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ISBN: 1-882022-0-3
TITLE: Kismet
AUTHOR: Pat Reed
$8.00
Excerpt
DESCRIPTION: 1991, Poetry, 96 pages.
Fanny Howe comments: "These poems remind me of fountains: they spring from an immense source offering what they bring to the surface light, wild images and the velocity of wit." Alan Davies says of these poems: "Equal to the natural wonder and the natural enough wonder at the wonder of that. A life without closure except that the poem insists on instances of that....It’s light and touched and no dark reason comes out of it. Only the stuff that make a spring start up in spring...There’s only resilient beauty. And no derision anywhere. Not a spot of it. This is the poetry of culture. It lets civilization sleep....Botherless daily lilies."
A heart needs to move
out of its infantile
setting
doors slamming
and ghostly
blowing open
Turn the sound
down
on the swollen
embracing
frogs
and a lizard
dashing tip-toed
on water
sex has caught
what the mind
dropped
in its
amber
monkey
morn
What’s the season.
a windy fog
rocks
and we veer
from weaning
It’s yaw
or yearn
fixed position
means motion
jink in star
got
You’re typing out on some
wound-up
edge
while I’m trying
to sit down
in my adventure:
12-year-olds
waving their penises
up and down under gas station lights
the cold
lit edge
is here
at my feet
west as we get
a heart needs
to move
once crueled
it’s good forever
I’ve flown so far
the sun is
locked &
elbowed rivers
dark
ragged shadows
windblock
the crops
white moon
on the watery
east
sea first
gone black
all light sinking
west
in the wheat
Pressure me
down, double
the heat
Greek or what
men dark, with
gold watches–
moon, bricks,
Tribeca.
Green stile
wakes a token
in the box
Asian
& puts her
head in thin
hands under
Children who eat
do better in school
& rains
& knits its noise
above the black-bound
rattle green
canal rolling
barrels
downaramp
Blink
adolescent aim-
less take the
train to the brink
& deep
crouched he
doesn’t want to
kiss off
dejection
yellow sun-
sink at my land-
bound cheek
don’t I
have a
dark-haired friend
somewhere?
Slept
so near
want.
Armed
& blowing through
winds laden in all-
night machines
What’s inside
your drive I’m
in the way of
jumpy eyes.
What I
got
was
don’t get near
despite
the eye the
arm
Copyright © 2001 O Books
