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Shearsman 53 |
Christopher Gutkind
Two Poems |
Wintering
The offerings of the
conversations
around us, the wind in the life of friends
who skate off inside you, the winter
traffic easing further into its convulsion
of beginning speech, this might be a
night I have if I need it, this might make
my next waking day a birthday of the
possible, of the whispers and oil of daylight
dreams, for everything still hangs from
the words we make to settle us, weather us,
explore against in contagions of delight,
of despair, of the beauty of a face between
want and reply, you there drifting in the
air that breathes me, you in a slow race with
yourself I'll never see.
Too
heart
lifting enough
being called
its best sensation
needs ticking
the unseen exchanging
always having
a special look
even the splits facing
drawing warm
lips up
releasing
relieving a question
the wonder never tired of
all the whiles as well
accepted
past enough
and starting
cut from variousness
fear of sustaining
coursing
feeding itself
carelessly and carefully
hearts of
mind coming
after ever
corners nearly torn
it is shimmering
through the stretch
in calls
called to
everything almost
around
Copyright © Christopher Gutkind, 2002
Christopher
Gutkind grew up mostly in Montreal and then
lived in London for many years. Currently he lives in Berkeley,
California,
where
he works as a librarian. He has the odd poem published in a magazine
and hopes to have a collection out before too long. His poem Wintering
(see top of this page) appeared in truncated form in the hardcopy
version of this issue, the last two lines going astray due to
a layout
error. The poem is printed correctly here, and reappears in full
in the hard-copy version of issue 54. |
