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NEARING AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Pattiann Rogers
Those are my bones rifted
and curled, knees to chin,
among the rocks on the beach,
my hands splayed beneath my skull
in the mud. Those are my rib
bones resting like white sticks
wracked on the bank, laid down,
delivered, rubbed clean
by river and snow.
Ethereal as seedless weeds
in dim sun and frost, I see
my own bones translucent as locust
husks, light as spider bones,
as filled with light as lantern
bones when the candle flames.
And I see my bones, facile,
willing, rolling and clacking,
reveling like broken shells
among themselves in a tumbling surf.
I recognize them, no other's,
raggedly patterned and wrought,
peeled as a skeleton of sycamore
against gray skies, stiff as a fallen
spruce. I watch them floating
at night, identical lake slivers
flush against the same star bones
drifting in scattered pieces above.
Everything I assemble, all
the constructions I have rendered
are the metal and dust of my locked
and storied bones. My bald cranium
shines blind as the moon.
From Eating Bread and Honey, published by Milkweed Editions, 1997. Copyright © 1997 by Pattiann Rogers. All rights reserved. Used with permission.
Pattiann Rogers
Those are my bones rifted
and curled, knees to chin,
among the rocks on the beach,
my hands splayed beneath my skull
in the mud. Those are my rib
bones resting like white sticks
wracked on the bank, laid down,
delivered, rubbed clean
by river and snow.
Ethereal as seedless weeds
in dim sun and frost, I see
my own bones translucent as locust
husks, light as spider bones,
as filled with light as lantern
bones when the candle flames.
And I see my bones, facile,
willing, rolling and clacking,
reveling like broken shells
among themselves in a tumbling surf.
I recognize them, no other's,
raggedly patterned and wrought,
peeled as a skeleton of sycamore
against gray skies, stiff as a fallen
spruce. I watch them floating
at night, identical lake slivers
flush against the same star bones
drifting in scattered pieces above.
Everything I assemble, all
the constructions I have rendered
are the metal and dust of my locked
and storied bones. My bald cranium
shines blind as the moon.
From Eating Bread and Honey, published by Milkweed Editions, 1997. Copyright © 1997 by Pattiann Rogers. All rights reserved. Used with permission.
Labels: Gekko Ogata, henri riviere, kageyama, pattiann rogers, poetry
9 Comments:
This poem has astonishing qualities of originality, clarity and vision. The way you have presented it pulls its beauty to its zenith. Sort of like the moon rising. I am glad that you are still blogging, Lotus. After an absence I have discovered some of my favorite blogs have vanished or gone dormant. Not that I have a right to complain. Take care.
i'm so glad... everything you say, and to see you here again.
i just thought of something, have you noticed that already, just a few days of rain, and gold hills are turning green again.
maybe you thrive on the rain?
i love pattiann rogers. love her.
We are getting your rain now.
Thanks for the video of your spider and for introducing me to Pattiann Rogers.
I notice that your profile now says: "Afghanistan"?
I'm sure the poppies there must be beautiful....
how ironic! we were leaving posts on each other's blogs at the exact same moment!
yeah, isn't that annoying??!!! if you edit your profile, you now have to choose a place and an occupation.
if you do not make a selection (i didn't even notice i was supposed to), you will be given the first choice on the list as a default. "A" as in afganistan. or as in accounting.
i'm not an accountant either.
believe me.
but this all explains the fact that others of my friends suddenly seem to be from afganistan too.
Lotus, I just nominated you for a little award. Don't feel obliged to continue it etc. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate your lovely space.
princess--i'm sincerely honored. thank you.
I tend to get moody when it rains but that is oh so good for my writing.
I never heard this singer and will check her out on you tube.
Thanks for the warning to leave my profile alone. I sincerely doubt they have flute playing poet listed as an occupation choice. -Dubious as that might be. :)
actualy they have a category "flute-playing poets with online presences including the word princess" but so many people filled that category that they had to close it or it would break something. don't remember what. the database maybe? are databases breakable?
anyway, i'm sorry--not sure what singer you're referring to, unless you automatically just call a poet a singer, which is kind of nice.
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hi, and thanks so much for stopping by. i spend all too much time thinking my own thoughts about this stuff, so please tell me yours. i thrive on the exchange!
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