Tuesday, April 23, 2024

Tuesday poem #577 : Henry Gould : AUTUMN LEAVES

 

 

Autumn of Keats & negative capability
& Urs von Balthasar

in the Alps, contemplating
la Gloire
de Dieu
  & the mystery of iniquity

how Minotaur was a miscast offspring
of incongruous realms

like hunchback Richard (films

his own demise) mirroring

the beginning of all things, while you
intuited the end

standing near Gravesend

like some forsaken pine  
in Deserto Rosso

I learned to play Autumn Leaves”
by Roger Williams, his bravura

kitsch extravaganza

when I was 12, or 13. Each soul conceives

her own Statue of Liberty
I think
collecting evidence
for synoptic radiance

out of the foibles of our inquiry.

Gravity plummets to the choral core
of us   where the stone

sank to its nadir-perihelion

one whole monster   beached on shore

the scapegoat, or Natashas limp
or J
  in Washington, DC
in the masonic Library

of Congress   waiting for me   immeasurable

imp

 

 

 

Henry Gould was born in Minneapolis, and lives there now after 45 years in Rhode Island. His most recent books are : HOLY FOOL : a memoir (Lulu.com), and CONTINENTAL SHELF : SHORTER POEMS, 1968-2020 (Dos Madres Press).

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

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