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'THEATER'
poems by Raz Popescu

Cat with Aura Predictive of Snow
Annunciatio
n
Drumheller

Dusk

Home

Loneliness

[untitled]

Capers

Parting

The Night Virgin in the Tree

Revolver

Spring

The Stairs of Sleep

We Know Who We Are

Yellow Ascension

The Glamour of New Orleans

 

 

 

Cat with Aura Predictive of Snow 

the whisper-sized cloud
enormously indefinite
pretended humming
hinge-like.

the cat shaped its eyes
into the tiniest ice,
floated bedraggled on fur halos,
a long worn winter arrival...
actors!
hourly depot of innocent lies!
exhaling flakes and
the mute somersault...

INDEX 

 

Annunciation

Brittle black tresses of braided twigs
jutting at nodes like rusty knights
and falling limp and coal dust black over
the autumn-winter face.
charred thorns eyelashes, long,
not surprised by the external world.

the pigs are fenced,
the river logs
slamming into one another,
the mud is covered by the snow.

inside this house the night is farther
from the country's crossed electric wires than
in any other.
inside this house,
the wind knocked out of its chest,
the round faced moon wanders suspended
through corridors, the light is smoky,
the air is clear
and in its heart you are twice enveloped,
in black beam corset of splintered pine
and in velvet folds.

late in the afternoon
green alder branches stir
and visit briefly through the row of windows
two doors removed and then two more
from the two doors which if i opened
you'd look up drying the ink in its thin river.

tonight the narrow searchlight falls at your feet
from a great distance, hesitates, continues elsewhere,
chased by a streaming tail, bent by the fossil trunks.
you have been telling me with wide winged gestures
the giant guard dog sleeping outside your window
has sensed this winter
a radiant ant with trembling legs prowling the sky.

 

INDEX

 

  Drumheller

 

Sandy light on the coastal California hills

and a river meandering to the ocean.

Floating under the willowed bank, pivoting

about his head like a pin, dead man, facing

the weaving of lines, the cavorting horses of hair,

the crackling yellow beams of the oscilloscope,

the arrival of violet clouds,

waves' lips springing surprises,

all this late mixing thread.

INDEX

 

 

Dusk

 

Number one
dust.
Numbers like beans on a string
5
dust in your eyes.
number...faint number.
sweaty eyes drinking
faint order. tree trunks melting
each other. black forests falling.
village is still
blue skies mingle with blue smoke
through worn doors
omelets mix number 5
atoms of day are dust
under the gate
by the road now
untraveled
green willows slender like bridges
dust looks up from under the gate
sparkles in the moonlight between a dog's legs
five numbers
together hammered in dust,
cold drafts speed in the street
as fast as night travelers.

 INDEX

 

 

Home

 

I always wear my watch at night

closed-eye skies blue, dark and bright

grasses swaying by the road,

will each dog sleep in its own house,

or will they trade?

 

 

 

Loneliness

 

the boy stood years

across his senses

with fingers spread over the whirlpool

following murmurs flowing

for an embrace.

INDEX

 

 

***

 

Monday, Tuesday,

star of vacuum sparks.

Wednesday, No.

A high speed absence.

The silence archers are trembling and tensing their bows,

clouds drift in sparse flow by the eye of the moon.

Oh muse, aim well

the chance to never be seen.

 

 

Capers

 

moon crossing silently

the white and humid clouds

free falling rain over a broken tree

its leaves are pressed

under the heavy streams of water

entwined with water falling from sky

and waiting around

the dark matte sky

and falling and waiting

parallel lines

accepting day accepting night

branches and trunks

stopped in the current

and heavy air

holding the stagnant water

caught in the rain

caught in the night

you'd have done better

take to the moors

but for a sudden

flash of wings

guarding the entrance.

INDEX

 

 

Parting

 

The kindly desert is overflowing with light

There is nothing but death in every remaining pore

Of its crying retina

Dry, airy space separates the sand grains.

