Contents:
- Mavis [n.d.]
- Day From Under A Lillypilly [n.d.]
- Last Night At Poetry Live [1/5/97]
- Comfort Stop [5/5/97]
- Passing On [5/5/97]
- ‘The nothing, not pure nothing, left over …’ [5/5/97]
- Ornebius aperta (new-settled from Australia) [21/5/97]
- Letter to Lorine (Niedecker) [21/5/97]
- Twice Shy [21/5/97]
- Villas in Milton Street [6/6/97]
- A Letter from Elise [24/6/97]
- Mary's Yard [24/6/97]
- A Question At The End Of The Line [11/9/97]
- The Lady Meets The New Land [11/9/97]
- Death [30/9/97]
- Precinct [30/9/97]
- Epithalamion (for Anna and Richard, 14.6.97) [12/6/97]
- By Touch [10/10/97]
- To Live In A Cave [31/10/97]
- rustling / says Jack ... (Spin 31 (1998): 31) [31/10/97]
- An Artichoke In The White Garden At Gledswood [25/11/97]
- On hot spring nights ... [27/11/97]
- On The Way [27/11/97]
- Small Change [27/11/97]
- If I Were a Tree [27/11/97]
- The Tent [31/12/97]
- This ... [31/12/97]
- Last Lost [31/12/97]
- Her Grand-son’s Son [n.d.]
- If I don’t get my words out ... [12/2/98]
- At A Time Of Sickness [12/2/98]
- Birthday [17/3/98]
- The Other Half [17/3/98]
- Bivouac [17/3/98]
- Independence Day [31/3/98]
- Thelymitra pulchella [16/4/98]
- Death In A Tower Block [16/4/98]
- At Night [16/4/98]
- Liturgy (for Miriel) [16/4/98]
Mavis
I had an aunt
who had an affair
with a visiting Chinese violinist
She died
giving birth
to my cousin
who found herself uneasily placed
in a world
that doesn't want puzzles
so she married
an engineer
from Peru
and lives in Lima
learning to be rich
and speak Spanish
and how to make her children monocultural
[n.d.]
Day From Under A Lillypilly
Excuse
if you can summon the kindness
the sky
Night and day
it blazes
light and a circular horizon
that holds no softness
but heat and stars
in a cruel face featureless
as a fascist intent
on doing the job
with fire
or suffocation
[n.d.]
Last Night At Poetry Live
Rene sang like a
Rene sang like a
Rene sang like a trou
a troubador
to break the evening up
a one-legged rastafarian
with crutches and white wings
came
and danced in front of his
patched-up eyes
Fuck off
Sout yelled
Go home
you invalid
This is his home
they said
you're invalid
yourself
The world's my home
Sout said
Asians are the chosen ones
Java's where it's at
I've won
whooped Raewyn out at the road
I've won over all
I'm top
I'm a good man
said Paul
Have some more wine
I'm leaving
said Judy
there's too much testosterone
around here
[1/5/97]
Comfort Stop
When I ring Telecom
for Faults,
Directory,
or other Useful Things
I make myself
a mug of tea
with sugar.
Then I find my slowest book –
the one I keep for meditative times.
I butter up some crackers,
plug in the telephone beside the bed,
Take off my boots,
cottonwool my ears,
And take my place in Priority Queue,
stretched and chilled and blessed
Way over any devices
communicators may devise.
[5/5/97]
Passing On
where he walks
puffs of vapour follow on
like smoke-rings
or little ghosts
molecules of soul
clouds of him
diminishing
by particle
his procreative energy
and making him accountable
to God
[5/5/97]
‘The nothing, not pure nothing, left over is not a matter of
"recencies", but a matter of pasts, maybe pasties.’
Louis Zukofsy, preface
'An Objectivist Anthology'
I want to use this sentence, to put it into
everybody's head, on walls where the
'Desiderata' used to be, but it mixes up
my mind and makes my eyes ache; all I
can do is to write down whatever comes
to my pen for I am angry and confused
altogether and can't make the sense of
it, though I know it's a joke and clever.
