the propeller blade     is turning
behind the boat     riding the slipstream
of the wind     behind the car in front of us
the propeller     does not move the boat
nor do our wheels     move our car

@

snow today     first snow
brittle and thin     stippled on fences
slivers of poles     crevices in bark
poked at     by grass
a thin glare     separates passing cars
thin blue sky     sheet of blue
in the swath of mirror     stamped out of the glare
of windshield     car full of paper
a few day's work     like brittle snow
left from an iceage     fossilized in trees
now sheets again     the moon ascends
fat     as day recedes
the blue of its scars     blue of its sky
the blue of shadows     in the coating of snow
random printing     made by time's passage
snow     fine     brittle
and distant     even the car's hood
white     as the moon's face
a delicate model     of possible skies

@

I was down there     in the alley
throwing cartons     onto the loading dock
of Sentinel Bindery     I
was down in that city     looked up
at the cloverleaf I ride on now     from below
saw     a gaunt man
black line conversion     over
copper halftone     standing
the arms of highway     a threatening halo but
I was driving east     after stopping at National
saw it from the other side     and
the sun setting behind me     the striae
of crabbed orange     of shadows
bluing into black     Robert Grosseteste
Bishop of Lincoln     sat in his study     thought
physical light     followed divine lux
was primal matter     and multiplied     thought light
primal demonstration    of geometric proof
scratched his nose     pen held in fist     with his thumb
noticed the pen point     touched a rainbow outside
and up here     above smokestacks     large buildings
factory roofs     columns of windows and clocks
circling out     over the city     seeing the city
over the curved rail     raked curve     of the road
no dividing lines     lane markers     yet painted here
just this curve of cement     raked     swinging me out
over the city     up here     driving east
the air seems clarified     rail blocks out city
I swing toward a cloud     find it hard to breathe
as I found it     throwing cartons of stock
onto that platform     back there     down there
from the shadow of brownstone     seeing a rainbow

@

the lake     is in front of this windshield
windshield bright     with the rays of sleet
ice mounds lipping     the water out there
chunks of it     floating away     in ice
or in water     in front of this windshield
somewhere     I don't know
quite how far     nor care     really
I won't see it tonight     just
driving home     this late
after a day     of frustration
paper sitting on shelves     blocks of sheets
above     a flooded darkroom
Ed went down there     without knowing it
went down in the dark     the switch is inside
stepped down     that last step
into water     he hadn't seen
threw in a two by four     to step on
it floated away     before he lowered his foot
into the water     My Lady
may have chopped ice     off the sidewalk today
and will talk about     paper blown up
from the snowbanks     or sparks
where the blade     hit the dark
of cement under ice     those sparks
seen through chunks of ice     making the ice
glow     the moon changes houses
that lake is moving     somewhere
in front of me     further     as land recedes in
chunks of ice     the size of this city
form in the dark     mottled glare
in the rearview mirror     driving home

@

this part of earth
slides away from the sun
I     driving west
as the globe     pulls me back
try to shield     my eyes
to align the crating
of the truck in front of me
with my eyes and the sun
board black     snow on its top
glaring     roughness of wood
underneath     fleecy and orange
sun     nimbus around board
illuminating     smudge dust and crystal
on the windshield     radiation
from smears     and streaks
where a child's finger     traced
CLEAN ME     these signs     those
smoldering windows     on cars and houses
pass     and     still driving west
are lost     as earth turns away
without haste     without desire
without reluctance     without disdain
away     from that source

@

snow scurr     blown up from the hood
twists     a neat whip in its turning
and is gone     ice on the glass
car turns to glare     rash on the window
some new sore     opens out on the road
the hood     light snow blown off of it
is crusted     over an inch thick
and the back window     frosts over
here is another solitude     isolated
by a mound of snow     from the cars
outside     the silence of their figurations
their passage     the surface of Saturn
so far out there     a liquid
two thousand degrees centigrade     radioactive decay
under all that cold weight
on the seat next to me     an ocher book
CRYSTAL SUN LAKE     and from the defroster's heat
pained ice     gashed ice     orange from somewhere
slides     down the glass

@

[based on the Anglo-Saxon poem, "The Wanderer"]

