Enslin - Weather Within

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                           THE WEATHER WITHIN

                           by Theodore Enslin




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                        In Memory     In Homage

                             George Oppen

                               1908-1984


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               out of scale     the consciousness 
               brave instance of its life 
               flickers    constant    inconstant 
               make and brake    the engine 
               evident    by degrees 
               announces clearing
                                    seasonal.







                            []




               The given,
               which has concerned us, 
               no longer strikes so deep.  
               Age is more adventurous: 
               That is its gift 
               to us, and from us.
               We might almost wish 
               that it were not so. 
               Old age is poised --
               rarely takes that last flight 
               above the peaks 
               that youth tried to scale 
               in vain.




                            []






               That one
                        within me
               within you
               asks a question
               of weathers
               those that cut
               those that heal
               nights for rest
               before the dawning.





                            []








               A picture from within    a 
               very simple picture --
               not that simplicity 
               is always the answer.
               It is necessary that some things 
               grow complicated and various, 
               although the roots are simple.  
               Beginnings are within us.
               There, they had best be simple
               figures in quick   sure   strokes.




                            []







               What I recall
               is not instant --
               not the instant.
               It was many years ago, 
               and I may not remember 
               all of it --
                              but parts 
               that superimpose 
               between myself, 
               and this, which is a mirror 
               -not the self-the same.  
               Merely what I recognize 
               one face to another.





                            []





               The air    how light it is 
               wind among trees   a gentle 
               sussurus    a word exact 
               as leaves   but air so light 
               the voices   of men and women 
               are like that   a sussurus 
               within    a remembrance 
               of weather    the light of winter 
               flaring abruptly    out 
               the heart beats on   in darkness.




                            []




               Whenever    and sometimes
               the few limits bounding 
               imagination which is only 
               free enough to mark 
               the design of its consciousness 
               a will.   I hear the voices.  
               What I hear grows to 
               clearing    what is not there 
               not understood.



                            []




               Not disengaged    exactly
               there are always connections 
               which keep me in touch 
               with others   they are tenuous 
               as those   filament threads 
               that spiders send out 
               one clear still day in summer 
               shimmering   and catching 
               flnally     anchored    each one to its 
               proper web.



                            []




               It is not that by talk 
               we have said more 
               or less than was intended.  
               We have said.
                              From what we have 
               said    other things have been possible 
               or have happened where possibility 
               has flourished.   There is no good 
               or evil involved    as consciousness 
               what is within the talk 
               that sounded indication 
               is amoral and aloof 
               always to be treated with care 
               with respect for what may 
               may not be beyond us.



                            []



               There is no story worth 
               the telling of a story 
               no thing we can know 
               more than the weight of water 
               that passes by    its depth 
               either a river    or the rain 
               driving in   on a storm 
               all wind that carries.
               
               It is myself that rages
               out of a fury    just and unjust.




                            []



               How fortunate the man 
               who is just    I have never 
               met him    mixed with 
               degrees of shade    I will 
               allow the good to bring him closer.  
               Let me see him!
               



                            []




               If the air grows stale 
               there is change in it.
               I do not know how     or when 
               but as I breathe    I sense 
               the turn as surely as 
               the tide    that freshness 
               which opens chance 
               that change already present.
               




                            []




                A small
                reverberation
                the word
                a ghost
                that will not conform
                easily
                to what we mean
                it    as
                an example
                the axe will cut
                the word will too
                not on the page but
                lifted
                        up
                to fall where it may
               


                            []



               The twist of the voice 
               as if it would 
               twine the whole way 
               around these long bones 
               an ivy which might 
               flower    and 
               from the seed within --
               protected by humus of the mind 
               from inner storms --
               a twist   quick and light 
               I know    I know
               



                            []




               A fire of small things 
               opens in the wind 
               there are spaces    hot 
               but without color or substance.  
               They point the way 
               within to where small things 
               were greater
                            -early-
               before the fire swept them up.




                            []

               


               To have arrived in mere number 
               hardly enough from which to make 
               or take heart   to have arrived 
               something known within --
               more than that 
               not way or place 
               in saying.
               
               Bare of sunlight   or barely sun 
               this    light which surrounds 
               what is not dark in itself 
               barely the glow    which it took 
               from the sun   a borrowing 
               prisoned in the vital parts 
               bare   yet shrouded 
               not echo   not reflection.
               



                            []



               A place swept smooth   a place 
               where sand and wind have agreed 
               to keep no record    each time 
               a mark appears   wind or water 
               tide or storm   will erase it.
               The mind is like that   for all its memories 
               it has agreed to none of ours 
               individual conditions   what it keeps 
               lies deep   an animism 
               collected from all of us
               in all conditions    our sands swept smooth.
               



                            []




               The need to see past    is of our making 
               finally   yet we have seen into 
               less often   a heedless passing 
               swallows what is to be found 
               spews it out again unfounded.
               Needs. So many things needed 
               as many harmful   often the same 
               without looking inward we do not know 
               the choices    how to choose.




