content: ======= 26feb00 poem for wifefriend 5mar00 smell like a girl 15mar00 touch pad, sa marek (enteractc om) 29mar00 a soft a hard a soft hard sway, nothing fey about it 1jun00 paternoster 7jul00 hands in waiting 1aug00 on this planet all things faraway shimmer blue 27aug00 black 23sep00 tide-girl 2oct00 the grief of an elephant 19jan01 when deed again 20mar00 Cleis (Sappho) poem for wifefriend ----------------------------------------------------------- dear mitten i did my homework. looked through the panes of other people's marriages saw everyday saw radiance we fixed our expectations took aim... cool talk unfolds lonely leanings miss you miss you kiss you -- we stroke each other architecturally a kiss you miss you glass design clearing a way of seeing kid names already picked out -- they are exotic and lovely still kids will poo -- I just hope not in that too puky pink or puky baby blue infant fluff does not have to revolt aren't we doing this for a good reason? astonishing how little there is to say for the load to be taken off our shoulders not a lot got exchanged -- rather -- lots revealed thank you o swifts of instant recognition i presume pornography will stand down to decommission then recycle or is this another utopia? i am excercising again always marveled at madonnas with wide-eyed brats in arms at bus stops at the cashier's how can they i'd be worn out little piglet who's yer daddy? can't shake the inevitability of it all we are two time capsules with stuff inside them nudged into a rattle of a bottle mouthing the label: "don't you just long for that tiny hand to clutch your little finger?" the woman whose feet are resting on a turtle which itself rests on an elephant which works hard and rests off and on is now laboring at taking two she just shook out two -- the two glisten in the palm of her open hand uncombined still slightly apart but destined to be taken together two at bedtime for the rest of her life here we come my sweat pea lean-to medicine here we come Marek Lugowski 26 February 2000 Chicago, Illinois smell like a girl ---------------------------------------------------------- took a whiff inside the bright green plastic bubble sheet in which my medicine comes hospital sunlight on a pretty pretty pretty nurse's hair! dust dancing in a beam of light. smell like a girl. a skein of white opaques: messages in a bottle each carefully dispatched by sam. before sam -- odu. before odu -- sk. i take my medicine with tea i hope to take tea with my medicine pi lo chun. golden gleam. white winter light has yellowed pond water ripples ripens to afternoon blue wind hairplays with it for me you will always bring more -- pledges the water for me you will always bring more -- pledges the wind smell like a boy smell like a girl Marek Lugowski 5 March 2000 Chicago, Illinois touch pad, sa marek (enteractc om) ------------------------------------------------------ i played with your face the mac whirly whirled the software installed it was the seventh basic real player it took forever ample time i traced you r left cheek down to your chin dangled an earing by your right then left ear (you looked muy feliz) i touched you right on the nose delicately follo wed up the curve of your brow the whirly checkered roun ded then upped around the other feather-touched the touchpad -- sweetspot of the sugarloaf went down the right side of your neck and rested in the artery nook right by the warm croo k and the whirly whirled and whirled and whirled then returned to arrow you know, chica linda linda linda it's been a dry and snowless winter like when -- when will you rain? Marek Lugowski 15 March 2000 Chicago, Illinois a soft a hard a soft hard sway, nothing fey about it -------------------------------------------------------- inside a cantaloupe -- blonde smells clean tastes good i like the flesh moist and firm a watery rose-yellowy sheen my hard spoon slides in -- with time unearths the translucent green a diving loon -- my spoon and i talk out loud -- for love mostly with my mouth full of melon fruit full of your sweet name o mitten i am sold on the rough elephant skin cupped roundly in my left hand this could be your heels taken together "It's not an option. we are having children." "yeah, you get the fun parts! they won't be sucking you dry. *smile* you'll have your kids and you won't think i'm pretty anymore because the kids took it all away, leaving me with pouches of skin! :)" i so wish i had you here at my lakeside already to feed mouthfuls to on our vast blonde couch looking out west a couch with professional movers-lopped-off rear casters all the better to kiss you fondle you entwine you the couch itself will enfold you resist giving you up -- all the furniture here welcomes you home so -- will you put your crinkly feet up on arrival vege out fully i will feed you i will play for you some quirky dreamy piano i will kiss your hair -- never tire of touching it you will spin the saddest