It's very clever to have a not pure no
thing left over. And it's clever to make a
past a pastie, as, perhaps, a post becomes
a postie, to be on familiar and diminutive
terms with sense; but it might be that Zu
is telling us that beyond the limits of our
understanding there is nothing, and a not
pure nothing at that.
[5/5/97]
Ornebius aperta
(new-settled from
Australia)
I step outside
and before I know it
somebody is standing
in front of me talking
of the house they took
away last night and
the cars they had to
move to move
the sleep they
lost and the people who
should have been
or were there
when they shouldn't
the noise of the machinery
and things like that
But I hear crickets
in my sleep
close at hand and real
integuments of nature
from over the ditch
in the hedges
things keep moving
there's no crisis
we can all get along like this
and do nothing
or move in the open
set fire to the world
[21/5/97]
Letter to Lorine (Niedecker)
There are some words that I don’t know.
Creosote is clear –
I’ve used it,
but gestalte’s not defined in my mind.
Sex is too small a word for the work it does,
(semantic could be used).
Conceptual’s not here nor there.
Fascist’s so good it doesn’t matter what it means,
and chauvinist is weird.
Mango sometimes describes a breast
(though when it does it strains my mind ).
Urbane is a secret hypocrisy,
the reverse of ingenuous, someone said
who’s not as good as a dictionary.
Circumspect’s something you see in the round,
like a splat.
You use small words like hiss and pianoforte,
bird-dung boom and Darwin.
I love you, Lorine.
You wash in the river you live by.
[21/5/97]
(Sport 19: Lightworks (Spring 1997): 46-48.)
Twice Shy
asleep
asleep
in the swamp standing
guard of a life
stick still
in case
an angel with a trumpet
flies across
or with a vial
of wrath
and makes
a ripple in the pond
or rustles so
a raupo leaf
is lost
both legs one
in attendance
one in response to
a rustling world
of wrath
in case
a day changes
or seasons switch
at faster step
or time permits
a stop
[21/5/97]
(Sport 19: Lightworks (Spring 1997): 46-48.)
Villas in Milton Street
There should be music as well
as this high colour
of persimmon, poinsettia,
and yellow hibiscus at gingerbread doors.
Something in the sky,
a sunset, or a dust-storm
or smoke from Australia,
to signal an epiphany like this,
To tell a casual startled eye
that here is some exotica,
an untried exuberance
flung along the falling road.
a bright begonia border,
fresh , as Barry’s Point in spring,
set in our sight,
lined orderly,
baubels on a Christmas bough,
with dark interiors
like soft chocolates.
[6/6/97]
A Letter from Elise
Ah well,
Such is Life.
At night I did the ironing
and wrote a thank-you letter
Wednesday was shopping
but Mum couldn't come with me
Oh, on Monday our friend Madge
collected Mum in the morning and
took her into A & E to have her plaster off
Thursday was more shopping in Te Atatu
and our pine slabs arrived
On Friday Mum and Madge and I
all went out to tea. W e were late to bed
On Saturday we were up early
and I put the washing in
The Bon Brush man came and
fitted the brush on the unit
I bought some more soap pellets
Brian rang up with the quote
for the curtains at the flat
Then Jocelyn rang up to say
the picture was ready
I was so glad I'd done
the vacuuming on Friday
After lunch and the dishes
I started on the woodshed
then I did the vegies for dinner
Jocelyn rang again
In the morning I have to get up
early for the morning teas at church
Then I'll take some broccoli
over to Jocelyn's Mum
We have lots
I'm thrilled with it
Well
it really was a super weekend
On Tuesday it was work
in the evening
I did the ironing
and finished a letter
Oh! We washed Mum's hair on Monday
she’s blasé about it now
Today I rang the plumber
about some new taps for the bath
And Brian rang again
about the curtains
The quote was pricey
and really knocked us up
Now I'm writing
Mum's made muffins
We're out of chocolate chips
I do hope the weather
lets me stack wood tomorrow
Yes, I did stack wood all day
In the evening I made up
Mum's marmalade mix
and it set – of course!
