I scry through time with a crystal sphere
Asking of it my future, both far and near
Yet, the images I see were dismally unclear
(It should go without saying that I am not a seer)
I saw a black dog and it's rather cute
It doesn't bark though, perhaps it's mute?
Its silky coat shines like freshly ironed suit
Is it time to do the laundry? I do not compute
Then I saw an owl flying over my house
That's great! I hope it'd prey on the mouse
Who invaded my dresser and chewed on a blouse
The most expensive one too, that dreadful louse!
It then displayed my room, and zoomed in on my bed
Where someone had left on the pillow an old, felt hat
I tap on the hard dome, starting to get mad
Couldn't it bring a sign that can be more easily read?
Finally, it shattered, the infernal ball
I've been scammed! It couldn’t see the future after all
An old felt hat adorned her head
Her wicker basket on her arm
A life alone, she'd never wed,
A gentle soul, so full of charm.
A tootle down the shop most days
A warm "hello" she had for all,
Her little dog there by her side
Always at her beck and call.
Then one day she disappeared
As a child, I did not ask
I thought mum had seen her though,
I heard her say, "old Martha's passed."
I sometimes sit
At the train station
And watch the people
Go by. They sweep past
Hurriedly, filling the quiet
Of my thoughts
With bustling energy.
Then a little one’s head
Will turn, inquisitive
Eyes questing to know more about
This curious lady in
Her red felt hat,
And for that moment,
The swirling hordes pause
And the world takes
Notice. Before his mother pulls
Gently on his hand,
Before she admonishes him
Not to stare—
I meet his eyes with a
Smile, in vain effort
To tell him that
I understand. We are both
Students of the world.
Down to his last silver dollar,
Had been for many a year,
Caleb felt rich as long as
He had that last dollar near.
He’d made a million, believe it.
And through his fingers, went it all
He was terrified of being poor,
So he worked or stole for anything at all.
He’d set his value on money,
(God told us not to do that},
He just couldn’t help himself,
Always wore a new felt hat.
Didn’t have a love, no friends,
Couldn’t spend money on those,
Had a little dilapidated book,
The finest condo, rows and rows of clothes.
Alone in his Armani suit,
One night he felt sick and bleak,
A walker found him in the snow.
Frozen tears covered his cheeks.
Still, though, down in his pocket
Forever it would be
That last shiny silver dollar,
A slave, though he thought he was free.
City across the water, night by violet aurora
Los Angeles, we're further south than I thought (than we should be)
I take a strewn-bark trail to get a better view
Hand me the camera, Polaroids in quick succession (when is this?)
It's not quite capturing it, never the depth of field we need
Daybreak (remembering, there's no bay in LA)
Scores of Chinese workers emerge from pores in pagodas
Hauling, cleaning, young mean men, old pig-tailed women, children too small to see clearly
Faces are rusty, resolutely worn
I can zoom in but can't get there from here
Night again, back on the trail
A man appears from the palm brush behind
Could pass for a 1930s Okie hobo; faded salmon shirt, crushed felt hat
Something in his beard
He just wants to feel the lights and see the palms
Gunshots, on my side of the water
Okie flees, I hear whispers, overlapping
This is good stuff, though unnerving
I should be writing this down
Ushered from the scene, to somewhere I didn't expect to be
Between 96th and 104th Street on Broadway
A mid age man holds high his bible as he shouts and struts.
From year to year he holds his route
When day is lit or turns to night
His chants I hear in words of worth
His strained voice reaches some looking out windows
Those traversing sidewalk sometimes stand and stare
He stands few feet away in worn shoes twisted to one side
His felt hat on salt and pepper hair gives gentlemanly air
He could have been a GQ type in earlier times
A worn leather bag heavy laden with tracks and books
Is draped on one shoulder.
He hands colored tracks to anyone
While lovingly he chants:"GOD! GOD! GOD!"
"I LOWYOU! ILOWYOU! ILOWYOU! GOD! GOD!"
