Every one
gone round—but a half.
13 people at that table.
Mother,
Sicilian; father, Italian (and there—
the difference).
Much’s uncertain
—alas
—for these things idle
are humming.
“Parity,” he wrote:
“was never in existence.”
“But assisted me (this given)
by removing whichever anything
needed to go away.”
And must
convince 12 other people
you’re worthy of that—
(though it
might not be so old
and still desirable) last piece.
One Good Eye¹
Because
I read your poems
can tell
at which
turn
you pause(d)—wiping
a cornered lip
and grinning.
Feigning
humility,
as if
the light
which rests
by the stool
in the yard
might be held
too close
for this.—
That a tally in the yard
and knees, tired,
should take.
I dreamt
(with nervousness)—
saw
you cry.
¹ “One Good Eye” is the title of a portrait of Robert Creeley taken by friend Allen Ginsberg.
Alexander Jorgensen wakes up indulging in queer tirades. Has suffered from existential homelessness while learning to communicate. Attempts to remind himself just how apples once tasted. He lives and works in the People's Republic of China (where he has divided his time since 2002). His work has most recently appeared in Big Bridge, Otoliths, Vibrant Gray, and Kabita Pakshik (translations into Bangla by poet and translator, Subhashis Gangopadhyay). "Letters to a Younger Poet," correspondences with the late Robert Creeley, appears in Jacket magazine #31.