On Friday we shopped early
bought the meat
a new water filter cartridge filter filler
a new battery for Mum's little torch
and the magazines
Oh and 20 rubbish bags
We ran out of time
On Saturday we got up early
and Mum did her own bed
The chores were done by lunchtime
Tonight I'll do the ironing
but I'm stopping now
More anon
I don't know how I find the time
to get this up to date
On Tuesday I stacked more wood
and banged my leg on a knotty bit
I killed some snails
in the watering can
I also did the ironing
and polished the car with Colortone
Then I washed Mum's hair
and watered the garden
This morning Mum fell and
got stuck in the wardrobe again
Then Madge came round
we had a good yaka
and we killed some more snails
Then we got the beetroot up
and did it in the pressure cooker
I gave some to Pam
We've had huge caterpillars
on our swan plants
It was supposed to rain
but never did
Mum's making muffins
When she's finished
I'll put her in the shower
[24/6/97]
Mary's Yard
Your yard
a small domain
with paw-paw
banana
and fig
shade of jade
in rain
and the punga
a wind-turned
umbrella
think big
to savannah
with trees
a track to tramp
or small
to the dawn of an idea
not entered yet
[24/6/97]
A Question At The End Of The Line
These days
They drag like spilled words
hurtful as idle accusations
Are they numbered
fixed in any way
Or are they being born
at some set source
Is there risk of running out
Furthermore
do they wear
And if so
can they be repaired
Is there machinery for this in nature
Like the renewal of the sea
the building of clouds
Do they breed
It's a trouble
When I get tired
or ill
or age too much
That the world is running down
And not just the world
I don't think I can talk about it
[11/9/97]
The Lady Meets The New Land
She knits
as alligators bubble
bitterns boom
and egrets balance on elephants’ backs
she knits
she knows
mind serpentine
as ridging on
the intricate cloth
she knits
her wits
she knows
the snarl the yelp the roar
what flies above
what crawls below
the aboriginal shore
she knits and knots as
she sits
on a chair
on the deck
of the boat
up the mud-and-mangrove river
and weaves
jungle leaves and cones and thorns
to patterned forms
of home
[11/9/97]
(Poetry NZ 17 (1998): 59.)
Death
Look for something in reverse
A red road
that trails into grass
A river
diminishing downstream
A day
that climaxes to quiet
Prepare a lessening trend
And put aside
the calendar of gain
Choose time
new space
And prospect
for a backward land
[30/9/97]
Precinct
If there is a place
that God might visit
it is the R.S.A.
where Virtues meet
the Old Ones
in buildings like churches
and other eucharistic places
to eat and drink
on carpets of camomile
red poppies
and flags
here they talk
(hear them)
in words of fifty years disuse
about the salvation of the world
by sacrifice
and military rank
heroes' talk
old stuff
God stuff
She comes
and gets a drink at the bar
to listen
pleased, she says
Look at this new thing I've made
It's Good
(she has a bias
to history)
[30/9/97]
Epithalamion
(for Anna and Richard, 14.6.97)
Today, the world's their wedding
and we assistants at it,
to celebrate their step to household time,
To lay foundations, frames,
and roof support,
paths and passages and porch,
rooms and rudiments and floors.
Sheltered in the frame of love,
walled by tenderness and care,
fed from Anna's garden rows,
by Richard balanced and refined,
we pray this house will gain
in strength of heart and mind.
So established, houses grow
as ours have done,
from one to two to more.
Both Kyle and Jarvis started small
and multiplied by natural lore
from one to two to three or more.
Remember, both, to stop and think:
houses grow and houses shrink.
The company once held is gone,
the passages seem cold and long
and only you are left,
the two of you again.
