frostThe little snow on the big hillModest and whiteAbove the great dark earth


105


I have no languages but oneAnd if truth be spokenI have noneExcept for one I have not hiddenChrist is risen


106


FEBRUARY

Like birds aloft the sun is flying northBecause in heaven all of time is nowSpent grass has rotted downward facing southGreen roots are growing upward through the snowHow strange is death which happens all at onceAnd then revokes its license on the runAll downs the ups and ups the downs advanceBirds to the seeds and seedlings to the sun


107


PINKS AND ROSES

I see a meadow darkly greenAnd in that meadow green and growingPinks and roses scattering—No human hand has done the sowingA platform ivory from no hornA golden goblet never beatenA lamb unfleeced and spotless bornA wounded heart no grief has brokenAnd from the lamb a ruby cordFills up the goblet from its breast—Of all the colors of the greenThe pinks and roses echo best


108


THE POOL

No craving phantoms lapping at the bloodOf bleeding cattle slain above a ditchThe hour of our death a thirsty watchPraying of us water for the deadSo when the hour of our death is prayedThe shining of the noon of death is nightThe parching dead pass underneath the shadeAnd break the silent waters of the light


109


PARSNIPS

Buried in the garden, firm and sweetParsnips in the winter, good to eatRoasted in the oven, butter on the sideRolled in honey butter, dipped and friedMay we all be parsnips, cold as clayBut when we’re resurrected, sweet as May


110


WEAVER

Silver, long and glutinousStrung along the southern wallAnchored to a shingle’s faceSpringtime spider thread’s begunSleeping spinner, frozen laceIn sticky night she’s trapped in frostAroused and bright by winter lightUp at dawn and nothing lostThough a midge or two is allA spider catches in this placeStill she’s up and at the funOf weaving traps to catch the sun


111


THE COLOR OF HER ROBE

The sky is higher than the cloudsBut just as wide the clouds remainAt thirteen thousand meters crowdsHorizon hugging from a planeI’ve seen the knuckles of KavkazDecember fingers clenched and whiteAnd all of Oslo’s harbor tightInside its mountains’ crumpled mazeAnd Greenland’s cow bring down to birthIts ivory calves of fissioned iceAnd whales of oceanic stoneHuddled in the sea like mice—And clouds themselves a trim of vairAbout the royal blue of air


112


MAGIC SONG

Incantations come and goThe sun is singing to the snowAnd like the lacquer of the dayThe moonlight shines the night awayThe big clouds rising fill the skyThen peacefully they rumble byNow soft descending, big and wetThe snow and moonlight in duetAll magic utters words of lightTo say the day and sing the nightAnd now the chanting of the birdsIs full of whistling wordless wordsAnd now the whistling of the windAn Eden song that never sinned


113


SONG

We thought everything would go on as beforePerpetual profit, occasional warSeas and oceans still surge to their restOn shorelines eternally solid and blessedBut the moon smashed in the roof of the skyTides took the mountains and washed them awayNothing was ever the same as beforeAs the stars and the lowlands conducted their war—All of the blessed suspending their mirthStood watching the battle of heaven and earth


114


17

Hurled by the windSwift as hailstonesThe geese of the lakeSwiftly falling


115


17 + 17

Black masked burglarsHiding rain in bulging pocketsThe clouds hurry northLeaning leewardSpilling as they goThe hard-earned harvest of the sun


116


17 + 17 + 17

Out of the covert in the woods we comeStepping soft in the blanched field Headlights stop and startle usBut then we move in hungry mindfulnessCover us, black clouds of midnightAnd let us feed on the sweet new grass


117


AN ANGEL BLACK

An angel black and dull, not shining, Buoyant in abyssal deathHolds my body in an oozeOf pressure, suffocating breath,Sunlight ten thousand fathoms lightlessNo sky or rising desperate prayer—Large eyes phosphorescent, heartlessGleam of Deneb, frigid Mars—“What trench is this,” I ask, “which cavern?”“This is the earth compared with heaven.”

Pavel ChichikovMarch 1, 1994

118


THE SONG OF DIVES

Dives ate and Lazarus starvedBut Dives scraped his platter cleanThe dogs that licked the beggar’s woundsBelonged to Dives and grew leanThe beggar’s heart was small and redThe blood they lapped was thin and sweet— When Dives’ dogs ate LazarusIt cost much less than butcher’s meatBut when they broke the beggar’s bonesAnd licked the marrow from the cracksThe rich man cried and rubbed his hands:I wish I had poor Lazarus backFor then I’d send my table scrapsTo make atonement for my lapse


119


THE KITE

A poet’s a pathetic thingSweet as whiskey, stiff as stringAnd like a kite that’s pulled by wireThe poet only seems a flierBut sometimes like a hawk or gullA wingspread with the wind is fullAnd though the bird peeps weakly tonesThe wind of God takes hollow bonesAnd drives them through a fitful skyTo sing a searching melody.

