reflection: spare crop / fleet mind
The written version of this poem has disappeared from this archive. If you’re wondering why, click HERE.
To listen to a podcast of this poem, click on the player below:
Listen to Paul reading his own work for the NPR broadcast: WORDSALAD
Read more of Paul’s work at GINGATAO including interesting and playful thoughts about translation of cross-cultural metrical requirements in this POST.
TESTIMONIO
Awake I break and chip this language
As if I am trying to bang out acanthus leaves with
The blunt face of a five pound sledge;
Just call me:
Grazia, (a Dio).
Full of sleep I slide into the Jungian upper room,
Strike the uncomprehending Pentecostal match and speak:
Wet words,
Wavelets around boats that ply
Apostolic present perfect street.
My dreams blink and smile:
Untranslatable.
Stout woman in a flowered dress.
Flash of thread.
Globe of sky,
Unspinning.
Offers, unclouded
Not the world
But the breath of it:
Planetarium.
Water stands suspended within
Bright still chaos of oxygen
Where swallows weave with crosséd paths
Nets anchored round scattered signal taps.
Antennae of the televisions
Buoy mark this random ocean.
From rooftop to rooftop
(da tetto a tetto).
Test a mon io.
Bonnie McClellan-Broussard 