-------------------------------------- Early Poems 1981-1983 Ezra Oz Lunar Eclipse The Dream of the Sea The Garden of Eden The Fool and the Fork The Beauty and the Thief The Tower of Babel Brain Novella of Doubt #2 Dusk Night Dawn The Four Corners of the Earth... Paradise Cyclone --------------------------------------- Lunar Eclipse 1. turn tide your parted lips trees falling like the rain turn your insides insides out turn good weather bad the star-burned gestures of our carelessness when asked our diction is poor our hearts like nailed chameleons hang like jupiters over flowering moons we wait for its return its un-reluctant certainty its minor inuction as it closes its eye and finally sleeps brief instant and every morning we will awake to its long eclipse called day and each day shall register our imprints in the passing fantasies of clouds 2. after the eclipse while still all the people were running for cover while still after the red strollers sweating mothers dragged their pregnancies like carcasses across the street chained the family dog to the bumpers of parked cards to all the frightened harbor pilots who watched the moon disappear to all the brave little warriors who took keen advantage of its darkness to all the elderly but still upstanding citizens of this fine nation I have proposed moments of bestiality followed by millions of remorse I have advanced cloud-like formations followed by days of dream-warmth 3. so where where are those rivers that are giving all you people life i guess i've lost my way something's missing stolen like the key to the cupboard taken by wandering gypsies put in their violins i'm lost the city spins bedspins the people drink wine and pour the excess out upon the ground the ground springs forth with fountains at them and they like kids play in the city fountains 4. to the left the city walls are well guarded and above the route the moon takes draws no resistance and we we keep ticking like falling bells their calling calling for resistance the irreversible pull of gravity bears no resistance and we, falling, resistance less all falling into the earth falling into the sun falling into the stars left by our limited imaginations resistance less and therefore unbounded our loves in the irreversible time of time and falls of gravity gravity falls and we follow oh so very obediently chatting all the time 5. and so turn tide if parted lips of flowers turned gold of partings light as the dying of butterflies ending here alive again sober and sane and within arm's reach of reason sharp razor and reason stands so so so uselessly by to watch me caccoon in to navigating the reasonless ends of all reason 1981, Boston Mass. --------------------------------- The dream of the sea the dream of the sea which did not know the shore was approaching, is the climb to the sky to avoid the sand. But the sea is heavy and the sky not so strong, so the sea tumbles among the pieces of broken sky. The sand, everforgiving. lets the white sea slip back into the green sea. And the shore believes this all to be a night's loving caress. 1981 Paris ------------------------------------ The Garden of Eden I was dying when they found the missing piece Two birds of four purple winds carried the piece in their beaks I saw only for a moment the part as it fell to me The moment created by the white underwings that terminated The view of the part that was to enter. I arose myself through the whites of their wings I had no chains I hear no master But I immediately set about Writing down the names of all the animals. At night I counted the heart-beats I did this by Remembering one start for every heart-beat And when I had placed a star with every heart I heard I was done. Then, By day I counted the animals By Night I counted the stars. When again I was through I found, There were two more heart-beats than animals One more heart-beat than mine. So I took myself far into the desert Then upon a mountain to listen to only that which is within me Strange birds came, That I hadn't yet named With hearts I hadn't yet counted And they heard I could not fly They tore out half my hearts Which beat inside. Now I only had one heart, But again, I was dying. And now comes the part of the tail, Which is hard to describe How a snake with healing oil Coiled up inside, And the scar healed so fast That it never escaped - That part of the serpent That meant to leave last. That is why today I have, Within one chest, The heart of man and the tail of a snake. And of the birds that saved me, From what they ate of me, They came to nearly resemble me. And of the purple winged birds, They may still be in the garden to which I have never since returned. 