"always an isolate man     abiding
mercy     withstanding a troublesome mind
through sea waste     always enduring
demented water     ice crested
his alienation     a fate set by winds" --
talk of an old drifter     recalling
beaten with wars     the slaughter of kinsmen:
"morning light     and I pace these crags
alone and unwilling     I cry out my pain
I trust no one     now living
I know too well     society's strain
decorum's demands     I know well enough
to keep down     my heart swells
hoard them     think what you will --
pain boiled     a mind cannot stand
fate     nor a will of ice shattered
find new hope     fame is for the greedy
those who lash down     their mind's deeper burdens --
and I too     must learn to shut up
barred from my home     away from all friends
washed out by fear     just
keep it down     for the crested mud
of war     long ago took my lord
winter brittled a wretch     I left that place
cresting heart sinking     the waves' blades
disheveled I sought the halls     of new lords
seeking in this place     and in that
hearth and a table     someone who'd listen
and house     a man without friends
stop me with peace --     you know if you've tried it
that love of friends     is a grim thing
when friends are dead     and your companion is fear --
lost in thoughts of exile     without ease of gold
chilled in the heart     without comfort of fame
he remembers comrades     and free flowing gifts
how in his youth     his wine-pouring lord
got him used to the feast     its delight come to nothing
can't help wondering     how long it must be
before such counsel     will come again from a lord --
aching sleep and the day's grief     combine
and he imagines     that he holds and salutes
his lord     as he did in days worn away
and at his lord's knees     places forehead to palms
taking reward     at the feet of the throne --
but the friendless man     reawakens
seeing only     the sickly tearing of waves
gulls flapping up     preening the weight from their feathers
snow and sleet     driven like hail
and his heart sinks     heavy again
lordless his longing     pain renewed --
he remembers his kinsmen     imagination swells outward
calling out greetings     scanning the sky's end
for his fellows     they swim away
throats of the sea     aren't wont to bring
familiar voices     and sorrow returns
such is the lot     of he who often sends out
through the ice spikes of waves     a fragile heart --
for all the world     I couldn't tell you
how I can keep my head     at all steady
when I contemplate     the fighting king's life
how suddenly death     tears him from hall
in the courage of youth     as here below heaven
days all days and each     fall and decay --
no man becomes wise     till he reaps the weight
of many winters     here in earth's walls
he who knows     knows how to wait --
the wise man knows     he must not be wrathful
no braggart     nor one who runs off at the mouth
not incorrigible in squabbles     nor a taker of dares
not a coward nor twirp     not a glutton
nor eager for glory     not till he knows all
the strong waits     making no promises
till ready for the worst     he knows for certain
where his own heart     will lead him --
the man of vision sees     the terror coming
when this world's riches     will shatter
as already     scattered over middle earth
walls remain standing     battered by wind
frost streaked     snow howling through them
the walls decompose     there lies the prince
his revelry shattered     his troops dead
proud by the wall     this one was dragged to death
in battle     some of this one
a bird carried off     some of that left
in a wolf's gut     that lonely survivor
cast down     in the victor's pit --
thus God destroyed     one citadel
its townsmen     clamor no more
the cyclopean walls stand     for no reason --
he who wisely thinks     thinks deeply
with mind well honed     whetted by distance
on uprooted walls     the darkness of life
its onslaughts unending     will break into speech:
'¿ where are the horses the heroes     where are the kings now
¿where are the jubilant halls     and where is their laughter
¿O polished cups     O shining swordsmen
O resplendent king     where has time left you --
night's visors have shut     so often since
it's hard to believe     you were ever there
where the ranks stood     the leftover wall stands
amazingly high     though lacy with worms
nobles dispatched     hail of blades
bloodrabid spears     the glories of battle --
and even these crags     are wind harried
snow falls     earth's bounds are frozen
winter breaks loose     with the dark when
dispatched from the north     night brings its terror
wrath of hail     sleet and its vengeance
throughout this muddy earth     life is a sorry task
under heaven     fate's will shatters man's --
possessions decay     friends decay
kinsmen decay     man decays
the foundations of this very earth     are falling' " --
so said the pilgrim     then turned his back
he is a good man who keeps his own faith     who never clutches resentments
a warrior never opens his own heart     unless he knows a true cure
and can practice it fully     he is well off who asks mercy
consolation from our Father in Heaven alone     in Whom our one Surety lies