The house is clear of toys
and clean the shelves –
then look into each other's eyes
and see – yourselves.
[12/6/97]
By Touch
Rain
at a house
in the country
is the sound of running
on the roof
a sky of smoke
so low it smells
of burning
a parliament
of birds
in the tree
at lunch
mud
outside the front door
leaves down
and worry
at the leak in the pantry roof
at puddles on the drive
when the children come from school
and for wood enough
in at the fire
tonight
[10/10/97]
To Live In A Cave
I don't intend to change
my mind
nor any other part
and will go there
though you object
and show
a tear
and say ‘The Silence!
in the dark
– like that’
at least I’ll see the stars
which you've not seen
since we began
to talk of them
[31/10/97]
rustling
says Jack
and tentative
is the wind
that blows
over dead hills
on the Manukau
[31/10/97]
An Artichoke In The White Garden At Gledswood
Jocelyn did
in front of the promise
she cut
the long green stem three times
she cut
the sharp bits of the bracts on the head
she cut
the head
and removed the choke
she blanched
and seasoned with salt &c
and cooked
bouquet garni with wine over a brisk heat
with nutmeg
with demi-glace sauce
shallots
she chopped
she did
under the vine
in the sun
she cut
she blanched
[25/11/97]
On hot spring nights
we go bathing
and come out again
smelling sulphurous
the others don't like
the smell and shower
but I do and pull
on my clothes with
out drying to catch
the dampness which
I like
it's natural
and springs from the
heart of thermal regions
I never send them
to the cleaners
[27/11/97]
On The Way
a smell of drizzle
misted by the sun
to steam
and first bread
for Sunday shoppers
jasmine
on the crumbled wall
flowers in sparse bunches
on the stall
outside the shop
chrysanthemums in pots
boronia
irises
and (always) long-stemmed rose
cooking in the cafes
bacon (brown)
and bacon (crisp)
drifts to distances
to other cafes other corners
tea-shops cakes and coffees
but mine
the light of the sun shines through
puff cloud from the sea
the city patched
in moving light below
the red the blue and other parts
seem white
in the light
to me
[27/11/97]
Small Change
Jane and Sandy
left the town
and took a place out west
to rest
a paddock
with a house
a horse
a granny-flat
for workshop space
a dog
for peace
Sandy went on trucking
Jane did help
at Parent Aid
Auxiliary Wings of various sorts
and Threads
the kids are grown
at work in town
Sandy goes on trucking
usual stops
usual routes
Jane does help
the dog digs ditches on the lawn
the horse gets loose
[27/11/97]
If I Were a Tree
Again it’s summer
Some blow trumpets
some ring bells
but I would chatter triumph
in the air
and fill my leaves with cicadas
to sing
of sun
to comfort you
and silence you
to drift your thoughts
to me
I would reproduce
vegetatively
all along this bank
and you would sit
in the shade
of my parts
and watch the traffic on the stream –
the fish, as they dance for flies
the boats, with merchandise
[27/11/97]
The Tent
A single drop of artifice
to mitigate the force
of nature’s wild weather
an angle of desire
in the snow
by the lake
cliffs and mountains
ice high black
that the chaos it defines
is made stolidity
and comforts us
who want solitude
at an altitude
of a permanent posture of defence
against the tramping thoughts
that use these tracks
and keep the shores
of lakes
and boulder-driven creeks
elite
in a rush to reception
some sort of sea
or reservoir
for city use
where rain alone is insufficient
to live by
if it comes with wind
where another source for life
than that above
is stored below
[31/12/97]
This
is not good enough
snow lies long
in summer it's too hot at night
teeth hurt
eyes ache
and neighbours keep odd hours
a lot of things could change for the better
like this wind
that blows from a cold sea
too often
and too cold
and you my dear
who must not age
nor be sick anymore
we must shift
to a safer place
out of the common way
between the weather
and the spoken word
where change builds up forever
but goes elsewhere
[31/12/97]
Last Lost
when all is done
my greatest grief –
the sound of you
is gone
no word
or admonition
or endearment fond
no impress
on the air
nor echo
found
no shadow
of displacement
mystique spun
today is just today –
you’re not around
[31/12/97]
Her Grand-Son’s Son
1.
