Gaurav Sagar’s Reviews > Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962 - 1972 > Status Update

CORNERSTONE

I cannot speak with my voice, but I speak with my voices.

Those eyes were the entrance to the temple, for me, a wanderer who loves and dies- I would've sung until merging with the night, until dissolving naked at the opening of time

CORNERSTONE

I cannot speak with my voice, but I speak with my voices.

Those eyes were the entrance to the temple, for me, a wanderer who loves and dies- I would've sung until merging with the night, until dissolving naked at the opening of time.

PATHS OF THE MIRROR

XV.
The pleasure of losing yourself in the image foreseen. I rose from my body and went out in search of who I am. A pilgrim of my self, I have gone to the one who sleeps in the winds of her country.
....
................

XVII.
Something falling in the silence. My final words was I, but by this I meant the luminous dawn.

BEING

You keep watch from this room
where the ominous shadow is your own.

No silence here,
only phrases you try not to hear.

Signs on the high walls
tell of a beautiful distance.

(Don't let me die
without seeing you again.)

SHADOW FROM DAYS TO COME

Tomorrow
they'll dress me in ash for the sunrise,
they'll fill my mouth with flowers.
I'll learn to sleep
inside the memory of a wall,
on the breath
of a dreaming animal.

It's my voices that are singing
so the others can't sing
those figures gagged grey in the dawn
those dressed in the rain like desolate birds.

There is, in this waiting
a rumor of breaking lilac
And there is, when the day arrives
a division of the sun into the smaller black suns
And at nights, always
a tribe of mutilated words
looks for refuge in my throat
so that they won't sing
the ill-fated, the owners of silence.

POEM

You choose the site of the wound
where we speak our silence.
You make of my life
this ceremony that's much too pure.

POEM

You choose the site if the wound
where we speak our silence.
You make of my life
this ceremony that's much too pure.