@

as we come to the top of the hill     I turn off the lights
we head for the moon     the hill drops away
stars surround us     where is yesterday's torment --
the car swoops down     and we fly
over the dark and empty road     far away in the night
we find ourselves     lost in this world
of untravelled road     and endless sky

@

throughout the evening     the press has governed
our conversation --     schemes and memories
while we watched it     pull paper from one pile
pass it between cylinders     and drop it in another --
the needs of the job     when changing plates
or adding ink --     swearing and curses
when something went wrong --     friendly neighborhood cop
stopped in around eleven     told us all about
organic gardening     as he watched with us
paper fed and delivered --     driving home
stoplights govern     the patterns of my thoughts
schemes and memories     as I coast along --
the needs of the car     when I come to a stoplight

@

[based on a poem by Li Po]

travellers tell stories     of an enchanted island
difficult to find     in endless mist and vertical waves --
the people of Yueh     speak of the Lady of Heaven
sometimes they see her passing     in rainbows and clouds
she unifies Heaven     guides Heaven's axle     oversees Heaven
shadows the highest mountains     encompasses the red horizon
Celestial Terrace rises     forty eight thousand miles
slants southward beside her     as if it would fall --
I search Earth's corners     in a questing dream
I fly through the night     high above Mirror Lake
the moon casts my shadow     over its waves
escorting me     to Incandescent River --
the Mountain Duke's palace     still stands
lambent water dances     monkeys chant
I put on the Duke's     magic shoes
and climb the ladder     of dark blue clouds
half way up     I see the sun rest in the ocean
and hear Heaven's herald     crowing in infinite space
confused by a thousand paths     ten thousand turns
amazed by flowers     I sit on a stone     in complete darkness
bears roar     dragons sing     waterfalls crash
I tremble before the forest     the mountains scare me
the clouds are perfectly dark     ready for rain
the river leaps     its needles explode in mist
lightning bursts over the water     thunder erupts
ridges and peaks     crack and collapse
the stone walls     of Heaven's dome
strain and shatter     opening the universe
I can't see the bottom     of the blue tumult below
only the sun and the moon     on gold and silver pediments
spirits wearing rainbows     ride horses of wind
the Lady of Clouds appears     the world spins around her
tigers play lutes     firebirds power her car
angels assemble     like fields of grass
the shock of this vision     returns my five senses
I look around     and utter a groan
I find the steering wheel in my hand     the headrest behind me --
the vision     is gone
and that's the way     it always goes
what's done is a river     flowing home to the sea
Lady you are gone     ¿will I see you again --
a white deer remains     in the forest around me
when my time comes     I'll go with the deer
¿how can I force smiles     for the lords of this world
who cannot understand     the visions of my soul

@

couple dexies     couple quarts of beer
I don't know     why I'm driving
don't know what this road is     why it's there
and don't give a damn     wanted to drive
I guess     ya     that's all
"when de Lawd     gits ready
ya got ta move"     move so fast
at least on the inside     it's hard to move
a limb     if I were at home
I'd probably just stare at the wall     here
without trying     I drive better than I could
straight     delight in the scratching
of snow glare     the pain in my mouth
who's moving     call this moving
¿can I take this road     to Chicago
--don't know why you'd wanna do that     they already
got one there     this one'll
slip away     that one's waiting
and it'll     have moved toward the sun
by the time I get there     another voice
in the stratosphere     ultraviolet radiation
fucks up the atmosphere up there     making it
ozone     ozone as in alchemical change
brought down sometimes     by atmospheric turbulence
why things don't always     happen the same
or look that way     also created by
electrical discharges     decomposition
industrial smoke     forest fires and
volcanoes     and protects living things
from the devastation     of direct solar rays
and fuck all that shit     I am that belt
that shield     and this flesh     this bag
of aching points     flaking away     dying in pieces
decomposing     continually forming
an unstable element     a sick blue gas
that won't go away     this instability
of skin     this biosphere     saves
the only world I can know     from the shattered glass
waiting gasoline     angry metal     and most of all
this sick mind     out on the road this morning

