Meal Pause (or Invocation)


Once removed beat, one in the line of seconds
Closing out the fast, only one inserted
Moment makes a mount of the breaking dish, charms
Feasting from fasting.



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Notes about the following poem, Gift of Ungiven:

'I'll mention that Gift of Ungiven is a quite dear and personal poem for me, but the refrain rests on a triple pun, two facets of which are scientific, as fitting when I think of my father. Because it takes a bit of care in reading I've been reluctant to submit it anywhere I'd think it would be assessed by someone wearily flicking through a slush pile.'        -Uche Ogbuji, in an email to Firestone Feinberg, August 2014
     
Ogbuji--title meaning great yam farmer (proper Dioscorea yams, not sweet potatoes); yams are an extremely high energy crop, difficult to rear and a prestige food among the Igbo as well as many other nations.

Ebubedike—Igbo title and descriptor, literally "aura of a great man"
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Gift of Ungiven
      -for my father-

Who turned my eyes to matter and to space?
Whose action at a distance turned my eyes?
Whose meridian crossing flagged my prime?
Who was never particle, ever field?
Whose magnetic induction resounded
Through clock and watch harmonized in chime?
Whose impetus propelled my day device?
Loss at gain through space: regained in time.

And all around my tree are men, grown men;
These watches tick to loud surcease of gear;
Smiths puzzle over reasons for this rhyme.
Ogbuji titles harvest brim of barn,
Ebubedike ranks our ranging poles--
The losses mount, yet we report no crime,
No tell-tale spring of ire unmerited.
Loss at gain through space: regained in time.

Who turned my eye to incident and doom?
Who taught hysteresis through weighted act
And slew hysterias in pantomime?
These starred scales catch on their celestial pawls
And use all energies to steady heat
As cosmic storms break off for balmy climes;
Do these same trade winds arrow on my sons?
Loss at gain through space: regained in time.





Between Faerie Worlds


The résumé of heaven's stars,
Our creature names of beatitude;
When storytimes exhaust our stores
And virtue settles us for food.

Our creature names of beatitude
Each echo in the world below;
The motions of the human trade
Leave good and evil where we go.

When storytimes exhaust our stores
The books go sacred, beggar the fold,
Entice them with forbidden stews--
To mark them for the pluck and scold.

When virtue settles us for food,
We starve, so we hallucinate--
Cherub, imp, all-hallow feud,
And nonce of pre-determined fate.





July 4th at Arapahoe Basin


Massifs of the divide cut into delicate
Sky with their gnomic, craggy brown.
Settled deep into Colorado's legend
I look out from this million-year-old crown.

The wizened dignity of ice patch streaks
Ignores the upstart clouds of matching white.
Settled deep into Colorado's legend
What mythic zero summer at this height!

The titan expanse below is tempered
By tall thickets of scrabbling, hard won green.
Settled deep into Colorado's legend
What is the magic engine of this scene?

Hardy terrain well symbolized by scree
Baring its loose-tooth shards of angled grey.
Settled deep into Colorado's legend
What mountain gris-gris ghosted me away?

The noon angle of high infinity
Dons a body of hot flame, unfiltered blue.
Settled deep into Colorado's legend
Set in the god-aged fastness of this view.

July 4th at Arapahoe Basin was originally published at Colorado Poet's Center