2 posts tagged “philip whalen”

VondelPark

                                                                          I was a hobbit

                                                                          you were an elf

                                                                          we made love

                                                                          in Vondel Park.

                                                                          ***

                                                               The dream yellow and

                                                                                                little hidden

                                                               in the inner low bowl

                                                                                              and most recesses

                                                               of what is opening

                                                                                             into cosmic night.
                                                               Psyche

                                                                           was there, was consciousness, a door

                                                               Psyche

                                                                           who will secret the soul

                                                               (Eleni's bored, uh-oh)

                                                                                                Don't stop

                                                               Just keep the green birds in the air.  Where?

                                                                                              The dream

                                                              is verifiable or tenable

                                                                                              I am pursuing and therefore

                                                             I must content

                                                                                  with the fact that means something:

                                                             patient.

                                                            Is this going to be a poem about Philip Whalen?

                                                            Who is Philip Whalen?

                                                            Undulating layers of

                                                                                           unsaying

                                                            The undercurrent is love

                                                            The current of love...

                                                                                            Transfer those electrons to him.

                                                            Illusion birds in Amsterdam

                                                                                                   where love rules

                                                            there is no will to power

                                                                                                and where power predominates

                                                            love is lacking

                                                                                    the one is the shadow of the other.

                                                            I am thinking of a man

                                                                                            his sole purpose

                                                            is to kindle a light

                                                                                     in the darkness

                                                            by mere being.

                                                            In sleep, fantasy

                                                                                      the form of dream

                                                            but in waking life

                                                                                      we continue.

                                                            On the other hand

                                                                                        I know that if

                                                            on a dream we

                                                                                     meditate and thoroughly

                                                           discern around us

                                                                                 over and over the human existence

                                                           it is a hint to the patient.

                                                          [Prelude to the letter C]

THE IMPERFECT SONNET
after Philip Whalen

"The person of whom you speak is a poet."

Where is the second crystal?

She left her garret with it in her satchel

Clack of heels on Prague's cobblestones

Now I want emeralds.

In the middle of the night—

The station lit with aqua lights

The hipster waits for the exchange

As a Louie Vuitton model

As Mikhail Baryshnikov

Say nothing of his scruffy cheeks

Nothing of his hooded eyes

A precious for the shisha

An emerald shisha!  From Casablanca—

Property of Moroccan ministers

The better crystal is upstairs.