@

[based on the Elder Edda]

once the gods     held a meeting together
the lords of this world     tried to find out
why glorious Baldur     the bringer of spring and flowers
was so long afflicted     with terrible dreams --
Odin rose     old and enchanted
saddled his horse     and rode down to hell --
hell's hungry dog     bloody and howling
tried to bring down     the founder of magic --
Odin rode on     hell echoed hooves
he came to the walls     of hell's castle
and rode on to the great gate     in hell's east
and found the grave     of the first seeress --
he spoke magic     wrought out runes
she rose in the spell     whispered through death:
"¿what stranger has come here     what has brought me
through the layers of death     I was buried by snow
beaten by rain     soaked in dew
my death has been long" --     "I am Wander
Ancient's son     tell me hell's plan
I know enough of heaven     ¿why are benches out
and tapestries spread     why does the platform
shine with gold" --     "the feast is for Baldur
the beer brewed for him     and covered with shields
the sons of Odin     are covered with sorrow --
I didn't want to say that     now go away" --
"don't stop     ¿who'll kill Baldur
the radiant god     the god who brings
flowers and streams" --     "Hoth carries the spear
he'll drain the life     of Odin's son
the gods' glass     will be broken --
I didn't want to say that     now go away" --
"don't stop     ¿who will avenge
the death of Baldur     who will send
the killer of Baldur     to the flames of this land" --
"Rind bears Vali     at western gates
he won't wash     won't comb his hair
and one night old     he'll kill Hoth
and one night old     he will end this world --
I didn't want to say that     now go away" --
"don't stop     ¿who are the girls
who'll mourn for Baldur     why will ships
be tossed in the sky" --
"you aren't Wander     you're Odin
only Odin     could ask me that question" --
"and I too     see more clearly
you're not just a seeress     a wise woman
I see now     you're the mother of killers" --
"go home     Odin
I won't speak again     till the end of the world"

@

the road is a river     running away from us
or freezing around us     you always step
into the same river     but you yourself
are never the same

@

¿how long have we been talking     how long have we been silent
we've been driving since sunset     how much have we said
we've talked about friends     about our childhood
about our plans     we've told each other things
we haven't been able to say     in the two years
we've been together     touched on painful subjects
fallen back on the weather     expressed our deepest hopes
and let them glide into silence     driving through darkness
alone with each other     the car and the night
have brought us together     closer than we've been
in months     a long silence is full of our presence
the conversation returns     to American history
the car surrounds us     carries us through blackness
driving itself     without my aid
words come from my mouth     without my thinking
I am only aware     of My Lady's mouth and ears
beside me     in our intimate moving world
moons or headlights approach us     our car
drives through darkness     on four spinning moons

@

two in the morning     leaving the shop
thought I'd find it cool     outside the door
it's just as hot     as it was inside --
soft Spanish murmurs     come from the porches
along Mt. Vernon     harsh Spanish
and Afro-English     from the bar next door --
¿Que passa says Lupe     from his car window
as nice a place as any to sit     on a night like this --
the darkness     over the industrial valley
has a reddish glow     as though live coals
burned behind     each molecule of darkness
and could engulf them     if they were fanned --
heat of the day     heat of exertion
heat of the lights     heat of the press
heat of the arc     heat trapped in walls
has not ended     cannot be escaped
the heat I find     inside my car
that sat closed in the sun     all afternoon
is greater     than any heat
I remember today --     night is a forge
it stamps out dreams     and identical days

@

dead leaves     crumpled papers
move up and down     the cement of North Avenue
it's going to rain     confused and bewildered
the leaves and papers     want to return
they know not where     as the generations of leaves
supplant each other     so do the models of cars
night and day     spring and autumn
answer each other     over the street
leaving the street     to the devices it has created
it's going to rain     everyone on the street
wants to be in a car     I head for mine
it's going to rain     a motocross flyer
we printed last month     sticks to my shoe
as I get in the car     I peel it off
it leaves its mark on my heel:     "Printed on
100%     recycled paper"

@

sun fills the car     with astonishing light
after hours of rain     light creates rain
the smell of the world     reborn as itself
renewed through its dust     is the smell of the sun

