Jon Cone
ON A THEME BY J. H. CHIDRESS-PINN
It is limitless its myriad
virulence: it is to be
poor, to have no pelt
for certain things, either
what is necessary
or what is barren exilic pleasure.
It is the look the son gives
the father as disappointment
at shared blood, hopelessness
the brick fence of failure,
winding brick-nestled up
a low winter field to an ancient yew
obscured by bits of white blanket
cold hauled across the green pond.
It is pure is longing. There
no map, suddenly only
an astonishment, dour limbs
creeping, leaves sere atop root.
So go honor thy traitor the hard
demand made by wind-dumb
blast above where crowds
a pulver of buried rictus.
NAMES THAT COULD NOT POSSIBLY BE KNOWN
An early evening sundered only by the hollow measure
that is the grandfather clock’s singular relentless tock
Father appears to read Unamuno’s The Tragic Sense of Life.
He claims it as allotment. Elsewhere Mother performs
an autopsy on bruised white linens using small tools whose
names I could not possibly know. Time is dust-late
as I sink like a sullen beast deep into the darkest corner
where long coats hang damp and tall boots lean against tall boots.
FINGERNAIL MOON
OF JOHNSON COUNTY
You were going fast.
It was beautiful,
how fast you were going.
You were beautiful
like a perfect incision.
The rain came to an end
and there was that terrible fingernail moon
on the river.
It’s crazy.
No one knows anything
but the fish go in the river anyway.
TWO POEMS
after 尾崎 放哉 and 種田 山頭火
1
Snow fell last night
I wear three coats walking
2
The moon in the clear sky
I can see my shoe
IT HAS COME TO THIS, THESE
This shall be the one I use.
This no other.
Then this shall be the one I refuse.
This no other, I shall refuse.
And this and this and this, these
in the cumulation of small tolerations shall be set down
and their futures determined,
in waves consonant with
the turning nature of
the world. That is,
the seas above below within.
14 WORDS
O such
a suet
day it was!
Such a
one as
this one was.
Jon Cone is working on a study of Louis Zukofsky, Lorine Neidecker, and Larry Eigner. Born in Charfield, England, he is a Canadian currently living in the American Mid-West.
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ON A THEME BY J. H. CHIDRESS-PINN
It is limitless its myriad
virulence: it is to be
poor, to have no pelt
for certain things, either
what is necessary
or what is barren exilic pleasure.
It is the look the son gives
the father as disappointment
at shared blood, hopelessness
the brick fence of failure,
winding brick-nestled up
a low winter field to an ancient yew
obscured by bits of white blanket
cold hauled across the green pond.
It is pure is longing. There
no map, suddenly only
an astonishment, dour limbs
creeping, leaves sere atop root.
So go honor thy traitor the hard
demand made by wind-dumb
blast above where crowds
a pulver of buried rictus.
NAMES THAT COULD NOT POSSIBLY BE KNOWN
An early evening sundered only by the hollow measure
that is the grandfather clock’s singular relentless tock
Father appears to read Unamuno’s The Tragic Sense of Life.
He claims it as allotment. Elsewhere Mother performs
an autopsy on bruised white linens using small tools whose
names I could not possibly know. Time is dust-late
as I sink like a sullen beast deep into the darkest corner
where long coats hang damp and tall boots lean against tall boots.
FINGERNAIL MOON
OF JOHNSON COUNTY
You were going fast.
It was beautiful,
how fast you were going.
You were beautiful
like a perfect incision.
The rain came to an end
and there was that terrible fingernail moon
on the river.
It’s crazy.
No one knows anything
but the fish go in the river anyway.
TWO POEMS
after 尾崎 放哉 and 種田 山頭火
1
Snow fell last night
I wear three coats walking
2
The moon in the clear sky
I can see my shoe
IT HAS COME TO THIS, THESE
This shall be the one I use.
This no other.
Then this shall be the one I refuse.
This no other, I shall refuse.
And this and this and this, these
in the cumulation of small tolerations shall be set down
and their futures determined,
in waves consonant with
the turning nature of
the world. That is,
the seas above below within.
14 WORDS
O such
a suet
day it was!
Such a
one as
this one was.
Jon Cone is working on a study of Louis Zukofsky, Lorine Neidecker, and Larry Eigner. Born in Charfield, England, he is a Canadian currently living in the American Mid-West.