smiths songs and you will sing the promised lullabies no breeze will sway the silent almonds of candles less light more fondle more light more fondle bluish morning city light will dawn we will slink off to bed to sleep in snuggly consort and if you do not wish to eat blonde melons i will be sad but i won't cry i will eat them myself i will fish for you in the sea of sweet not to sway you -- swaying is a a natural occurrence in windy city hi-rise living hey. hey you. iloveyou. Marek Lugowski 29 March 2000 Chicago, Illinois just saying no to paternalism (includes a paternoster) -------------------------------------------------------- someone told me someone told me someone that i come over pater nalistic but that this is probably nothing i can help i was stung to the quick yes. to the quick. to the quick. dear fire that burns (never forget to burn) this is a prayer (paternoster): i will come over only. i will come over only. i will come over only. only come over. Marek Lugowski 1 June 2000 Chicago, Illinois hands in waiting -------------------------------------------------------- 1. these hands were made for loving and that's just what they'll do and one of these days these hands are gonna skate all over you. 2. sitting in the sauna -- beading up i examine critically my swimming-bleached cuticles my boyish knuckles my strong closely-trimmed finger nails -- the pink and cream stuff a rio friend -- she'd said: doctor's. but these are not doctor's hands not even master's they are just my kind of town hands the it is still early hands meet me at the fountain drop me in the water you could pin me like a butterfly hands clean hands keyboard upon keyboard pentatonic windy city hands hands that instantly bruise and blister in 20 minutes of kayaking into the wind yes of course they harden then yes they do hands which will dry out in torrents of dishwashing hands that yes have amply gone to love before and yes could be called up again like willing and able yankee minutemen to caress -- for your and our freedom -- for hours. but not until they see the whites of your eyes yes the hands that say: just say... i am sitting in the sauna pearling up and smiling at the thought: here is a (little) light (yellow) that often goes out in the middim sauna light hand-to-mouth existence conjures itself unusually calmly -- i am not hardened by these visions of man~ana i shake the thought i turn my hands upside down think photographically think tactically how would these hands stroke your spine or brush your hair behind your ears (both at once) or as helen writes -- touch (delicately) at the pink claw oh helen. it is hot and now i am raining spot spot drip drip drop my nose -- an icicle -- my ears -- a bicycle traversing in slush -- in sluicing weather yes i am melting staining the already dark floor grating and glistening my hands are your hands in waiting the rush and the push -- i opened the door -- yes -- yes even the air has such soft hands in waiting so anxious to love me -- oh my love the hands of blue cool Marek Lugowski 7 July 2000 Chicago, Illinois on this planet all things faraway shimmer blue -------------------------------------------------------- yes i run fantasies on time all the time ghosts of trains on a track overgrown with grass blade-gifting weeds still -- fit for picking seven kinds of wildflowers so. in this particular dream (a 5:28 local to my bed) i unlock the door to my homestead -- our homestead -- i walk in there you are on the couch sitting braced expecting having traveled -- and you say they let me in i am certain that all my life with all the other people -- women mother father sister i have rehearsed this laying grief to rest: i will brush your brow i will cup your face you will brush my brow you will cup my face survival is the point of embrace anything more would kill us. we are the ghost steam-engines of the good old days not yet gone by. drink, my older sister. you are without a little brother -- in polish you would say: bez bratka. i am your sharp blue vase you are my round blue pitcher and the seven kinds of wildflowers will keep if we press them among the leaves of the book where heros sing charms and things actually get done that way yes. have you noticed love? we have been singing. Marek Lugowski 1 August 2000 Chicago, Illinois [rev 2 August] black --------------------------------------------------------- standing leaning -- wood -- the kitchen door eating the last blackberries of the summer thinking -- there's plenty more here and. and? and. the summer is nearly empty and neither one of us smokes so let the black ash fallout of rinsed blackberries be our ceremonial toke. standing leaning -- wood -- the kitchen door poststructurally smoking a bowl of the last blackberries of the summer... now you too can my dear my white mitten my fear my blue duck my muted blackbody. playing a black baby grand steinway and sons school of ed meeting room -- tall glassy sleepy carpethall unlocked