Bio Note: Born and raised in Coney Island, I'm a Coney Island patriot. And squash racquets fanatic. My headstone is to read, "One More Game?" Recent books include: Collected Poems 1954-2004 Schocken Books 2004, and Usable Truths: Aphorisms & Observations, Waywiser Press 2019. My readings of some of my poems can be found HERE.
Was dark things bleeding away beyond their outlines, was walls roaring, closing in, or subsiding in bruised, unaccountable oblivions. Suddenly, the lights came on: growing, he was learning, was learning that bodies and things at ease in their auras must not be touched until they consent, can not touch until you say they can. And everywhere the sun, the early light. And they, with large features, with large limbs, benevolent giants in bright colors on the streets of Brooklyn, moving always in relation, by courtesy and pleasure, separate, with a glowing separation, defined and with a glance of recognition courting the other's sunlit advancing definition, the other's passing wish. Me first! deferred to After you! --- with a tip of the hat or a nod or an arm waving one gallantly on. There was nothing their enormous bodies, their gentle manners had not simplified. Here and there, around a subtle, a consen- suous point, their purposes, their speeding maneuvers and high, heady murmurs met and turned in a dance, a steady pacing: their salutations smile, Dear Sir Madam Child! their partings are signed with open gestures, Sincerely Truly Cordially yours. Distance itself consented, itself was touch. A constellation swarming in the sun in a common, a communing vibration. And drifting at night, going to sleep, he wished, with what little of his will was left, no longer to uphold the gravity of everything. He said they could, and saw them fall and flow together, droplets with little lights starlike, drinking one another mouth to mouth, conjoining and clarified. Under the coiling fluency, on the stones: the body of transparence lying still. Eyes open, lips to its boundlessness, he saw this, too, he saw it through and through.
©2023 Irving Feldman
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