@

wind tonight on the freeway     made driving hard
seemed to lift and pull     the front of the car
always the hand to compensate     the lift
steady     in one direction     predictable
but still     I couldn't get it quite down
always seemed     to spook the car
felt like an impulse     of the tires and axle
a panic of yoked wheels     city wind
differs     short gusts     I wait in the car
while My Lady buys groceries     car buffeted
one side shudders     at a time     two
black women     take laundry     from the trunk
of the car in front of me     bend over
slacks tight     one pulls keys from a pocket
two bills     flutter out into the street
she darts after them     car brakes squeal
she swoops and grabs     horns blare
dips again and a third time     and throws a hook
at a driver     laughing     she runs back to the curb
her friend laughing     I see in the headlights
in her hand     the two bills
and a leaf     she waves them at me
I raise fists     as if cheering
her face hardens     surprise on mine
no     I wasn't gesturing     power
your revolution is     she laughs harder
she understands the mistake     puts leaf
on my hood     and she and her friend
enter the laundromat     behind me
the freeway stretches     dark between leaves
paths of the wind     move in different lanes
lengthen and branch off     into cities
this town runs by the wind's     this wind's hands
move over the shape of     city is nothing but articulation
of wind     of road     of leaves in a hand

@

water shining     a mile deep here
showed its layers of clarity     as I passed through them
dragging up in some strange tackle     its web the pebbles
I'd lain on all along     but when I became striated
when the layers of me     were trimmed for gluing
when     holding the wheel     I began to spin
and the staples     fine     clean     translucent
shot through my face     you woke me
asked why I'd kicked     in bed in the dark beside me
you'd waked through it all     felt the scales and diseases
kicking out through my feet     I wind up an entrance ramp
onto the freeway     just in time
to wind up another     and over the bridge
just in time     to transfer to another
change lanes     and wind down a ramp
off of the freeway     all this
because     as far as I can find
there are no through streets     below --
in the shop I've just been to     dust covers type and job cases
looks like an old photo     of a navy ship
sunk in the forties     barnacles     algae
well     my hand     on the wheel     seems like a year
twenty seventh to thirty fifth     you across town
on the east side     pushing the round faces
of Cyrillic characters     on the clunky typewriter keys
I over here     pushing my hands on the wheel
wake into     a dream in a different dimension
that runs through us both     a road without pavement --
when you're not in my dreams     I don't want them

@

the road remains     always ahead of us
earth turns     away from our wheels
sun rise     moon set
high tide     low cloud
as fast as we drive     the road itself
is passing us by     the road remains

@

endless yellow dashes     disappear
under the left corner     of the hood
as though I were a character     in some old story
picking up pebbles or beans     to find my way home
or I were a fighter pilot     and the yellow dashes
were tracer bullets     reentering a machine gun
mounted above the tire     the dashes
become a yellow streak     ribbon of dead light
pulling the car forward     preventing me
from moving to the left     the car's movement
follows the path     of the yellow lines
it is not pavement     that holds this network
of power of magic     of access and restriction
of freedom and slavery     together
it is an endless web     of yellow lines

@

tonight's the night     they're moving two houses
across the Locust Street bridge --     linemen in metal buckets
working with insulated rods     are being raised and lowered
along the bridge --     there were three houses
where a parking lot will be     one will be replanted
somewhere on Maryland     the other two
are being moved     west of the river --
I should stay up     to watch them move
large houses     moving slowly
their walls groaning     in the darkness
along the thin bridge     their sides passing above
the wooden sidewalks     and wrought-iron railings
dark ships     eighty feet above the water
acrophobic whales     pulled on a string
high over fire     giant stone snails
inching across     the edge of a tin doily --
tonight     I will lie still
as these houses move     the city will rearrange itself
as I sleep     houses will migrate
with the seasons     city blocks
will rearrange themselves     the city that has grown
building by building     will be reshuffled
like a deck of cards     my sense of the city
is always changing     what will happen tonight
happens anyway     without mechanical devices
no two streets     cross each other
at the same place     two days in a row
I never pass a building     twice on the same street --
when I wake from a dream     and can't remember
which way the door is     my walls are being rotated
to realign themselves     with a new street outside

@

[based on a poem by Wang Wei]

boat sails     over endless river
many streams     join sky's end
sky wave     suddenly split open
houses citadel     thousands of souls
farther market     centers teeming city
naturally surrounded     strong vines fields
turn back     on old home
great wave     joins clouds water

@

---

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Light and Dust Anthology of Poetry

Copright © 1986 by Karl Young