Saturday, May 28, 2011

poems || Steve Dalachinsky

Sq. Georges Cain ( in 3 Movements ) - for P. D .

.....this poem, not the poem itself, not the writing of the poem, but the
"crafting" of the poem,
is the fault of Paul Dutton after reading his book Aurealities.

1. in sq georges cain the fountain of roses spouts bronze beauty / naked
in garden of cain
orange/pink roses embrace body orange/pink body of bronze
where cain killed his brother & buried his body in a garden of roses
within a square of verdant flesh
body of woman as old as a square rises in garden of pink cain
rose after killing his brother roses of green embody her gentle turning
relics bathed in light as rising the swing of her posture circles the
squarely within circle stone washed by seasons smiling frowning roses of
gate squeaks open steps toward roses down to woman poured from fountain
2. in sq. georges cain
pages are turned & returned to: she sits on the bench
twisting her body
impatient body
turning her frayed middle-age
randomly turning pages
trying in vain to read
the mind of a stranger
turned pages returned to
squeaks gate
coughs cain
women’s voices sprout circle
the square of the garden
orange/roses green flesh of grasses
thin sunlit leaves
hands tampering with their own impatient
clothing this need of flesh to hide flesh
she twists slightly arching her towel swung behind her green gushing
from fountain of roses this well pressed monday afternoon
in the square of the circle
in the garden of cain
with its impatient breathing
& agitated stillness
squeaking & fondling the shadows of daylight a faint far off whistle.
3. the simpler the better
the lonelier the easier
the happier the sadder
sq georges cain
stone roses bronze brother killed no fountain whirls slowly
round square cain’s weapon old anchor caught napping
mute expression
valid reasons have no story.
steve dalachinsky written paris 8/13/01
revised nyc 8/24/01



her muscled legs
walk her along the shoreline
she is a strong woman
despite her sagging breasts
despite the fact that she is no butterfly
attempting to cross the sea
no rock dividing bays
no balcony to stand on
the morning wafts across her back
becoming afternoon
she is no soccer ball
kicked between father & son
in the hot sand
no fresh pretzel
ice cold beer soda or tea
no spring water
but she is a strong woman
despite the fact that she is no white sail
in the distance
strong white sail
out on the distant sea -

steve dalachinsky nyc 8/01

the sea the sea
it’s been here since the beginning
of time
it was here when napoleon was here
when moses was here
hitler li po ceasar
it’s been here since before
the beginning
of time
& the smell gets stronger
ask lou he was a butcher
& the smell lingers & stays longer
like my heart
when it was returned
to me
6:30 she walked in & said
"your heart returned"
yeah you’re alive you’re alive
no that’s not what she said
she said " your heart returned"
it’s been with us a long time a long time....
steve dalachinsky nyc

the complete works of Victor Hugo -
pt. 5 Jean Valjean

i have become a criminal
long ago
in accordance with the history of crime
i am a criminal
even if only in my own eyes
the history of crime: pen inked
i scribble my exile
my dark souvenirs
onto my palm
it was my birthday too once!

steve dalachinsky paris 8/2001

rear window 1

she’s in her underwear
she’s fixing the curtain
she just took a shower
she’s vacuuming the house
she’s talking on the phone
finally that stool is occupied
she smokes with her left hand
while doing the dishes with her right
she has a tattoo above the left cheek of her arse
she has blond hair
dresses well
has a bicycle
stays up late
it’s hot it’s august
the room is empty
rear window 2

the girl across the sunlit alley
stands ½ naked by her window
most mornings
.....the sparrows are elongated & aggressive
it’s late afternoon
she’s wrapped in a towel
the curtains stop fluttering
she rests the towel on the window ledge
the towel says LUCKY STRIKE.

rear window 3

up early.
clouds. downpour. clouds
vacuuming. washing floor.
making love almost an hr.
biting. fingering. playing around.
torturing exasperating breasts.
i tell her to keep her clothes on.
i naked.
she. more orgasms. wine.
me. thrust gently into her wine-filled mouth.
she drinks. swallows.
naked. i rise.
the girl across the way is drying her hair in the sun.
she’s been to the beach.
somewhere where it’s warm. no rain.
she sips her coffee. shakes out her towel. sniffs her duffle bag.
our love making has cleared the sky.

steve dalachinsky paris 8/01

Richard Wright
stuck in the
the staircase
in black face & gold letters
with cobwebs
52 yrs. an exiled native son
oh black boy i place a paper flower beside your square.

steve dalachinsky
written @ Pere Lachaise cemetery 8/01 where Wright’s ashes are interred.

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