1982 Paris ------------------------------------ The Fool and the Fork There once was a hungry fool, who found a fork Only such a fork could have made A meal of beef from a cow resting in the shade, Or from a pig, a meal of pork, Our hungry fool had found his fork. But his hunger was not abated, No matter how many meals he tried The head of a cow, the tail of a pig, jutting from his side No matter how many meals he awaited The poor fools hunger was never abated. If he threw the fork at this feet, That was the meal the fork would find, The fork it acted of its own mind And of his leg the fool would eat, If the fork was thrown at his feet. And if he threw it further away, Land it in a tree instead, The fool would have this jutting from his head Inside him, whole, each hunger would stay, It was impossible to throw this fork away. So the fool put the fork in a pot, And heated the fork till it was red hot, But melt the fork, he could not But cool the fork, he could not No matter how much water he put in the pot. And even a lake could not quench its thirst, It would dry the lake, make a cloud so lart that rain would burst, And the fool was left worse off than at first. So in the ocean, the fork the fool would drown, And he called the largest animal there could be, In the deepest, largest expanse of sea, It was a whale that he had found To drag the fork to the ocean's ground. And this is what the fool said: "O great whale, heed what I say, For you will never be hungry from this day, If you take this fork and drag it down, Plant it in the deepest ocean's ground, The ocean will give you all you need, If what I say, you will heed." And so ... the whale opened his mouth, The fool let the fork sail. Until that day, there never had been seen, A wave on the ocean, calm and serene, But now there's this fork in the belly of a whale, Who would eat himself, and from what he ate, he became, So the poor whale would rest forever the same, Except every stroke of the fork, which makes a great wave By the thrust of the tail of the whale who feels great pain. So a hungry fool sits by the side of the shore, With his head in his hands hearing the end of the tail Of the fork and the fool and the pain stricken whale. And with a fool's hunger he always wants more, Of the never ending sound by the side of the shore. 1982 Paris ---------------------------------------------------- The Beauty and the Thief When she was young, she was beautiful Her hair was clear, made from spun glass, which sang like violins when the comb was drawn past Her nipples were tourqoise, Cut so perfectly from the stone, That at a certain angle they were transparent, And the inside of her body was shown Her blood had a strong and bitter taste, Her beauty grew with her age, Now she is so beautiful that any who sleeps with her, Would die. Now there's a man with a list just as bizarre, Of things he has sacraficed to call loves from afar, A cane so fine of wood and bone It would lead the bearer to his home A box in metal, miraculously cast, It could speak the man's mind When the wind would plow past, Spun glass whose sting would linger And one by one he had sacrificed every finger. And it's clear that For this most beautiful wife he was to sacrifice his life. As for their child there really isn't too much to say, It was ugly and, fortunately for the mother who had to shut herself away, A thief of great talent. Like that he supported her, Being the only human not seduced by her. But it must be added It was no accident he'd find - ( For a thief of such great talent has higher designes ) - A fine cane of bone and wood, Which for many months alone it stood And then he stole a metal box which said, "I am to be added as the head". And from the glass the hair was spun, The hair which covers the head, the chest, the arms and then, The fingers were added one by one. And so ... Somewhere is living these strange three, The beauty and the pure spirit you never will see But perhaps someday you will be robbed by the thief, Whose treachery and ugliness Are far beyond belief. 1982 Paris ------------------------------------- The Tower of Babel When angels awake, it is like the man who lays his hands in sleep. We have stopped our work and descended the tower. ------------------------------------------------- Brain Novella of Doubt #2 evening's wild flower opens heavenward at blue close of day evening's flower growing heavy wild violets ruby red make a chain around her head ruby violets royal purple bring her pearls in sheets of oyster my angle walks, with steps on fallen petals of an opal rose over water drifting, is coming. my breath shatters her. thus I must voyage outside of breathing life, outside of navigatable spheres, from where I took flesh as my gold and blood as my ruby, to where await is action and obedience, domination. so tell me: how do you know whither you go, when nobody sees the breath I breathe? and what do you call the thin edge between air and the ocean profound, when it is a door through which pass the drowned? Imperceptible tears in the fabric of air, as after the knifing of water by lightning. Here pass silver memory fish, emerge fabulous message birds. 1982-83 Bordeaux, Italy ------------------------------------------ Dusk the moon it comes to save the dusk, it fills our eyes with grey moon dust, the sun it drowns in the blood it lays, on azur ocean with ruby rays. in this space between moon and sun, where tided waters are too still to run, is signed his name by each crest of wave, this faceless boy who now comes to bath. Sept 1983 Paris. ------------------------------------------------------ Night liquid running waves o' lake spread water back push t'or moon's reflection, night dressed bride in water spread black. 