afterhours afterovernight hours eight-in-the-morning suddenly the sun shone and played my hands! it welcomed me -- such unexpected inclusion i welcomed it -- choosing the best word accompanying my name how the word fell slick and heavy flicking pretty pretty pretty -- into the black keys into my indian raga into my indian dances into my jazzy stomp. outside -- campus empty east of the sun -- faraway haze west of the moon -- glitter silvered the water and the three fountains in our lagoon swooshed: hi. we too are daughters. a headbanded ponytailed blond woman jogging a crisp-white hat-wearing latino man hosing down the conference center delivery dock as i brought in our corrugated packing across the empty parking lot good morning! returning surveying the trinkling greenery kind and mellow lemon air effervescences of work done recognition of i-am-alive i asked. am i happy or am i unhappy? i asked more than once. and? and. and later i found myself standing leaning -- wood -- the kitchen door one of two. smoking ceremonially a bowl of the last blackberries of the summer. Marek Lugowski 27-28 August 2000 Chicago, Illinois tide-girl --------------------------------------------------- tide-girl, tide-girl you so brite gel or no, you're lovely, quite you are the bee's knees, you rule do you have a vacancy -- for a fool? Marek Lugowski 23 September 2000 Chicago, Illinois the grief of an elephant -------------------------------------------------------- her trunk probes -- fondles moves fondles and again she probes the skull the ridges she kisses the teeth and again and again this is going on for hours in the namibia sun soft-probes -- fondles -- fondles -- the motion repeats the calf dropped some months ago, anthrax the herd returns, water attention piagetian cognitive psychology: these pathmakers are mapmakers these mapmakers make new paths at dusk infrasound formerly unheard by man is listened to for up to six miles bouncing off the warm air, temperature inversion elephant talk elephant talk an elephant is a submarine -- pinging and lis(t)e ning her soft trunk probes fondles fondles, again and again how are you putting in words that what you are saying, elephant mother? no need to ask about kissing the ridges kissing the teeth touching the mouth (the usual greeting when two meet) what are you saying of and to your dead baby daughter. Marek Lugowski 2 October 2000 Chicago, Illinois when deed again ------------------------------------------------- you know like -- when you look in the eye people with a very blue very see-through very glass-like very patterned -- fair -- glass bead of an eye with spokes radiating! and something gets caught under your breath? a threat? of being down-undered, ancestor pain maybe for the kids that never came and went maybe you know like when i look instead on a darkbrown eye into a jew or a druze or a red sea-coastal yemeni or una latina or la mujer espan~ola -- and it's that calming loving nursing kiss-me-in-the-face and. and and! and make me instantly tranquil just by looking? you know the looking? that is the looking i need. the only time i -- the only only only time i think about jewishness and -- genericness -- what a mess that eye specialness. do you suppose we have fear in a little cooking flame a pilot light not too bright about as bright as a spasm of a calf? your erudite russian face at halfmoon of a streetlight your warm homey honey delicate _blask_ in the amber dusk of sodium i won't describe. that curve. that look. that whet of wet. yes i could be married to a grayblue eye -- my father's apple people. so, darling, yell to put my hands up on my head, entwine them march out like a woman -- out of the rune country or a tarot deck of cards or a coffee-toffee live one smelling of egypt, of india a water cistern on her head and proclaim me walking dead for you, sister -- ojczyzna -- duch -- blask. fatherland -- spirit -- shine. Marek Lugowski 19 January 2001 Chicago, Illinois One companion poem, not mine, but posted to rap with this dedication, so I suppose, it is an affiliated poem: for my wifefriend Cleis -------------------------------------------------------- Sleep, darling I have a small daughter called Cleis, who is like a golden flower I wouldn't take all Croesus' kingdom with love thrown in, for her --- Don't ask me what to wear I have no embroidered headband from Sardis to give you, Cleis, such as I wore and my mother always said that in her day a purple ribbon looped in the hair was thought to be high style indeed but we were dark: a girl whose hair is yellower than torchlight should wear no headdress but fresh flowers Sappho 2600 or so years ago, island of Lesbos, Greece translated from the Aeolic Ancient Greek by Mary Barnard _Sappho_, University of California Press, 1984, ISBN 0520011171 (my recommendation) http://www.sappho.com/poetry/historical/sappho.html ...bio + to see how various translators convey her poetry Cleis = her only child, daughter