Tuesday, January 27, 2015

FOR NAZIM HIKMET       [Stefanie Bennett]
 
 
No. I won’t talk to the angel. Not yet.
I’m responsible
For lifting the blindfold,
For the sun’s cauterised dart,
For the fountain pen’s fury.
 
He kicked the steeple’s projection
And sat
Cross-legged
In the void he’d discerned
Via a rainbow’s coccyx.
 
Unperturbed, Orion’s belt buckle
Fell, chuckling,
... And cleansed
The sod
From his feet.
 
 
 
THE LAST DAY    [Stefanie Bennett]
 
 
.... After I have conquered some
Of the world’s ills in my fashion.
After I have climber what’s left
Of the parasitical plot and attempted
                               To bring it down.
After the unwanted-wanted posters
Have yellowed and curled so
That my name’s been struck off
The records, the too-public records
And... I’ve greyed a little,
And shrunk a lot,
And my hands have lost
                            Their bitter cures,
Will you, once again, take me in –;
Take me in and not mind
This new stranger
As your lover of old?
 
Once I’ve been pensioned out – yes!
I’m aware that it will happen.
Once it’s known that what seemed
Scholarly and spectacular was no more
                               Than someone held
Hostage by an everyday innocence.
Once I design... the final line
And I’ve nothing left
To do, say, or display -
Will you find it in you to
Forgive the neglect
I shelved for you alone?
Will you
                ... Forget that
I served but one light – ,
And that it was your light?
Will you mind, mind my return
- And keep this
Gypsy poet company?
 
 
 
RESTITUTIONS     [Stefanie Bennett]
 
 
The town-hall clock
Has dropped
Its hands –, it has
A habit
Of doing that.
 
Always –, but
Always,
Repairmen
Mend
... Defeatists.