1982 Paris ------------------------------------------- Dawn There's a million rooms in the palace where a rainbow is held captive. Violette room, where a cyclone draws energies into spiral around a thread of violette light. Pink, where the walls reflect the fucian glow of a rose burning in acid. Yellow, where spinning yellow disk collide, shatter and regroup in air, collide, shatter and regroup till light bouyant dust floats away in air. Dawn herself has led me through these chambers, to her bedroom, where, upon a million tiled floor, escaping light plays, interwinding, writes spectral poetries. Or, dawn me given by covenant, my love, with rainbow fashioned sword cuts in prismatic logic night the too long, the too profound. 15 Feb. 1983, Pisa, Italy --------------------------------------- The four corners of the earth ... The four corners of the earth, united by a single queen, began to change. The planet, had it begun to expand? Were the waters beginning to recede? And to the north, where the earth split and lava streams of silver and iron poured forth, there the tribes learned fire. And there they became craftsmen and warriors and knew to work metal and harness fire. To the West - the rains fell. And the once dry world grew in opulant jungle. Vegitables and fruits were harvested and from the seas, the songs of tribesmen called the multicolored fish to their nets. The cool splendor of wide-leafed shade covered the kings and the kings of kings in their pyrimid palaces. Eastward the winds blew. And like a cool hand passing across a face, the clouds were pushed back and the patterns of the stars in the sky became clear, like a cool hand passing across a face that clears vision but sends passions rising into the head. Here they became mathematicians and poets, stand almost defenseless on the rocks on the bare edge of sea in the inblowing wind and outgoing tide. Southward, nothing changed. And the tribes were sad. For them, the winds blowing down from the east were heated and filled with sand. Their swirling patterns brought the smell of sadness. And the waters from the west cut their dry earth in ravinous rivers and not life but the bitter taste of sadness flowed. At night the stars above were reflected in the fires of the Northern camps where the silver-smiths toiled, where man ascended to sky or sank into waters like luminous fish of night. This they found incomprehensible. And to the queen of the world the people brought their sorrow, and emptied before her handfuls of tears upon the dry sand floor of her palace. The tears mixed with sand and inside this clay she wraped herself. When the others arrived to overthrow the palace, the queen was already gone. Sleeping inside her tomb of sand and tears, she's carried deep into her people's land. Awaken her, O' people of the south, your tears shall innodate the world. 18 May 1983 Barcelona Spain ------------------------------------------------- Paradise In paradise the sun burns your skin, there are no shadows, under trees you find no shade. The giant shadows are cast across the clouds and the light comes from everywhere. Night and fog wander random. No rule contains them, no pattern or inertia can rule in paradise. If a stone is dropped it is not sure where or when it will fall. In paradise the hands confuse with the feet, the mouth with the anus, all becomes its mirror and reversible, fishes swim in pairs above and below water, memory and clairvoyance intertwine, the sense of present is lost. The stars dcange constellation constantly but it is not possible to realize this. There can be no true love in paradise. Le paradis n'est pas artificial. There are only 2 days to the week in paradise. Noah is rendered insane by the endlessness of his quest. In paradise, they say that the world is flat. It is more than flat. It is a knofe spiralling a needle lost in the pocket a beggar. In paradise it is impossible to be alone, but you have no family either. If your wife is not torn from you by a strong water current, she drowns in your blood after conception. Your children love you for an instant, they return from the playground strangers. And soon it is impossible to remind them who you are. There is no size in paradise, and after fatigue, everything seems bigger than it is. The only relief is sleep, and sleep only relieves fatigue. No one ever dies from paradise. 1983 Leon, Spain --------------------------------------------------- Cyclone The finger of the cyclone is the hand of god. Spun from the air of a still day, air balanced eye within eye, overseeing the fabric of our gentle lives. Air of a calm day, and if in this calm day there runs a gentle wind, it could remind me of the shimmer of golden hair when the judging angel nods absolution. Between the air inside the cyclone and the air outside is spun a single thread, is wrapped in spiral pattern around the formless hand, and top joins bottom in a single loop of a single substance where nothing is unbalanced, where nothing is consumed. The cyclone's finger is the hand of god, action without substance, substance without form. And who guides the cyclone's finger? What guides the hands of men? Who is guilty? Who is guilty? Who choose the weave of this thread? Weaving thread without substance by our lives without form? From the tip of its finger, the cyclone regards us with an eye of air. The same air which on a still day looks at us serenely, does not know to ask of who is guilty? and who is guilty? 1983 Barcelona -----------------end of early poems--------------------------