Vocation

So here it is, from the beginning
barely evening & the drawing
dark pulls shades across still
& snowy hill-lands; the mountains
are blue simple stones from here,
on the edge, the knife befalling
the swift grain field eastlings
and foothills, giant's bellies
coaxing persian food far from
the lands that perfumed-lie
with jasmine upon pulses
(my fingers are still saffron-stained)
where I sit looking sideways
through glass windows, january
is longer than any other, but
swift and half finished, but silent
white, cold; my backyard winter is home
to one small, hopefully fertile rabbit.
I'm no Hercules, but a quiver & a thigh,
without any arrows, no gods here
but the froth of many years to come,
I have shouldered, (or will have)
things never sundered by cruelty
or despair, paving roads (a craving
for warmth & longer breath) proven questions,
rambling knots & possessions breaking
erect, open petals: the brunt of light
enters through the hands, when they are open.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

More personal than many of its predecessors--indeed, we are told explicitly "I'm no Hercules"--but there is the vivid imagery, the rolling flow, and the virtuoso control of the language that is the halmark of your work. As lovely as "open petals" or "the brunt of light".

[Doctor JKC]

I live for saffron.
Glass windows are so much better than parchment.
I prefer steel myself.
Because there are not so many open hands.
We could have had Utopia and will again.

So good,
Jack/Sanand

[Cool Handless Luke]

Brilliant writing that inspires introspection. Finely woven and with great flow to it. Going into my favorites.

[Mark]

Your references to jasmine and saffron lead me to believe that your protagonist is leaving Pakistan or the Kashmir, headed toward Nepal/Tibet/China ("no gods here...") on the train ("looking sideways through glass windows...") following some sort of forced labor situation, yearning for pleasures (meat) too-long denied ("hopefully-fertile rabbit"). Regrettably, though your words are beautiful, I was not able to grasp the bigger picture, merely these (probably erroneous) snippets. What ought I to look for, that I might appreciate your craftsmanship more completely?

[Wicahpi]

beautifully crafted...
there used to be 100s of rabbits here
on my property, now they are mostly all gone.
I enjoyed this poem.

[Marie Anzalone]

I read this through about 8 times before deciding I could leave a review. Sometimes, the best review I can give is the sense the piece left in me, and such is the case here. I sensed I was sitting on a train, leaving behind one life to start another. That I watched the snowy January landscape in the hills of Persia pass by, imaginign the lives of the workers. That I have worked on a saffron farm, and now it is time for something else. Seasonal labor, perhaps. That as night falls, I draw teh curtains lust enough to let the shining Howling Wolf Moon in, the brightest of the year.

Even if my interpreation is wrong, I still found it to be a stunning piece that made me stop and think. Thank you.

[Emily B]

the brunt of light . . . such a fine vocation

and a lovely poem