Poems by Marc Vincenz

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Continuum

 

(previously published in Altered Scale in the original English)

 

We multiply best

             in open bodies

                          with low mass indices

             swarm and flock

cluster and conjoin

 

             in dances choreographed

                          by mysterious natural

             forces undeciphered

faithless phenomena

             but orbed ringed

 

                          swerved or hooked

             collectors congestors

of congenital immunity

             diplomatic border-busters

                          eye upon unwavering eye

 

             one as many as

many as one collectively

             as right to civilize

                          diversity as right

             to arithmetic mutation

 

towards adaptation towards

             conceptualization towards

                          definition and tradition

             solidifying in constituents

of a periodic table

             as yet uncompleted.

 

                          They prisoners

             of a singular atomic vibration

high mass index inclined

             confounded to expansion

                          of the straight and narrow

 

             strive through surfaces

beyond the own layers

             in the closed exoskeletons

                          of their own devising

             matter being matter being

 

eye to eye too

             without critical observation

                          nor mysterious compunction

             but for degenerative

deconstruction that rubble

 

             may build rubble

                          may build rubble again

             each succession wired

into the value-chain

             of being and non-being

 

                          that a creator may

             draw strings and each and every

last one may last

             beyond the great oblivion

                          at the end of all things.

 

***

 

 

 

Ivan Screaming Blue at the Sea

 

(previously published in Altered Scale in the original English)

 

That seething you, that Ivan beseeching, teasing rubble from random rock,

  words cleft in your bones & then a pulling like worsted steel from stone,

 

this stressed strata, this layercake of humus, crushed shell & cartilage, & here

 behind the wall—stretching desert to detritus coast along the backbone

 

of the once muddied now ossified earth—

 

in the mind a crowd still clamors (& with all that finger pointing, spitting

  & pouting), the sing-song of the String Him Up or, Stand Him Down!

 

He who inflicted, who switched off the Perpetuum, he who burned

  bodies like flat tires (you could see the smoke on the horizon for weeks),

 

he who sterilized for the sake of the children—

 

Oh you Shylock, Ivan! foaming in the surf here at the wall’s coccyx,

  the sea calling you straight you into her arms & sand up the nose,

 

sand spitting up flies & here finally, I’m yelping over the roar,

  I’m trampling the sodden debris. You can shout all you like!

 

Even the wind can’t hear you—

 

You who never squandered, who padded your shoes like nobility

  & in the end, who was painted with the priest’s even breath,

 

as if immortality might save you from yourself…

  tonight the sea whispers below the wind & the feral moon smiles

 

& once again, in a dimly lit outline of life—

 

you bend down, picking up the threads that worm in the sand,

  you, Crowned King of Seaweed, Ivan screaming blue at the sea.

***

 

 

 

Imago

 

(previously published by Connotation Press in the original English)

 

&withintheheadwithintheheartwithintheskintherearenowishes

                                                                                                      Alltheflavor

haslefthistongue&anythingworthhavinghasbeenburned

                                                                                                      leavingnothingbu

tsingednerve-endingsthatmildlyhumwhenitrainsor

                                                                                                      when

alightningstormisapproaching&inthatmomenthetossesinhisbed

                                                                                                      wraps

hisdampsheetsaroundlikebandagespresseshislegsintohischest

                                                                                                      untilagainthemo

mentpassestheairbecomesthin&heslipsintohispupa

                                                                                                      waitingtoawakeni

nhisnewhardshellprayingthegodswillgranthimwings

 

***

1 Comments

  1. Pingback: www.egophobia.ro Poeme de Marc Vincenz

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