Treasures For Heaven I Forgive me, Angels, You had only wings, I poems That entered me as a man Enters the house Of unwavering light Thick as labyrinths Coming apart at the bottom Where all that could be I left for you. II Through the enduring memory Of the present I walk past the blue hells of Delusion’s Graffiti handcuffs That no matter how sublime Bring greatness to the empire For naught. III Soon I come to the confluence Of spring & forever, but I’ve no one to share a happy moment Save a vague voice calling But I’m thinking of no one special Round the entire Ghoulish star field As it begins again to
shift. IV I give you emotional radio Live from the galaxies Of Mercy that linger So near Our understanding each other Like a woman Who always rises late & love
that comes without bounds. V In your voice is an
immensity Greater than near-death Along a stretch of cactus-dotted Power plants where We met on the corner Of love-at-first-sight With its violin wrapped tight In the cool silk of
your arms. VI I heard things Only star dust hears–– The tiny white eyes Of garden shadows, The stillness of clotheslines under
February’s moon, The sadness Of empty baskets Having seen too much. VII Wolves circle the gold mosque, then Disappear like old Chinatown Record stores in Philadelphia As I see eternity in myself As a patchwork of mirrors Presented at the War Crimes Convention Where the jailer loved to watch you Roll down your nylons. VIII How old is the light At the core of yourself–– Does it go back to Yeou Teaching men to break branches In a freight car of the slain Where the heat of your breath Is more delicate than A world filled with lies? IX I slipped into a theater To get out of the Thousand sheets of rain But the movie didn’t touch me & just
hearing the actors’ words Turned my cheeks pale Because no one can tell me Where you are. X There were boarded up windows, & factories
of corpses & Ninety miles out of town I can still hear the endless weeping Of mourners at the gate where No one has to ask why The angels stopped Lighting themselves on fire. XI So much has changed In so little time & yet I
still crave the sight of you Dancing in the park With the sun Coming out again From the stormy weather Of the joy we shared. XII Your father died. You got your period, & then
someone began counterfeiting The scripture Of imaginary sounds While me & Renata
just talked quiet In the dark, hardly Listening to the Boxing Gandhis. XIII Excessive numbers of human beings Draw the impenetrable luck Of nonstop violence & we are
no different Within the secret devouring hatreds Cloaked by the golden Lonely orange sieve Of lust & slaughter. XIV Somewhere over the rainbow The genocide films disappeared. Enormous forgiveness Is available to anyone. Over there senators Meet in closed session. Here we made love on a white couch–– Snowflakes melting as
they touched your skin. XV Who can say they are As hated as the
earth? You circle the prairie Just over the grass Crying out If there’s anyone in the entire
universe Who cares if you Live or die. XVI As the boundaries that separate us Continue to evolve, Numberless shaman
gather At the Cave of Magic Where the long chain of the future Only a brief period ago Wrapped around this gentle & effortless
love. XVII What is it That brings the first bells of frost–– Is it sunlight on the back of your neck As you pass through the giant pines Dead & Wanted somewhere else, Never complete, Only lost in a today no words can Explain? XVIII Don't be confused about closure–– Most people Consider it as real As pneumonia Or red bats flying Into the golden light of October Chased by the loneliness of dying love’s Inexhaustive pleasure. XIX Suddenly riveted to the desire To believe in yourself, The ice grows thick On the stairs of elation Where the wounds Of seclusion Turn you away from those Who meant so much. XX Shrouded conductor Never says a word As everyone turns into other beings Before pulling into the yards of heaven Where Martin Luther King Greets one after another with a
question About what it was They were trying to get away from. XXI Expediency–– I run my hand over your Windy asylum Of skulls Blurred in the green forgetfulness Of a once Passionate identity With the least &
the lowest. XXII I have poured out My heart Until I am sick From skywriting On the cliffs at the end Of the sorrow that comes with Knowing there wasn’t really anything I didn’t have that you didn’t too. XXIII The angels ride down On lightning fast motorcycles & whisper
into the ears Of the filmmaker & his lovers Of the terrible pain That is the faith in authenticity Of somebody who dies Without having experienced it. XXIV Storm upon storm Fell on the possibilities between us As the orange-haired tracker Followed the Rio Grande Where the furrowed light Through the wild apple leaves Hid the intimate Painted buntings. XXV I have two-thirds ESP & the
