Ruth Lepson
relaxed
as damask
ask anyone
it
was
beige
day
third
the
fourth
one
came
saw
In memory of Steve
Lacy, jazz saxophonist & composer,
who set Creeley & many other poets to music
who set Creeley & many other poets to music
eased away from the squeeze play so no more squealing no
more squiggles so no more squib kicks or brackets or
brambles or crawfish and after dinner just a squad room
squelching squalor no sputter, squamation or sprocket
not a sprinkler or even a sprig no more gigs no great spotlight
nevermore a spree just a sprag not some spunky no more
donkey just some wheels not a single springtail or springhead
in sight just spring fever early at night nor sprawl not a
spokesman or a spondee left a split second nor one spireme
not even a spire nothing splashy never splendid not a
spinnaker no brown nor a prism stilled spicatto no sphinx
spellbound or a sphere no more spells spats or chaps or
spasm not another carnival and no more of that great mocha
java
we’re all small
try not to know
juncos meander in the snow
are you listening
there’s a crow
it’s mid-winter
cozy
pretend I’m near
you were once
and I am now
(time shows us how)
when
it was like getting a cat
thinking it would act like a dog
it was like walking up to a skyscraper
pushing against it with your palms
driving down the highway under a cloudless sky
getting nailed by a hailstorm
it was like regressing but with passion
sex without a body
it was walking down the highway at dusk
getting a letter from one of the few
you really admire
and never hearing from her again
it was when
| and if you could
get the proportions right the world would look real the purples close by the mountain ridges softening the landscape and in between the wind-blown vineyard the lines of wind-breaking poplar the silver brown olive trees looking long and plainly you’ll imagine there are other mountains over there today you’ll discover a valley or two seeing something new your heart will riot and rest orange blossoms and white and underground and in the sky what you can’t know or be stopped by no thought is worth this why have ideas of worth when all’s equal under the sun |
today the late day sunlight
on the dark green leaves lightens them
once you were a girl
and hope was an apple
beautiful boys hung around
each corner
you stayed up all night looking at
the prettiest
his wheat color curls at the side of his neck
the lightest thing
in this little world until
last night when thich nhat hanh
sits like a tall shadow
flickering with light and
choruses sing
each face a renaissance portrait
deep in itself
there it is
the entire world
deep in itself
the wind rises
the soothing of the sun
childhood again --
though age moves in --
one final time is the same time
don’t try to sound like
someone else
we all sound
the same in another dimension
I can allow you to
stay in your own way
now I see a little of what is
there’s no more hope
just what is
no more your words
which meant nothing
they can't say
still you feel it
not sorry to cry now
knowing it will end
you the world my friend
Copyright © 2014 Ruth Lepson
Ruth
Lepson is poet-in-residence at the New England Conservatory of
Music, where she often collaborates with musicians. Her new book with
Pressed Wafer, Ask Anyone, will be accompanied by musical
settings of some of the poems. Her other books are Dreaming in Color
(Alice James Books), Morphology, with photographer Rusty
Crump, and I Went Looking for You (BlazeVOX). Her poems have
appeared in Jacket2, Agni, EOAGH, Big Bridge, Let the Bucket Down,
SpoKe, Ping Pong, and many other journals.