When you found out
who she was
it affected you
I could see
Life’s like that –
these family ramifications
like and unlike
conjoint
and your love of cooking
but you can’t be held responsible
for the sort of genetic recipe
that’s left you
incommunicative
and a chef
You’ve sprung from another mix
It’s judging in a vacuum now
ex nihilo
lost in a mass of reference
no invoice for advice
Should you bare your soul
to me
or a substitute’s
some artiste’s –
near as good?
2.
Remember though
that life’s a joint agreement
you can’t spend
all your time in the kitchen
you’ve got to come out
like everyone else
and say Hey this is
me I’m the one
who’s always cooked on cue
you can’t take that away
from me, say
as it’s baked so it shall endure
say the secret’s in the butter
melt it say, with thyme
say, with sage
3.
Meet me Mama when I do
and rescue me from
introspective interviews
culinary dodgers who
will want to write me up
research me for a T.V. show
scald me
so I lose a skin
pass pastry-scented messages
of prurient import
Ask your friends
see what they think
they go cooking
you’ll get some good advice like
one swallow doesn’t make a sufficiency
Say –
I want to be a man of words
the Word a man to me
Stuff the receipts
[n.d.]
If I don’t get my words out
they hang around
like the local rag
and get in the way
(last year’s leaves
old snow
dust of the past
and letters)
[12/2/98]
At A Time Of Sickness
they come
most days
at different times
and sit
like aquifers
for refreshment
to wash
parched hours
conscious
of the gift they bear
the
inexhaustible
the
bountiful
over-running well of words monologue
that would be better sold
in bags
at a spring fair
self-sealed
to ensure against
miscegenation
[12/2/98]
Birthday
Every Year
on this day:-
the Apple tree goes green
the Cherry pink
the Persimmon bursts the bud
the Paw-Paw puts an embryo leaf
the Mamaku unfurls
the Daphne:-
no,
it’s You.
[17/3/98]
The Other Half
In my dream
beside
you are
always
beside
no other shape
your space
inveterate
you are
a place
reserved
(now you are gone)
for later incarnation
not
for new
[17/3/98]
Bivouac
By a small stream
near the spring
the water’s new
the sound is fresh
there’s air
in it
the sound
is sharp
the light so clear
you could die
in it
the floating
the flowers
the moss
are part of
the breath
of it
[17/3/98]
Independence Day
I can’t get away
from you
anymore
That you’ve died
is true
Alive
space contained
you
dead
you’re alive
all over theplace
in the book
in the bed
in the T.V.
lounge
in the superette
for milk
in my head
some times -
that you’redead
[31/3/98]
Thelymitra pulchella
(Millerton)
some flowers
that grow round here
don’t show to the sun
they fold in tight
and ( by some inner mechanism)
reproduce themselves
like I might
(who live round here)
in quiet creativity
mature unseen
and leave my seed
like orchid dust to you
[16/4/98]
Death In A Tower Block
(Miriel)
on a wet night
it rains forever
each car wash
a sea on a shore
to explore
when the sun comes up
for you
once more
[16/4/98]
At Night
I’ve seen
You step from the clock
when the hands point
to the darkest hour.
From the corner of the room
with the drapes
and the draught.
I’ve seen you rise
from the back of the chair
like an antimacassar.
And as nightmare,
from the bed.
Do none of this
when you come for me.
Call at a comfortable hour,
with company.
[16/4/98]
Liturgy
(for Miriel)
your wrists
to watch
at knife
and fork
the turn
of the bone
so delicate
and your throat
as you take
the morsel
down
so silent
a sublimation
price-
-less
precious
sacrifice
of labour
to the simple task
[16/4/98]
•
Found in Filebox 2© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012
•
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