gradually the world- new and selected poems, 1982 – 2013 by burt kimmelman book preview

7/29/2019 Gradually the World- New and Selected Poems, 1982 2013 by Burt Kimmelman Book Preview

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GRADUALLY THEWORLD:

NEW AND SELECTED POEMS,1982-2013

BURT KIMMELMAN

B L A Z E V O X [ B O O K S ]Buffalo, New York


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Gradually the World: New and Selected Poems, 1982 2013 by Burt KimmelmanCopyright 2013

Cover art, Transition, by Basil KingInterior art, drawings from The Hudson River Schoolseries, by Basil King

Art photos by Ani Berberian

Author photo by Diane Simmons

Interior design and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza

Published by BlazeVOX [books]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced withoutthe publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.

Printed in the United States of America

First EditionISBN: 978-1-60964-134-4Library of Congress Control Number: 2013932522

BlazeVOX [books]131 Euclid AveKenmore, NY 14217

[email protected]

publ i she r o f we i rd l i t t l e books BlazeVOX [ books ]

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23

Lips

I shave my face and think of how this act,in the eyes of a boy, is what makes hima man, this ritual, the razor's edge

scraping skin and a careless cut wellingblood, this strange pleasure. I pull my cheek taut

with a fingertip, then examine mycontorted mouth. I see there my father'slips, for a moment, thin and primly closed,and my mother's full lips, parted slightlyto say something against his indifference,perhaps, only to think better of it.

Yet somehow in the mirror my lips aremy own, even with my parents' facesbefore me, and their delicate mouths mostof all, as they were when, a small child,I used to look up at them, listeningto what they were saying to me. Now their

words are my words, this poem, their kisses,too, my kisses, come of that union longago. I never saw them kissing, though,never an embrace, and in their old age,I with a daughter, they perished apart.

I found my dead father, his head restingon a pillow, in his death mask his lipswrenched sideways, twisted as if, in wantingto utter a final thought, he had soughtan elusive breath of air. My mother,dead, was held in a dream of a deep lake,one morning in her bed, a dried trickleof blood at the corner of her mouth, herlips joined in the fullness of silence. Whatin the end did I owe them but to leavethem each a final kiss on their cold flesh?


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24

Early Morning, Sea of MarmaraJanuary 2012

Clouds over the dark hills,birds in twos and threes cross

the water as slowly

as the ships below them,float on air on their waythrough the streaks of new light.


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Cup of Tea, 5 AM

No reasonto wake upearly, no

light yet inthe window only that

the day hasbegun thoughin darkness.

I switch onthe kitchenlamp, set the

flame underthe kettle later sip

my tea, hotand harsh, and

watch the dawn.


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26

After the Rain, Autumn

Blue flowers bowover the walkafter rain leaves,

too, have fallen.


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27

Train to IzmirJanuary 2012

Low hanging cloud cover,plowed fields, squat trees, crouched stone

station where we entera town, electricallines, satellite TVantennas, a distant

minaret, hills eitherside of the platform, gravemarkers among tall grass,a circling river, bridgeover it, half-builthomes nearby we peer in.


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28

El PaseoFestival of the Three KingsBarcelona, 5 January 2011

The brightness of solstice evening

and the procession of tableauxthrough the street, the night of the ThreeKings, and the only way to getfrom here to there is underground

where musicians play songs hundredsof people stop to sing beforetheir trains arrive to take them home.

But Diane and I veer awayto La Rambla, even tonight,for ourpaseo before

dinner, the crowds here on the move,many people arm in arm asthey walk, above them white lights strungin trees that front the buildings stonefacades along the grand boulevard.

The cafs are everywhere, chairsand tables and diners, andmimes in their costumes portrayingthe fascinations of our lives later we stroll through a courtyardby a church where there are peopleadmiring a Christmas crche the days siesta long over.


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29

First Hot Day in April

Tulips reachfor the sun,

petals splayed

wide apartin ecstasy.


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30

York Beach, Maine, Early Morning26 June 2012

Slate gray water, whitespray on waves, foam left

on shore, dark cloud stretchedacross the vast sea,I think of that far

edge where I must end and there the lighthouse,a black rift in dawn,perpendicular,joining earth and sky.


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32

Afternoon, Istanbul

Gulls bob on water, baskin sun ships too, not faroff the Marmara shore,

waiting their turn to moveup through the Bosphorus,then into the Black Sea.

gradually the world- new and selected poems, 1982 – 2013 by burt kimmelman book preview

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