other third Works the graveyard shift On the all night show Where the next caller won’t say Anything about The day she Went to the only place left to go. XXVI I was standing At the crossroads Where her next world met mine Feeling no need to answer For the ways Others would misconstrue The cause of A death at low tide. XXVII No matter how often we meet You never see me Turn my face Towards the happiness that lingers Among the black trees As we kiss In the cool green-plum light Of Mt. Diablo. XXVIII Sometimes I sit by the phone Idly waiting for a call Without moving a muscle. Other times, I place 100 candles in a circle & just lie
on the floor Watching chrysanthemum blossoms On the ceiling. XXIX Every distress Vanishes in the expanse Of two-letter words cut into three On the path of blank insights Where you view my former life Numbering the moments Of incrustation Laid upon my soul. XXX When you are sick & your
lover Cannot see you as you are, It’s worse If you leave Knowing you awakened love With death’s high call, When love alone best opens love’s eyes. XXXI I wanted to be sure to reach you, So I brought these cheap hats of Fate Without the speed & power Which is the armor of the world, But still I am often dejected By arcane desolations that well up From the grave That lives inside everything. XXXII Then, I tremble Down backstreets, Climbing up the girders of planets Past the brothels Where painters paint The million cycles & still
the terrible feeling returns–– I’ve accomplished nothing. XXXIII Listening to the surf, Hair blowing across your face, You saw only Footprints into the sea That followed one another like violets Along mad rivers Deciding again & again To love. XXXIV Your notebook was washed ashore, But it was hardly The last change In the first realm of paradise Where Love Dreams of the way Beauty In all her languages says The work of the world is peace. XXXV Nameless We took off our clothes As the human shields Were killed in their sleep Till I was swept away On a raft of bones That fed the ongoing flames of
demolished Villages. XXXVI I grieve the chaos Of the deceased in their
smeared make-up Of slit throats Where in mid-sentence I repent the monsters Of unlicensed nihilism Because I am from the massacre & I am the massacre. XXXVII The smell Of burning tires Comes through the window Near the bodies Roped in moonbeams Of unity Where they were separated From time––often
& without fail. XXXVIII I’ve always been enchanted By the persimmon tree That requires So many years to bear fruit Even as you wipe away The hysterical pleasures Of self-conscious bitterness From the eternal
circle of your heart. XXXIX Humanitarian disaster Everywhere I turn Reminds me of someone else I’ll never know. There’s a tin cup on my table–– You left it here, maybe you left it for
me. I take it out to catch the tears that
harmlessly fall Thinking they’ve damaged the earth. XL The station is so eerie–– Even the janitor leaning on his broom Gives me the creeps as he hands me The letter I thought I read When I looked inside & Asked myself once more how I got These hundreds of thousands Of years of feeling. XLI There’s the Colossal serenity between words That rearranges decay Inside the minds of
murderers It easily divines As we smile in a language Of hobos placing their secret mark Upon the doors of the
generous. XLII Factories of death Do not just happen As nations Stumble over the brambled
anchors Of momentary concealment Where we infinitely revere The ever-valid grace Holding our love the whole night long. XLIII You often talked with me About the spaces Between breaths as far richer than
wealth & So I looked there for you–– Hoping to see, touch & hear All that is born Like a poem That once read is never found again. XLIV At Crystal Pass Where I wait for you Flowers call out To their gypsy lovers That their
tedious acceptance of praise For one’s state of mind Is as ridiculous as Having two feet. XLV A low-lit copper aura Falls around the body Like a deeply personal celibacy vow Competing against The calculus of ovulation As you search in vain Knocking on every door but the one In which you don’t exist. XLVI What’s wrong with doubt? It has its own music Which rolls in from the sea As sincere as the lack of an erection
or Coal fires burning Underground through the lonely
centuries Of our conversations that are often
filled with Nothing but quotes
from Neil Young. XLVII The music of fear is intimate & repeatable,
as useful As magnetic keycards To the temple of vast Groundless Vajra
Shoahs Spilling from the cracked cup Of the whole of death Into which we evaporate. XLVIII Why would I seek my refuge in Sandstone rock & sky that moves
with the Melancholy history of snow Casting its net For the fallen light within the sea If not for such a true love as you Which to the angels Seems like torment. XLIX Of Mind’s regressions–– Peering out & moaning
with Unspeakable dignity From behind the bars Of this accidental “me”–– I can draw them for you clearly With these untroubled
eyes. L Without reins or halter You switch horses at full gallop As riders have for centuries crossing El Paseo de
la Muerte Where the floorboards of heaven Creak with the boot heels Of my restless tears Since you’ve been gone. LI In the headwaters Of Lethe Whirl the mountain Of rainbows That cover the madness Of generations in love With the first taste of Heartbreak. LII Rescued from Endless wrapping-up I exalt the transitory With dreams of lasting significance, At peace With leaving the best to offer up as Treasures for heaven. LIII When you go I wish you Fearlessness Of what’s ahead, but Sometimes I wake up in the middle of
