blog of revelations I

Ultaeye! Ultraeye!
There, not there
round in all directions
filled with mysterious judgement
striking out. Invisible, but the main thing
proving sight.
I have connected all this travel
in the moment between old death
and new birth
when things are strange
and clear hungry
as moonlight
(Risk, guaranteed risk,
is life because you feed, live or are
glorious)
not satisfied because I am settled
like my father and father
before that
the ones who decided in shadow
not to shoot everybody out there
feasting
because of a face growing old
last night on a pillow
like chocolate
in the dark

***

Poem on the fiftieth anniversary of
the founding of Canadian tire
(and to Jack Spicer too)

The mighty git
gee! manitoba!
sent angel tires instead.
(Cheese and ice, so they did eh!)

Four by fours, their light
cars grew him (and hymns)
and wand ring huntresses
hired him (yes they did!)

Cheese ice, urKing is bourne!
UrKing is bourne!
In ex-hell's house!
Glory us.

I say to you!
Snow!
For easter there was a mad woman shivering in my garbage can.
No eggs.
For christmas there was a cat frozen on the doorstep.
No presents. No cards.
On Baden Powell day I was stabbed, knifeless
defending my sister
from the godless
frogs,
frozen blood, thank goodness!
no scars
everyone identically evil
in stiff clean green uniforms
no guns.

Fields of ice to play on
Wolves to take your sandwiches.
Stupid snow jewelling
and covering up everything.

***

Three secret curses
I get emails from Jack Spicer
And three secret obituaries
I may have been a Stalinist but you are always a cuckold.
From the living poet
blitz bits obits
You're asking am I
the right guy
to finish Babel
poem returning
obituary burning
swearing voice
yearning

I...

***

...I wasn't in Khartoum. But I was in Gulu where I interviewed the leaders of the 'Raped Women's Collective' trying to hustle me for a grant in return for their plaster frogs. They hadn't sold a lot as there weren't many tourists. One in fact over a year. Me in fact. Except for the aid guys who thought of the frogs with a project reading 'Gulu Raped Women's Collective'.

But the delegation were there for a day and I was there for a week trying to write a poem and find a plan for the town council (many of whom were related to the rain queen in the bush 100 meters beyond the hotel). I was a consultant. She was an armed prophet.

My room was fine but the guy with me from my delegation from Salmon Arm, Canada, who was a town planner had a room which the mortars of last week had opened the walls of, wanted to complain because of the mosquitos, he said, 'Listen, Hank, I know you like this all and are romantic but I think I am reacting badly from my anti- malarials and something, a jigger you say, has just bitten me so I want to go home,' and I said relax, but when he saw a guy with a big Kalasnikov outside the window was unsure because of the size of the shadow, I said there are small guys too with our towels just outside the window, then he screamed so I got Acholie Annie to comfort him from the bar, which still had a roof. He claimed her on the city council claims form. But they used chemicals anyway on everything. We were trying to start a university but because of the illness he forgot.

So go there poets. Find out.