                            []         




               There is rightness
               a standing up 
               rectitude 
               the integer of the life 
               integer vitae 
               we will not claim 
               all of it 
               that is settled 
               outside us 
               yet a conduct
               a weather within.
               



                            []



               New word    new world 
               each time a board is shaped 
               not what its growth intended 
               I grant you    possible 
               only a possibility   one held 
               between something made 
               and something not.
               An old man looking at his artifacts
               this one made    this other not made.
               



                            []




               It will never be   the mere 
               translucent sound   that allows 
               us to move through    what we 
               have never and cannot.
               Spaces within the mind
               are more open than we think 
               them.    The sound will gather 
               space    more than space 
               sound leftover    the light.




                            []



               Emotions engaged    a consciousness 
               that all has aged around us 
               we alone remain young 
               that is the only way of looking out 
               what we find there 
               only on the surface.
               What is within does not age.  
               We know only our own part 
               of it.




                            []




               What may be sung    well sung 
               may well be sung    it is 
               that pitiless singing    changes 
               as the bells insist their tones 
               again    the ringing in stages 
               many stages    one after another 
               ways in or out down corridors 
               long stopped with dust    the 
               velvet of neglect    done 
               well done    may well be done.
               



                            []





               Voyage loneliness    unfinished 
               therefore lonely?    no way to 
               put it    other than the chance 
               words of loneliness   voyage 
               whatever the voyage may be 
               or wherever we looked 
               any of us
               tending fires in the galleys 
               where we'd cook whatever food 
               would sustain us 
               through that loneliness.
               A fire   even to cook   at sea 
               is hazardous business   but 
               necessary    and loneliness 
                         yes.




                            []



               The smoke would remain    long 
               enough to blot out the sun    to 
               lay ash on the living    freeze 
               flesh to marrow    all 
               that rejoiced or sorrowed    life 
               taken as a simple commodity
               snuffed out    in that instant   reduced
               to the point of our thinking    thought
               which is usual    no longer 
               a horror   that we starve out 
               the loves and remembrances    as if
               they were no longer needed.
               



                            []




               Wind rises as a gift    to spread 
               the tedious    the untidy 
               in patterns    so intricate    far 
               dispersed   that there is no longer 
               a need to dwell on these 
               incongruities which stalk us.  
               We are cleansed a moment 
               ready to move on   and away 
               from the wind which is momentary 
               unsteady     and gone before us.
               



                            []




               Let it be small enough    to be evident 
               that infinite lesson    of all the world 
               surely its type   merely that 
               we can't take in this boundlessness 
               enthusiasm carries over    but 
               will not enter the mind 
               in any way equal to these small designs 
               of blood    and of water 
               such that we see them clear 
               impounded.




                            []




               Like a shadow   but not
               there is too much   not enough 
               a substance not a substance 
               that the mind    a conscious will 
               should presume    so much 
               so little possible    like 
               but not   like not   but 
               so the world surrounds us.
               


                            []



               Not the symbol   we are in need 
               deep need of scene   not what stands 
               for it.   We are fed the importance 
               of metaphor    yet when it's exact 
               it is the scene itself    exact 
               no substitution.
                                It applies 
               to that day we need to bring 
               an axe against the root of the tree.  
               We need not reach for synonyms.  
               The blade's the blade.
               Sharpen it.
               


                            []



               Lest any shadow touch the heart
               the heart be troubled we would be wet 
               our feet in moonlight 
               where the hill and mist joined forces 
               seamed    a valley seemed there 
               and a lake    and memories 
               old stories told by campfires 
               in the smallest watches of the night.  
               We knew that much    we tried 
               to listen and be still   yet 
               shadows frighten   and the large concerns 
               which blot out memory 
               moonlight    the pleasures of the dark.




                            []               



               An outlaw wind   against our canon 
               set up to move ancient dust 
               what is never    what is always 
               done   those definitions of our 
               littleness    sometimes fear 
               a wind far out   come in
               that does not know or love a given law.
               



                            []




               I know of no reason    other 
               than my own    an explanation 
               reasonable    will not answer me.  
               It is the true limit.    I have reached it 
               from a part of myself    and I 
               return for little   to what another 
               tells me.
                           Opening    the weather.
               It was here I made a law 
               of measure   wholly of my own.  
               My reason does require me.
               My answer and my full degree.
               



                            []



               It is a lake    its 
               promontories deserted stations 
               along indented shores    the 
               hidden coves    lie silent 
               except for chance waves 
               rising from a breeze headon.  
               Rippling and marbling a few black 
               cones left over from the winter's 
               drop   a silent forest 
               above.    It is not unlike the nature 
               held within us    all is natural.  
               We cannot    in the end    deny 
               our nature   create a thing 
               which is not natural.




                            []




               Our substance flowing     in ruined country
               that part of the land that will not 
               hold a grave.   Ah    the dead imply rebirth 
               and the reborn rejouissance.
               It will inform it will come from death that
               that
                      dead   there is the chance to breathe.
               
