a poet in tulsa
inspired by the series of poems fredrico garcia lorca composed during his visit to columbia university in 1929/1930, i am exploring the city of tulsa through my camera and my words.
finding traces: the visceral remains of old roads, battered ghosts and forgotten stories; collecting these artifacts into a whole, with the aim for publication in 2017.
one of the pieces, "before word, soñando con el vuelo", inspired by a painting created by my wife cynthia brown follows.
before words: painting by Cynthia Brown
before word, soñando con el vuelo
the betrayal had not begun
time was not yet time
stars were not stars
moon had yet to become moon
we awakened upon day
facing the warmth
plunging our skin into the lifting
of the returning world pausing
at the half-recalled sensation
of the filtering colors of sky
it was left to the keening ones
to articulate song
then leave those of us
bound to earth to be
seduced by their plaintive cries
to began our dreaming
compelled to follow and
soar beyond into flight
this delicate floating
borne upon high
before even the heavens became
we were lifted with the frailty
of these incoherent wings
some nocturnal tryst
between our selves
and the faraway clouds
ever closer we drew
almost forever but
not quite touching
how far we flew
passing over creatures
in their reverie
the crevices within our eyes
filled with invocations of light
and of darkness rendered by
its absence
it was never easy to return
the time that was not
wore us until weary
we arose again from the dust
etching the hollow places
tracing the riverbed
with faltering clarity
we recalled how we could not
and of how we wanted
on these altars
we placed our brittle hands
carved into stone
molded into clay
these visions
we recorded this passage
of day into night
the hunger of our flesh
the smell of blood pooling
rendering the world
of the squatting man
his transformation
as he became turtle
his carapace
made of bone and ash
was the quiet way
of calling home to those
still lost in the flight
of translating shadows
later they were to be found
silenced and buried
in the deluge
of the coming days
that emptied our souls
spent our fire
and bound us again
to this place
(dream 13 (minus even) max richter)
12.31.2016 worker33
the betrayal had not begun
time was not yet time
stars were not stars
moon had yet to become moon
we awakened upon day
facing the warmth
plunging our skin into the lifting
of the returning world pausing
at the half-recalled sensation
of the filtering colors of sky
it was left to the keening ones
to articulate song
then leave those of us
bound to earth to be
seduced by their plaintive cries
to began our dreaming
compelled to follow and
soar beyond into flight
this delicate floating
borne upon high
before even the heavens became
we were lifted with the frailty
of these incoherent wings
some nocturnal tryst
between our selves
and the faraway clouds
ever closer we drew
almost forever but
not quite touching
how far we flew
passing over creatures
in their reverie
the crevices within our eyes
filled with invocations of light
and of darkness rendered by
its absence
it was never easy to return
the time that was not
wore us until weary
we arose again from the dust
etching the hollow places
tracing the riverbed
with faltering clarity
we recalled how we could not
and of how we wanted
on these altars
we placed our brittle hands
carved into stone
molded into clay
these visions
we recorded this passage
of day into night
the hunger of our flesh
the smell of blood pooling
rendering the world
of the squatting man
his transformation
as he became turtle
his carapace
made of bone and ash
was the quiet way
of calling home to those
still lost in the flight
of translating shadows
later they were to be found
silenced and buried
in the deluge
of the coming days
that emptied our souls
spent our fire
and bound us again
to this place
(dream 13 (minus even) max richter)
12.31.2016 worker33