Shards I
Is it true?
Do I actually believe it
All poems must have a beginning
Some even an end just to stop
The writing of thoughts
I’m my own reader
So what
I write this over and
Over again as if
To convince someone while
I jumble my present
Or simply wrap it up
Spit it out on paper
When a kid screams in a playground
Slipped in the pool next to the bears
Spouting their continual breath
How many run? How many
Coddle the kid?
Why did you slide?
Don’t ask
And he says to me
Why do you write?
Don’t ask.
Shards II
As as if this were a play
2 actors one in front of the other really
That other might be you or
Me both filled with emotions
A voice off-stage says do it
I’m sitting in a wicker chair
The cat’s claws destroyed it
Sitting mumbling pointing
Mumbling as if my voice
Stuttered trying its best
Always in the hope of words
Simply first words
I sit
Gesture
Stare
Scream
A voice off stage says
Stop it stop it
Go over that again
Don’t sit there like
An idiot out of a poverty-
Stricken play
But the light dims
A couch without springs
I speak slowly
A scene’s just finished
But I’m still sitting
Staring mumbling
Tilting my head staring into the light
That’s all a lie.
Shards III
After all a hasty message
Then a taxi
Broadway I pass Chase
Duane Read
The taxi stops I pay
As always $8.00 that includes
A tip
A broken voice was that
A real one or an imitation
Filled with pain
Count then count again
Just to make sure
“Please go”
“I can’t”
“Please go”
Arm resting
Eyes full of tears
God damn it whose fault
I got here by taxi
Take it from there
Take it from the top
As a matter of fact
We’ve rehearsed
Our roles one sits
The other screams
Stares into the darkness
There are lights outside
Night flickers
You could hear a napkin drop
Now that doesn’t have an enemy
Shards IV
In a small French village
At midnight the bells would toll
The streets would be asleep
But the bread maker
Rolls his dough
His hands
White his face white
His wife asleep
These are the images in front of
Me undisturbed outside of time
I’m still sitting where I sat
Looking at you
Same couch
TV voices
Loud colors
What words will I invent
What voice
What gestures
How will my eyes meet yours
Tearing how I wish I
Could blow my nose
Or something mechanical
Time elapses
“Go! Please go!”
“I can’t”
“Please…”
If it weren’t as odd
I’d say we’re on a stage
No sign of words
Nothing to help us out
“Stop screaming” she says
“Not now when I see you”
We sit at night
One in front of the other
Wicker with cat’s claws
You’ve forgotten
To buy
One of those scratch pads
Shards V
You tell me this is
Nuts on my part
Memories right now
Off the bat stepping
Aside of truth
Without meaning to
Grasp at anything said
Before a hand behind my back
Makes a scratchy noice
The face in the mirror is
Yours I mean yours
A single glance an eye shut
Standing there
Quite worthless
All you have to do
Burn the tip of a needle
Lean over
The shard gently remove it
A black
Spot
Hear that voice
Hurts yet
As Beckett says
You must go on
Shards VI
Dozing
Not by choice dozing
Half-awake like Proust
Memories jostle my mind
I remember during intermission
My father’s funeral in Woodstock
A slight hill a couple of trees
Grave diggers on the side smoking
Perhaps waiting for a tip
When my father was a young man
Sitting in that famous theater in
Moscow he saw Chekov
“Cherry Orchard”
By the open grave I read
MME RANESKAYA: Well? Pause.
VARYA: Yes, it’s time.
MME RANESKAYA: Now we can start on our journey.
Shards VII
The taxis stops at a red light
Fuckin’ bus
Always the 104 filled with
Huge bodies, invalids and kids going
Home from a private school dressed
In plaids for the girls ties for the boys
Scurrying rats in the park
The newly decorated lobby
The newly decorated elevators
Push the button go to your floor
Unless as in a movie
You’re stuck, bang on the door
Scream piss in the corner
New paint outside
Your floor
Sweating
Sinking mind
Sweaty hands
Fear in your heart
What will I do?
What will I say?
The door’s not locked
I walk in.
Shards VIII
The taxis stops at a red light
Fuckin’ bus
Always the 104 filled with
Huge bodies, invalids and kids going
Home from a private school dressed
In plaids for the girls ties for the boys
Scurrying rats in the park
The newly decorated lobby
The newly decorated elevators
Push the button go to your floor
Unless as in a movie
You’re stuck, bang on the door
Scream piss in the corner
New paint outside
Your floor
Sweating
Sinking mind
Sweaty hands
Fear in your heart
What will I do?
What will I say?
The door’s not locked
I walk in.
Shards IX
Have you noticed
Kind reader a change
In emotions
Observations self-analysis
Newly made in fact
The world around
My worries, my words?
I did.
Now apparently
My self in between
Parentheses calm down you’d say
Repressed maybe
I say here now
I’m quieter though at times
Still I sit in that same
Wicker chair
Would it be premature
To quote Hoagy singing
“As time goes by”?
Things are a changing
Or at least
I hope so
But will “over”
Ever really be “over”?
Shards X
All of it
Crushed a mosquito
Drumming up
My arm
Ordered from Ollie’s
Sesame chicken
White rice
Diet Pepsi
It comes with chopsticks
Sweet and sour
Nose tingling mustard
A handful of napkins
Then a tip
That’s it
That’s all I think
All
Sure I were to stop
Writing
Sure I’d stop
Writing
Come up with a smile
(Did I ever think thinking
Had vanished
Gone through a window
To the other side
Sharp as light
I thought, what a compliment!
I heard a ray of light in the other
Room I guess it must have been
A fleeting thought.)
Serge Gavronsky (born 1932) is an American poet and translator. He is now professor emeritus in the French department at Barnard College. He lives in New York City. Whiskey Radish is outhouse artist for Queen Mob's Teahouse.