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| Title | First published |
| 4th of May | Monterey Poetry Review (2007) |
| Bearers of Gifts | Quarry West (1999) |
| Between "No" and "Forgive" | Monterey Poetry Review (2007) |
| Difficulty of Desire, The | Convergence (2004) |
| Haiku first published in Geppo | Geppo (1996 onward) |
| Haiku first published in Heron's Nest | Heron's Nest (2006 onward) |
| Lost and Found Department of Dreams: Brussels, The | Runes (2002) |
| Occupied Norway: The Resistance Angel | Monterey Poetry Review (2007) |
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Still Waters Run Between Cup And Lip:
The Advice of an Immigrant to her Granddaughter | Quarry West (1999) |
4th of May
J. Zimmerman
Bartolomeo Cristofori (born 4th of May, 1655)
invented the pianoforte;
Thomas Henry Huxley (born 4th of May, 1825)
coined the word "agnostic".
Each instant
today worldwide
ten thousand pianos
resound, mostly
un-tuned, many
played with one
hesitant finger,
striking keys
by chance
more than choice
with only hints
of a tune.
Laughter over
each wrong note
outweighs the sighs,
teases the scales
toward, even
a grouch agrees,
glee. Only a few
listeners wince.
Meanwhile this moment
a hundred women
and men
in separate workrooms
abandon their plans
for proof
and disproof.
Alpine meadows
of flowers
are toe-prints
of gods,
or they're not.
Cloud banners
streaming from peaks
in Tibet and Peru
hide the sighs
and wings
of gods,
or they don't.
Nobody knows
what is true
inside every niche
of a soul. Could a man
be mud sparked
by a finger of light
that glinted
five millennia
or five billennia
since? A woman
can't decide,
dithers and lingers,
begins to play
a partita by Bach,
glides into a line
of walking bass,
slithers singing
into boogie-woogie
in a major key.
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Copyright © 2007-2008 by J. Zimmerman.
This e-publication @ Ariadne's Poetry Web, 6 August 2007. An earlier version first appeared in Monterey Poetry Review (2007). |
| Other poems of J. Zimmerman. |
Bearers of Gifts J. Zimmerman She gave him five kiwi fruit. He gave her the breath that pushed the claws away from her inner ear as the plane descended. He gave her the Baptist's head on a golden tray. She gave him the seventh seal. She gave him the tiny cog left over after she put the clock back together. He gave her a day on the river where pink geodes grow. She gave him the carnelian blood stone of the sixth chakra, and the means to pass through it. He gave her the green elephant, its ears, its memories of childhood. He gave her a whirlwind. She gave him the envoy to the east who retrieved the hostage. She gave him the sound of his own voice. He gave her blueberry branches, leaf buds slow as stars. He gave her snow cornices and avalanches. She gave him the winter sun and her tongue on his chest and thighs. He gave her the smoky eclipsed moon. She gave him the comet suspended in black above the tsunami. She gave him the wax that bonded wings to skin. He gave her the box from which ten thousand would escape. He gave her bread and wine. She gave him sand, water, a place to begin. |
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Copyright © 1999-2008 by J. Zimmerman.
This e-publication @ Ariadne's Poetry Web, 11 August 2007. An earlier version first appeared in Quarry West (1999). |
| Other poems of J. Zimmerman. |
Between "No" and "Forgive" J. Zimmerman One word was my first; one shall be my last. Meanwhile the years break into gold-flecked water. Two red wings pivot past the ball of light. Trees breathe. Everything moves with me toward home. |
|
Copyright © 2007-2008 by J. Zimmerman.
This e-publication @ Ariadne's Poetry Web, 6 August 2007. An earlier version first appeared in Monterey Poetry Review (2007). |
| Other poems of J. Zimmerman. |
Occupied Norway: The Resistance Angel J. Zimmerman someone with a gun shoots me down nicks my left wing but I can almost glide a little as I fall three farm boys find me on the snowy fjord shore one tears off his shirtsleeve to bandage my bruised brow they cut saplings make a stretcher on which they carry me to the school for the crippled and the blind behind the shutters and the passworded doors thin children sit at low tables constructing bombs no matter who shot me these children bandage my head take me in splint and fold my wings they feed me a bowl of fresh milk a stew of winter turnips let me sleep next day they show me the map to the enemy's Base of Occupation something bites me sharp as a ferret on the shoulders but is only my wings unfolding now the children strap bombs to my body lead me outside to the colder air the starlight the free and buoyant wind |
|
Copyright © 2007-2008 by J. Zimmerman.
This e-publication @ Ariadne's Poetry Web, 6 August 2007. An earlier version first appeared in Monterey Poetry Review (2007). |
| Other poems of J. Zimmerman. |
Still Waters Run Between Cup and Lip: The Advice of an Immigrant to her Granddaughter J. Zimmerman There's many a slip not heard. Little children should be seen and unturned. Leave no stone out of mind. Out of sight, soon parted. A fool and his money are a silver lining. Every cloud has no moss. A rolling stone gathers for no man. Time and tide wait, lost. He who hesitates is the fair. None but the brave deserves the most noise. Empty pots make the heart grow fonder. Absence makes you gain on the roundabouts. What you lose on the swings comes around. What goes around as handsome, does. Handsome is the worm. The early bird catches just before dawn. The darkest hour is deep. |
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Copyright © 1999-2008 by J. Zimmerman.
This e-publication @ Ariadne's Poetry Web, 11 August 2007. An earlier version first appeared in Quarry West (1999). |
| Other poems of J. Zimmerman. |
Related pages:
Poetry index.
How to Write Poetry.
How to write specific forms: Haibun.
Haiku.
Hay(na)ku.
Rengay.
Tanka.
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New books on writing poetry.
Books of Poetry Form.
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| Copyright © 2007 by Ariadne Unst |