Sunday, November 29, 2009

Heaven #1


I want to write something that’ll forgive everything

* * *

So what if it was raining—the vines on the
wooden fence had the shakes etc.

* * *

Awnings were everywhere on the margin of existence:
storefronts, eyes suspended in space etc.

* * *

Were they gray were they green?

* * *

The aroma of homemade ravioli

* * *

Here we are in a country the train tracks stitch together

* * *

Yellow raincoats reeking cod liver oil & isolation which has no
        odor whatever

* * *

The stars hidden back of the nimbus clouds & tangerine sun
they were driving up to New York at 11:00 p.m. unlike us

* * *

there are merely an infinite number of ways to say
goodbye like saying goodbye

* * *

The cigarette-smoke gray curtains the actual smoke more
        blue than white

* * *

Max sporting her cat’s-eye shades gone iridescent

* * *

I want to write something that’ll forgive everything

* * *

You could be happy for an hour or two, maybe sleep someplace—
        there’s a
weeping willow & picnics that never quite get off the ground

* * *

Here we are in a country the train tracks stitch together &
there are merely an infinite number of ways to say


Jack Hayes
© 1990-2009

9 comments:

Mairi said...

I'm trying to get a nandle on the narrator and I'm wondering if perhaps more than the vines on the fence have the shakes. The fracturing of thought, the dislocation caused by the abrupt stops and starts the vivid, almost surreal imagery all suggest someone not quite recovered from some kind of mind altering. I particularly like the lines the yellow raincoat smelling of isolation, which has no odour at all.

Rose Marie Raccioppi said...

"The aroma of homemade ravioli" - that's the line...

willow said...

Heavenly, John.

The line that jumped out at me was, of course, the willow one..."weeping willow & picnics that never quite get off the ground".

I'm gonna love these Sundays!

Dave King said...

These had me absorbed from the beginning. All kinds of connections suggested themselves as I read. Anchor points for a semantic web.

John Hayes said...

Hi Mairi, Rose Marie, Willow & Dave

Mairi: These are a bit of an experiment (there are 4 total)--they're cut & paste jobs from old unfinished poems. I've always liked fragmentary writing, & this is a further contribution to same!

Rose Marie: Glad you liked it, & thanks for stopping by.

Willow: Of course that would be your fave! Thanks.

Dave: Yes, I think anchor points for a semantic web puts it as well as I could. So glad you liked this. As I said to Mairi, there will be three more scattered thru the manuscript.

Poetikat said...

(I knew Willow would say that!)

The fragments of an unfettered mind.

I love the way the last line trails off into eternity.

Kat

John Hayes said...

Hi Kat: Thanks! As you may have seen in my responses, there will be more of these to come.

Sandra Leigh said...

John, I can't believe I didn't comment on this when you first posted it. Something obviously distracted me. It wasn't the "willow" line that grabbed me (though I liked it) - it was the poignancy of the very first line, and the fact that it recurs, lighting the entire poem(or collection, if you prefer).

There's a little present waiting for you over at The Turtle.

John Hayes said...

Hi Sandra:

Yes, that line is pretty important--in this poem, all lines are equal, but some are more equal than others (I guess.) Thanks for the bouquet. I'll have it up on Days of Wine & Roses tomorrow!