A lineage that’s ancient suitsTo play an old reptilian fluteA hollowness of bone and feathersIs fit to hover in all weathersAnd poets stupid, stumbling drunksCan sing like skylarks, pray like monks.


120


BEELZEBUB

Like all exaggerations, holiness bleeds thinAlso prayer excessively prolonged,Hyperbole bores even saints and long contritionIf carried past the limits of restraintUnpurifies and spots the common saint.

Tedious the self, a buzz of fliesIts self-protecting vanity and lies.


121


THE BREATH

Listen to all the bootstepsOne two, above the coastal plainFirst step on the hillsSliding down the valleys in the black coalAnd then, along the fields,Scraping and stampingWith a spray of gravel and leavesThe branches grovelingAnd then with longer strides the sea—Running off into the dark—A simple breath, it runs around the worldAnd comes again to the white mountains


122


THE SONG OF THE PRINCE

Nothing ventured nothing gainedAs the old cliche explainedBut how could venturing do us goodWith all the nickels coined of wood?

But soon there came a prince of menWho offered fortune and a friendI’ll be with you in war and peaceEspecially the former case

So off we went, since we were poorAnd fortune was a puissant lureAnd as for friendship that was tooIn poverty our friends were few

But when the bullets knocked us downWhere could the prince of men be found?Surely there could be no maliceIn his vacation of the palace?

But when the dying and the deadWere brought to grief and buriedWhere was the prince of men to sayI brought you kingdom, bread and pay?

A prince of men is like a windThat blows through deserts and is goneA prince of men is like a fireHe burns the throne he sits upon


123


THE ROAD

The rabbit runs across the roadI see it run before it runsA swift transparent rabbit primeA solid rabbit doubles timeRabbit runs, rabbit followsProving then and now are hollowsI see the rabbit running twiceThe rabbit runs to paradiseThe road to paradise it runsBut where on earth to find that roadBeneath the dusk-descending treesNear dawn’s precise antipodes—Your understanding was completeTo find the road beneath your feet.


124


THE KINGDOM

In the garden fallen Adam sawA serpent’s wisdom flicker from the lawAnd when he feasted from an evil treeHe said: “a royal harshness conquers me”So Adam took a throne and sat as kingWhile men from East of Eden kissed his ringAnd though the sacred garden was undoneHe raised a pious mountain made of stoneAnd though the birds of Eden were all deadA slave of royal Adam sang insteadAnd though the trees of Eden fell and diedHe planted gibbets for the crucified—Even serpents perished in the frostNostalgic for the garden Adam lost


125


ASCENSION

He asked: “What time are we meeting?”“Seven o’clock, in the evening.”Winter bane, summer heavenThe number of the month is seven. Off we stepped, and turned the cornerWere gone somewhere, returning never.The seventh day, the seventh brightWe left below a fearful night,Upward traveled far and longOver mountains steep and strong.Over mountain far awayNever to see a winter day—We saw the day that never endsThe day the summer twilight sends.


126


COSMOS

When Sagittarius pulled the bowAll heaven was asleepWhen Cassiopeia looked belowHer crooked settee squeakedThe rumpshot Bullock chased the BearWhich caused the Urn to spillDown seven climbing hillsThat rose from heaven’s lake—And shocked the stars awake

All myths begin with causeAnd voyage to effectAnd that’s as much as knowsA learned intellect


127


VOICE OF THE BIRDS

I hear the birds in human voices cryCome, my fearless masters, leave the earth and flyThe wind blows up the fetor of a kill The blood of hanging meat brings on the smellUpward and across the sunward valleySkulls of limestone shining everywhereTake the easy lift of rising airFloat your spreading pinions, fill your bellyDown below, now easy, settle inThere’s room around the tree to feed and battenStretch out your wings, leave strut-room round the eyesWho’ll flap away the clotting of the flies?But then I heard them scream and fearful sayA predator has killed Our Lord today


128


SEEN THROUGH THE WINDOW

A mountain’s made of glass, look through the windowA staff is made of fire, burn your handsA snake is made of bronze, beware of venomAn angel’s made of God, let go the winds

A gust of sunlight bulged behind a sailAnd drove it from the harbor of the sunA gust of moonlight blew it back againThe end of winter, moored where it began

Take all the places till the end of timeAnd visit each though visit only onceNo time at all’s between the first and lastThough all of time be ever so immense


129


ATHEISTS

From the heart of a still poolThe pike send up a prayerPraying for small ducks, small perchIn bubbles of silver air

From the heart of a green treeThe birds pipe up requestsPraying for large worms, fat seedsAnd nestlings in the nests

From the edge of a small starWe send up despair—Only immortal beings doubtThat anyone is there


130


HE IS...