From above, a black ant searches these crevasses

For the footholds of its advancing, trembling leg.

The eye flutters, ready to despair in cascading tears.

The purple clouds have settled horizontally in the distance.

One headlight coming this way.

 

 

 

the night virgin in the tree

 

the scratched height of lengthwise variegated needles,

the point i looked up at, wide open eyes, two, and peripheral help

from furious clouds arriving in silence, the one star of frozen blue,

your retinue, wooden and knighted, disinterested in your dangling limbs,

long silvered fingers on a medium branch, head bent forward, eyes

pouring inky light from aquatic irises with hollow rivets held in opalescent lace, oh armoured sigh,

i pray you will walk slowly at night among my remotest wishes

the tibia will lift the winged ankle, the long shape brand permanence

into the tangled steel of the imagination.

the hand unfolds, the arm reaches behind the tree

the fingers rest on bark,

a knee is drawn up and clasped

and on the lowered leg a backbone of seventeen pewter

buckles release a dull reflection of the absent moon.

"what is your wish?

your wishes are forever granted in my sing song voice, a rusting heron cry

your wishes, as you advance through the forest, will be anticipated

in reward for resting where others flee, at the root of this dusty smile."

i never felt the long strides.

i look at the brown carpet of needles at my feet with mirth.

 

INDEX

 

 

Revolver

 

We dreamed they would establish a utopian

colony

Far in the warm South Islands

of the North Pacific.

 

At night,

the different skies

revolved over the tall barrel of the world

and they could see the chasing constellations

shift as the vaults of empty chambers

clicked into place.

 

 

 

Spring

 

Lucky he,

for it might be spring, or a lover

(like time in the trees

a long, long time ago,

water trickles in the morning

over the head of a dead deer,

come to drink,

now it shines.

may the mountain forest

close all around it and guard it

from all sides).

INDEX

 

 

 

 

 

The Stairs of Sleep

 

the space is braced

with black fish ribs,

black stone rosettes

lifted from windows.

a girl holding an orange

turns to me:

how high,

how low,

on which shelf makes

this orange fruit

your order quiet?

 

 

 

We Know Who We Are
(or Daydreaming)

Noon hours wait bowed down,
tangled and heavy branches,
One eye read,
the other waited
(we read with one and thought another).
Atoms of light zigzag through windows
the eyes align.

 

INDEX

 

 

Yellow Ascension

The nocturnal path to heaven is lined
with a scattering of yellow pears,
freckled, glowing shyly in starlight.
At a glance all doors open and close,
flustered, neither admitting or expelling
sorting the air
in advance
of the walking son.

dedicated to my father, Dan Popescu (1934-1997)

INDEX

 

The Glamour of New Orleans

New Orleans...
you are my glass cup,
with gates of handles.
My nose in your clear theater -
this Spring day chop
I'll blow up to the rim,
& rise will fall.
New Orleans...
your backstage wall
I straddle in the night,
holding curtain tips of green,
shimmery yellow, purple,
some crystals hanging just on darkness,
some crystals stolen, wrapped and crushed...
your theater is folded mud,
You beckon.

INDEX

 

the space is braced

with black fish ribs,

black stone rosettes

lifted from windows.

a girl holding an orange

turns to me:

how high,

how low,

on which shelf makes

this orange fruit

your order quiet?

 

 

 

We Know Who We Are

(or Daydreaming)

 

Noon hours wait bowed down,

tangled and heavy branches,

One eye read,

the other waited

(we read with one and thought another).

Atoms of light zigzag through windows

the eyes align.

 

INDEX

 

 

Yellow Ascension

 

The nocturnal path to heaven is lined

with a scattering of yellow pears,

freckled, glowing shyly in starlight.

At a glance all doors open and close,

flustered, neither admitting or expelling

sorting the air

in advance

of the walking son.

 

dedicated to my father, Dan Popescu (1934-1997)