{"id":3909,"date":"2013-05-19T02:24:26","date_gmt":"2013-05-19T02:24:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sporkpress.com\/?p=3909"},"modified":"2013-05-19T02:24:26","modified_gmt":"2013-05-19T02:24:26","slug":"2-poems-by-adam-palumbo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/2013\/05\/19\/2-poems-by-adam-palumbo\/","title":{"rendered":"2 Poems || Adam Palumbo"},"content":{"rendered":"

BRAINSTORM<\/strong>
\n 
\n 
\ni.
\nAll soldiers all soldiers all soldiers have a similar strength a storm of unyielding wholesome good like an apostle oathed to a firmness courageous and this common to all soldiers and yet
\n 
\n <\/p>\n

Frenzied and unnatured partners spewing bullets each each in fast fast motion momentous in torsion of spirit and body mostly it was a knocking and a red mist and a leaving and an empty boot
\n 
\n <\/p>\n

ii.
\nThe courageous man marvels that he owes no debt no longer sees dark dangers as a blur no more rising with his cohorts to contend with the cruel and the quorum of the dead
\n 
\n <\/p>\n

But inasmuch as he tries to live now he tries but he knows the music he listens to is not really playing his mind is not alive but just pretending a windowed machine without moving parts
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\n <\/p>\n

And now all errands become a dream about the ruinous blaze and a sight that is not a sight overtakes him birds not singing only screaming shrill and the chemicals rise like a descendent dread and the collusion of horror and time has reached its head
\n 
\n <\/p>\n

iii.
\nHere we see the concision of conscious in medical circles we call that anomalist resistance and nonchalance a sinister state wherein joys grow dimmed all senses quenched no aim for hope or aid a dire sigh
\n 
\n <\/p>\n

How do we get here this segue in the search for meaning for meaning does not always come searching for you after all Moses glowed when the LORD appeared unto him a ruddy shine but you are no Moses
\n 
\n <\/p>\n

A terrible beauty and confusion at what all belongs here and there and where is everyone how does this happen and no matter what happens this has all been too long a sacrifice
\n 
\n <\/p>\n

When he returns the courageous man marvels that all freedom ekes away though that is what he fought for those years in the desert place full of spiders now at home everything is still and still and still
\n 
\n <\/p>\n

_______________________________________
\nCINQUANTA<\/strong>
\n 
\n <\/p>\n

-the lines of Rene Char, from the translations of Mary Ann Caws<\/em>
\n 
\nI love and I sob, I am living
\nI hurt and I am weightless
\nAs I approach I depart
\nI leave you nothing to think
\nPraise, praise, we have come to terms with ourselves
\n 
\nThe Sorgue enshrined me
\nbeneath the humus of those powdery strides
\nI was raised amongst wood fires, next to embers
\nI hid among reeds under the care of creatures strong as oaks and sensitive as birds
\nI was one of those forests where the sun has no access
\nRiver of regard for dreams, river that rusts iron
\nwhere free pain is under the quick of the water
\nThe clover of passion is iron in my hand
\nThe earth loved us a little, I remember
\nThe blade of his song closed the bed of sorrow
\nIt held us amorous on the all-powerful arch of its imagination
\n 
\nThe poet has returned for a long span of years into the naught of the father
\nThe poet quickens, then races to the outcome
\nan extreme and compact fortune is our mountain range
\n 
\nNothing any longer has name, except the shudder. It is night
\nfar away a bed lies patient and trembling in the exile of its fragrant covers
\nI am a block of earth reclaiming its flower
\nSome put their trust in a round imagination
\nI would place my sleep at the disposition of the true night
\nMy bed is a torrent with dried-up banks
\nEven in the midst of morning and our frenzy
\nquite heedless of an adventure
\nI lull the tender-eyed lightning to sleep
\ncounterpoint of the void in which
\nthe unnameable Beast
\nmarks the moving of interwoven certainties
\n 
\nI heard the slither of the fearful grass-snake
\nThe serpent sows
\nNo one lives in space more narrow than he
\namid his bloodstream\u2019s briar-brake
\nCertain beings have a meaning that escapes us
\n 
\nWoman sleeping in flower pollen, lay lightly in his pride your frost of limitless medium
\nuntil the shoulders butt the heart
\nThus he would start again until
\nin their narrow hands I read the joust of these stars calling others
\nHe challenged her, went straight for her heart, like a boxer
\nWe don\u2019t believe in the good faith of the victor
\nThey try to break away from stones too wise, too warm
\nO the exhausted motion of her diction!
\nThe space she traverses is my faithfulness
\nLove, the equal of terror
\n 
\nFrom the darkness of the rock to
\nthis child on your shoulder
\nWorlds of eloquence have been lost
\nGo one, we endure together; and together, although separate
\nWhat fear on our lips tomorrow?
\n 
\n 
\n___________________________________________
\nAdam Palumbo<\/strong> is a poet-critic from Annapolis, MD. His research includes rigorous people-watching, too many hours on his computer, and wearing sweatpants in the kitchen. He reads a lot and writes a little. He has published poetry at The Northern Virginia Review<\/em> and St. Katherine Review <\/em>and poetry reviews at The Rumpus, PANK, <\/em>and Rattle<\/em>
\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

BRAINSTORM     i. All soldiers all soldiers all soldiers have a similar strength a storm of unyielding wholesome good like an apostle oathed to a firmness courageous and this common to all soldiers and yet     Frenzied and unnatured partners spewing bullets each each in fast fast motion momentous in torsion of spirit […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,2],"tags":[5,92],"class_list":["post-3909","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","category-things","tag-adam-palumbo","tag-rene-char"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3909","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3909"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3909\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3909"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3909"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3909"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}