the night & lie in
bed, terrified & alone, Just as I did as a little child Contemplating in horror being dead
forever. LIV Sometimes you come back In the light of dawn & finality Greets me with intimate details Of the relentless suffering That gives rise To the place Where the wisest can’t enter. LV Like water running uphill You appeared to me Wearing that red wool dress I’d seen you in years before As we strolled the highlands Overlooking the sky Beyond the sweetgrass
of gain & the roseways of loss. LVI Inside My ecology book I wrote these Mannish requiems to God To help me face My jadedness With naked honesty & A joy like no other. LVII When I told you my theory about Kerouac’s Use of the long dash To parallel the breakdown Of the American Family In the mid-twentieth century–– You said, “There is no one to save.” LVIII Even you Leaning on sad phone booth at Fifth Across from St. Patrick’s Cathedral Where someone pasted A message that read “Gorgeous Models Drop their undies
for you!!!”–– Even you & I are one LIX & Crazy Horse Looking over everywhere We turn––nothing but scorched earth In all directions–– Lost hunting grounds, lost youth–– Still, the tiniest tributary Outweighs History’s mainstream. LX In the land Of dead souls I desired the loveliness Which has yet to come into the world & the
future which belongs To those who believe In the beauty Of their dreams. LXI Angels, my Poem Never sleeps–– It watches over the planet The way a graveyard Watches over music, The way loss watches over war, The way failure Watches over the living. LXII I wander the heavens So that I may learn in my own lifetime What the heart is, what it feels As the ten spaceships land Near the arch at Big Sur With those who never came back & all
those who did But were never the same. LXIII Walk me out in the morning dew My king-size girl. Saw me in half–– I’ll wiggle my toes As geese do, Sleeping in their dark-masked communes, & looking
back At ice-covered ponds. LXIV Extreme days–– Where to forget is inexcusable & to
remember Often unbearable–– I wish you tranquility As you walk away In your powder blue leggings, garters, & see-through
mini-skirt. LXV Buffalo thundering At the speed of darkness–– Your hooves are to my ears The sweet woe of Mariachi bands playing on Venus As the ghost dance of my Poem seeps Like plutonium slowly Through the
groundwater. LXVI Every kindness Is a little death In the divine’s image & The smell of chocolate & mangos & ashes
covers everything, But who stops water from boiling Without dousing The fire beneath it? LXVII I pity the feminine for its Entangled wounds & the
masculine for its sadness of armies Beyond comprehension. Every chain but one You have broken yourself & that
one, too, You alone must break. LXVIII With no power To awaken others, I think of you falling short At the end. How deep is the reservoir Of balance, how free, When the whole country Is a military camp? LXIX What is it you want–– The clouds rain saxophones on The flowers of doubt That lead Through tall nettles To the medicine wheel Of everything Around them grown to
words. LXX When I look within you I see miracles without end In the refuge camps Of all that has happened, Building the light From its mortality Until you accept the reality Of the love you bring forth. LXXI What does your name mean–– “If love is good, From whennes
cometh my woo?” Too soon everything We have known Is washed away Leaving nothing of ourselves Among the ten
thousand peaks. LXXII Out of the gloom, I hear you talking like A mind reader Sitting on a velvet moon Where the obstinance
of love Has its own mountains Which we climb in shoes made from The leathery skin of
rosehips in winter. LXXIII I enter the vast palace of clouds That so effortlessly Rains upon The pillows Of specialized knowledge Without knowing who Came looking At this empty-handed
mind. LXXIV The stones are weary With their own Gem Sickness As you film me Drawing with your lipstick On all the cheap paintings In this supreme
hotel. LXXV Many bury Kinsmen in an ugly
cease-fire. Others try to escape From the life that they had––but the Atrocities follow Like compassion & openness Freeing you from distraction, Creating generosity. LXXVI As the families arrive, The gold-toothed undertaker Turns off his Hearing aids That bleed In the light of the blue-grey snow As he covers her body In full sight of the
peacekeepers. LXXVII Around the planet Tales float of a soldier Who almost clubbed A young student During a political Firestorm If not for the sound Of one chanting Om. LXXVIII Why do we hide Our weaknesses Like hangmen writing elegant postcards With ink made of urine In the emergency rooms of memory As doctors weigh the fingers of Deadmen sitting in chairs With shiny yellow
badges? LXXIX No concepts To appease the disappearing fetus Of the muses In their aquamarine Straight-jackets & skeletal
litanies That hang in the balance & cannot
