EXCERPTS : : West of Paradise
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THE EMPEROR BREEDS ONLY ON THE ICE
after Robert Ardrey When March comes, and that southern autumn darkens into winter, pairs of emperor penguins march inland across the Antarctic ice to that place where they must breed. On fathomless freeze, she lays their single egg and he picks up the egg on his foot. Then she and her friends go back to the sea -- their only source of food. Close among the circle of males, each with an egg on his foot, he remains. They begin to move. Perpetual night encloses them. The zero winter blows, shudders, snaps, crushes, torments them now as it has tormented every year. Each stands with an egg on his foot. Shoulder to shoulder, they preserve their heat. There are no fights over property, dominance, borders, ideologies. Once, twice, the night clears. They see the Southern Cross -- its crucifixion clear. The southern aurora displays its veils -- faraway, shifting, impalpable, tantalizing, rewardless. More often, the storm whites them out. Wind cuts cold beyond calculation. For two months on that fathomless ice, they live the terror of soft illumination and they revolve there -- this fasting masculine mass -- each with an egg on his foot presenting this one on the edge to hostility giving that one at the center a moment of warmth. Can we apprehend these nights? In a mass of male emperor penguins? Revolving? Each with an egg on his foot? In a dark, frozen, endless Antarctic? Beneath withdrawn stars? You do not know, I shall not know. We must learn this kind of love. (written November, 1986; Andres Berger Poetry Award, Northwest Writers, Inc. 1995. Judge: Karen Swenson) |
STAR
in memory of William Stafford (1914-1993) Maybe every night a star wakes up leaves your house and climbs into the sky to be itself among the galaxies of prayer. Maybe when the sun is gold again that star returns to sleep somewhere inside your doors -- some blind spot you can never see. Maybe this creature is with you there-somehow-say as a mother spider God made, her web so delicate we're all caught -- shimmering. Eternity is here sleeping–somewhere-- common and silent. When you dream no one is looking, eternity escapes again -- subtle, quiet, awake–consumed by light. Be like that star. (written September, 1993) HIGH CASCADES
love pacific rain, curve wind, bear old storms, explode, turn ice to glacier lily bloom. Hear that first tick of melting snow? Meadow blue with awe? Hear springs seep, creeks clatter, white water roar, falls pour wet thunder, mist, rainbow spray? Oh range so fragile, dangerous your beauty washes every face your flow redeems the stone. Thirsty for the true, we take you in. (written summer, 1998, Purchase Award, New Oregon Zoo, Portland) |