Over and over his chanting holds rhythm
Contentment rings clear, but by golly! the man speaks no English
The bible is held high as he shares.
I've seen him writing countless checks for
Religious cause each first of the month
He writes until the lot is done; then from the post office
He ventures right back on Broadway to share
Salvation tracks; yes, he holds high his bible
And strut, and strut, unashamed; unafraid
His ministry to him, means a lot.
*
Nightmare, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s Cauchemar
(Translation of Paul Verlaine’s quintilla : « Cauchemar ». As usual, I have tried to stick to the original’s stanzaic format and rhyme scheme. T. Wignesan)
In my unfurling dream I saw it happen
- The way the hurricane lashes the strand –
A two-edged sword whirling in one hand
An hourglass in the other
This knight rider
Come coursing through Germany
Down through towns and the open country
And from the river up mountain free,
And from forests to valley lone
This stallion
Ebony black and red as flame
Sans bridle, nor bit, nor rein.
Ne’er a hup ! nor crop, constrain
In the midst of deafening railing
Unfailing ! Unfailing !
Long plume adorning a huge felt hat
Kept in shade his eye which up it lit
And then it dimmed. Such as in the mist
Explodes and dies this blue flash clear
The weapon fire
As when the white-tailed eagle’s wing
As might by a sudden storm sting
The air streaked with snowing,
His fur coat out-raised distend
Beat back the wind,
And disclosed with an air : glory be
A torso sombre and of ivory,
While in the black night free
Through strident neighing : dazzling beneath
Thirty-two teeth.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
How to describe him,
the he that was so much a part of me
but for such a short while
brawn.
The span of his shoulders
as they stretched across his un-ironed flannel plaid.
The wedge shaped fan of his finger nails,
always a bit black;
even though, by God, he tried.
Locks drew him,
puzzles, pleased him,
whiskers became him.
And the blue of his eyes
was Dresden
bringing back memories of the Irish Sea.
Suren, his kin seemed for all intents and purposed
to be shan ti Irish
and not lace curtain Irish at all.
Who would want all that thin,
untried blood anyway,
when you could have a true mans-man
with forearms like tree boughs
with a heart so big, his laughter
seemed to crack his face
at the corner of his eyes.
A taunt man
who you didn’t mind seeing
coming or going
who wore a slouched felt hat,
threw long-handles axes
and carried a long bow.
*names have not been changed to protect the innocent
no one's innocent here ;)
I can close my eyes, and see
Her gentle, weathered face,
Hair pulled back into a wispy bun
Grey around the temples, crinkles around the eyes
A bibbed apron, fastened with two safety pins
To the top of her dress
That apron, which throughout the day
Served as a place to dry her hands
To hold a hot pan of oatmeal cookies straight out of the oven
A hammock to carry tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden
A cloth to wipe my tears after I had skinned my knees
For Grandma, dressing up meant taking off the apron
Putting a black felt hat on the top of her head
And wearing her worn grey tweed coat
Yes then...she would be ready for church,
Knowing the lyrics to all the hymns
Without cracking open the hymnal
Poking me gently with her elbow
If I failed to bow my head in reverence
While the preacher said the prayer
Sometimes, even today,....
I still feel a gentle twinge between my ribs
Or the soft worn cloth of her apron wipe away my tears
When the snow is deep and wet enough to pack
I look out my living room window to watch kids build a snowman
Wouldn't you know that old felt hat is gone from the closet and
My meerschaum pipe (this will never do) gone from the rack
Robert has given his own red scarf
While little Sue with not another thing to do
has stolen the black lids off our plastic coffee cups
Never have I seen those kids work with such love's labor
The man is rolled and packed together before I can tire
It is just noon and typical Denver
The sun is out thermometer way up!
So before the kids can sigh the melt
I pop out the door and cry, "What a wonderful snowman!
This calls for a reward!" Then I ease on him my favorite tie
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