He is the Lord of all thingsIncluding thoughtsThis thought of HimAll mental worldsAll physical creationAll interpenetration


131


CREATION

I saw assembled birds fly toward the sunA black rain falling up against a fireAll singing hymns and psalmody in choirPercussive wings and bodies bent to burnA stream of chanting birds from earth to sunDrawn up against their will in praise of joyTo join the infinite fire in alloyAnd all their tiny selves were bent to burn


132


HIGH FINANCE

Received: An itemed billCreation in advanceA billion trillion sunsQuarks, two pair of pantsOceans: wholesale lotsWhales and birds and piHurricanes and snails It seems it might be highI glance at protozoaThe numbers make me freezeI skim another columnOh Lord, the total for the trees.

And then the special items:Clean up of the FloodHosing down the mountains A zillion tons of mudInventing all the lingosFor the engineers of BabelFinding global housing forThat multitude of rabble

Where in all creationWill I find the bread?Read the fine notation:Paid by Me, Not Dead


133


NIGHTWOOD

The lunar hoofprints of the deerA bird torn into seven piecesThe halfmoon of a carapaceThe leavings of the empty placesA fox that brakes along the trailBecause it catches human scentThe herd that nuzzles pools of duskThe rise of badger’s excrementA bear descending from the hillLike smoke with flaming green for eyesThe passion of a demiworldThat’s never seen but never liesMy Lord your world is very deepBut always truthful like my sleep


134


COMPLAINT OF THE CROSS

The passion of the equinoctial sunWhich by ascending prints the smallest shadowGives noon the blackest upright of the crossBy casting down the imprint of his sorrowAlone with him each human flings a curseTo see the bitter runnels in his face:“In just revenge you suffer your own graceImposed by you when you created us”—Each one of us the crucifying thief Who steals the grace allotted by his grief


135


STAR

A burning meteorIn one atmosphereIs one soulIn the universalSpace of GodBright and briefReal beyond beliefEverlasting wraithIn the magnitude of faith


136


FIRST MIRACLE

Dead God, do I revolve with you around a starAnd do I see how deep the socket delvesThat seats your cross in planet’s crust?Transcircumscribed the unseen trinity of selvesThat overhangs the heaven of the blessedAnd digs a root beneath the floor of hell—And yet in one small frame of bonesThe blood of all creation bleedsAnd all the infinite in pain compactly moans.


137


THE PETITION

Aimed prayer is different from the barking of a dogBut how?In prayer’s ear there can be no more charmThan howlingAnd no more music than in the risingUrgent noteOf wordless picketing in the raspOf a dog’s throat.Petitionary poetry reduced to aHoarse cough: This is my precious sapient soul—Save, but keep off!But he knows how to sort our needful prayersFrom wheezesCreates an obligation to them thoughNone exactly pleases.


138


THE PUZZLE

Satan stood beneath the crossHis shadow great as any globe’sAbove small Christ the crucifiedSpattered blood on satan’s robe“What shameful death you battered godThough baited with archangelic treasureHunger ever gratifiedEntitlements of angel pleasure”Ever flowed the wounded sideTill even satan’s robe was dyedStill the fountain hemorrhagedA puzzle to satanic pride


139


THE ARCHANGEL

Imprisoned in his vodka cellHe cheered the bust of Lomonosov“Hurrah you northern sage of Rus,The rest of you can go to hell.”No guards or bars protect this prisonThe silence of the alcoholReplaces locks and guards the wallThe doors jammed home by drunk derision.On Solovetsky prison isleThe prisoners constructed roadsDesigned to carry heavy loads—The commandant proposed a trial: “A standard glass with vodka fillAnd set the glass atop a carA bullet from a peh peh shaFor all who built, if any spills.”A few more drops of evil flowedBecause men built a crooked roadI heard this in a town of drunksThe northern city Arkhangelsk.


140


THIS WORLD

Odd as it may seemThe devil wants you to feel relaxedIn this worldNot reconciled to one another and to GodBut reconciled to evilAnd wants you to enjoy yourselvesWhile beggars eat the scraps of dogs

Pavel ChichikovMarch 1994

141


STREET OF DAYS

Ahead I see an open tombTen days along Nocturnal StreetBehind the equinoctial sunAnd at the end a limestone gate; Avoid the deconstructed lightNot darkness but the hinge of daySwing shut the door of everlastingNothingness—but pray.But pray the counting of the ten—No life to death comparisonUnless a recreation raiseAnother dawn, another sun


142


EASTER VIGIL

Crossways to the wind the nave expandsThe old church speaks and footfalls come and goAll the wooden fibers bless and moanAs if the pews had people in their rowsNothing speaks or prays, alone the presenceWaits in silence near the flame that speaksNothing now or ever can remain of himWho sleeps or does not watch for murder’s sakeHe knows the closing bootfalls of the guardEven as his pain inclines his headAnd though already risen from the tombHe hears the wind that blows against the deadAlone to be alive in every hourIs more than mortal pain and mortal power


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pavelspoetry.compavelspoetry.com/download/56/pavels-poems/2218/pavel-a-793-39… · Web viewIn an early summer morning. Just before the rising dawn. Pristine pure and virginal