retreat forever. LXXX The lights of your eyes Take hold of my emotions & Cure me like a pregnant woman Vomiting into her purse When I return & Every single thing is the whole & I feel your love-rays on This, the most
brilliant of days. LXXXI I look for you through Heatwaves of Eros & roiling
cities With red ragged burden-carriers Invulnerable & then
drooping Over the spinning turntables Of your green
brassiere. LXXXII The Soul of evolution Is the end of powerlessness Everywhere Rising through the words Of those who lay down their lives Till I came face to face with Black-shawled
Demeter–– The Celestial who
couldn’t be driven out. LXXXIII In the turquoise sky Of shimmering hexagrams, I burst out of the Cosmos To live within the center of all things At the throne Of green twilight Dancing across wet fields of mint Till peace grips the
world. LXXXIV Throughout your life Who is the thief? Who’s been robbed? Mysterious to others, A mystery to yourself, Pleasure & spirit Take hold of you With a scarecrow’s devotion Till your
elaborate plans are all too late. LXXXV On the night When such a vertigo Came to my heart I felt nearly suffocated–– Rest assure this Breathing corpse At that moment Thought of nothing but you. LXXXVI A poet’s life Includes antigravity techniques For living without Strain or compulsion. Why continue So influenced by others–– The more you followed The more lost you became. LXXXVII Don’t be mislead As I was. Again & again Beliefs are destroyed Till one day like me you ask yourself “How many hours Has ‘Jim Cohn’ caused me To forget my loneliness?” LXXXVIII In the millennial cafe Full of bums & saints, A great shadow Hovers like a meteor of third eyes For the great wandering troubadours Packing their alphabets Into old rickety suitcases As they depart the scene. LXXXIX I see myself gasping In vanity’s flame To find myself Among the most sorrowful dead–– Buried with their bullet holes &
names On crumpled pieces of paper Stuffed inside Clear plastic
bottles. XC Of one million families Ruined by the heavy toll, Only a hundred endured. If I was President I’d paint the White House black–– Then I would write on its wall The
fruits of their crackdowns Will
also prove illusory. XCI Talk about a system Of government–– Who pursues the happiness? Who contains this suffering? Then I met Love, whose Appearance spoke such grief She called me by name & gave my
heart new delight. XCII In the depth of night I saw the ages Of hidden things That had first appeared to me Beneath the veils of Her dress––cool as a spring breeze Blowing across the greatness Of my own
limitations. XCIII Loyalty & pride–– There’s a mansion With many rooms for sale & the
smell of All the loves That did not last As you leapt up screaming At the faded clowns. XCIV To the ghosts of my mind No more real than The child Who dreams of being beaten While sleeping In its lover’s arms–– When will you demonstrate True understanding? XCV Ghost––Whoever asks, “When Did you know everything is love?” It was the night Among the dakinis
in their T-shirts & brown
cowboy boots Listening to the skipping needle & wondering What lonely death I am to die. XCVI Life is sad & haunted
by beings That once parted From nowhere to nowhere Ask to whom Can I open My heart & begin to
live? XCVII Here is what I left out–– Home––neither Unconscious Nor written, But with all the energy Of the public soul At the private wall Of the world. XCVIII In the fiery storm At the center of the heart She fought to reach him & there he
knew the imprisonment Love might impose & With it a freedom Nothing to do with
prisons. XCIX What is soon washed away Yet dwells amidst the Forbidden waves? I felt what my body would not be again Touch me for the last time & heard
cries Mingled with the tiny shells & petals
of roses rolling into the sea. C I must confess To living in a less spacious age Than yours, but The snow falls equally Covering the forgotten & great
whose fame The world won’t let Willingly die. CI I admire your life As if it were the Split-trunk pine of Takekuma–– Cut by the governor, A new one planted, cut, Replanted in the same spot & still it
grows in the beautiful shape Of the original. CII I enter with ease Into the spirit of the times Where the midnight sun Does not decease or disturb The irrelevant completeness Of the frightened wanderer At the hour of death When he soars into flight. CIII No regrets, though I wish I’d been able to write the laughter of women. The wild river of laughter–– My whole life, Immersed in this laughter. The laughter of women–– Who can hope to reply To such exquisite
songs? CIV Those who commit The most ungodly acts Still do so with the assurance of the
feeling That nothing will be done. This is why we have chosen to appear Through the madrone
blossoms Willing to give our lives So that others might live. CV Face to face, The mind in its holy vacuum, I have passed many seasons, My endless phrases Addressed to no one–– Like the light dust Falling upon your shoulders As you ride past Jupiter hot springs. 11-17 January 1999 Revised 27 June 1999 [Published in Quien Sabe Mountain: Poems 1998-2004. © 2004 by Jim Cohn.] |
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