               


                            []




               The brand of learning    that it be lit 
               is enough    it will be passed on 
               though few will reach for it 
               recognize its fire among many flames 
               only one more faggot burning. 
               No    there is much to be said
               searing deep   as one
               hand passes to another 
               that nothing stands in the way of it.
               



                            []




               How did I know that water?  
               I assumed its presence    not 
               that I'd been touched or wet.
               How?    did?     I?
               All such words which account for 
               things until they need no saying.  
               That does/can happen.
               Snapped shut    the tiny lens 
               that will not turn loose 
               the prisoner    never losing scale 
               a seizure.




                            []




               The words themselves     older 
               it does not seem so    possible 
               that words which we rearrange 
               with no difficulty   should be that old 
               without an ability to deflect 
               our uses    yet in the largest sense 
               they do    resist and elude us.
               They make it difficult just at the moment 
               when they seem defenseless.
               In measure attempted
               they will assume nobility 
               growing from the rubbish 
               of our thoughtless assault.  
               Oh    the words.
               Words live lives of their own.
               



                            []





               There is an age    a cover of sands 
               which preserves it   and within 
               it does not grow old.    Alas we 
               attempt to enter it.    We cannot.  
               Only to observe    to mourn our loss 
               which may not be loss at all.  
               We must live as we live 
               in our own    which is no time.  
               So fleet.    So fleeting.
               




                            []





                         "Arrival Point"
               Unsure    untenable    points of entry 
               more reliable in the time of Bach.  
               Not simply the music    although 
               all is music    how do we separate 
               what carries    peradventure    all 
               we are    from what it carries?
               We do not    for all attempts to avoid
               the true things    nuggets    we are joined 
               to them by this music.
                          Sure.  Tenable.




                            []




               Sounds and waters wither
               elements cross and contain each other 
               as they age and carry over 
               each to each    less difference 
               they will diffuse again    salts 
               spread    and scattered.
               




                            []





               The land may seem dead    behind us 
               out of scale    out of color 
               where the light has left it 
               because we are not there to see 
               the angle of light still left 
               to shine on the land    no 
               it is not dead    it is sleeping 
               alone    We do not understand it 
               thinking we have left    that 
               the only land is the one we inhabit
               to which we came    immigrants 
               thinking the life was before us.
               



                            []





               These small distances    that open song 
               a plain chant rendering 
               our vanities    a single line 
               explored unto its close    which 
               with an added voice    would strengthen 
               into cadence    but a single line 
               we must allow it all to end 
               without conviction    that there was 
               an ending   this/these small 
               distances    the opening of song 
               we try to guess them and 
               to share our pride
               this little trickling melody is all we have.





                            []               





               We explain ourselves    not others 
               although we may think to hide 
               through attention drawn away.  
               It is a lesson learned    not easily 
               as most others not     only by the time 
               we will have no further need.
               




                            []





               One island to another    yet 
               there is more than passage    islands 
               set so similarly    worlds 
               apart    stone teeth among 
               curling lips of wave    they 
               are the artifacts    distant and 
               distinct    one from another    it is 
               a voyage of discovery each 
               unique    so distant from the mainland 
               they recede and crumble still 
               their shapes and characters will last.  
               Among bones    teeth are like that    last 
               the longest.




                            []





               The harvest good    they must be 
               speaking of death   that is the most 
               reliable.   Only a few stones 
               mark the most recent    but that 
               harvest enriches all that follows 
               and the stones themselves    within us 
               scatter and flake    in the soft 
               dark earth    our roots fresh 
               nurtured in our constant death.




                            []




               To summon the power    shadow 
               will appear before the fact    we 
               must watch for it aware 
               that not all shadows prepare for 
               anything    not memorable 
               they do no more than brush 
               the passing of the light    yet 
               power does appear    and in 
               some instance    that same power 
               welling up alone    to summon shadow 
               long after the fact has vanished.



               
                            []




               The mind in age ascends 
               hovers    cannot come down.
               There is 'nowhere to return.'
               The turns are silent wheeling    shadows 
               high above the landscape    all that 
               bewildered us    in scale 
               but so far off it does no good 
               to know that.   I suppose 
               it is the human condition    that its parts 
               come together only at that place 
               where the fit is powerless    a 
               design    perfect in its just    repose.












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 First publication of THE WEATHER WITHIN was a cooperative effort 
 between Landlocked Press, Woodland Pattern Arts Center, and Membrane 
 Press (Light and Dust). Walter Tisdale produced an exquisitely printed 
 limited edition letterpress, making a set of prints on hard stock from 
 which Karl Young printed an offset trade edition. Some copies were sold 
 through Membrane Press, and some were distributed by Karl Gartung and 
 Anne Kingsbery through Woodland Pattern as a memorial to George Oppen. 
 The John D. & Cathrine T. MacArthur Foundation funded the project. 
 The book is presented here in its entirety.


                     Copyright © 1985 by Theodore Enslin.


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