Fred Wolven

MOZART PROBABLY WOULDN’T APPROVE

It is never easy
tuna shouldn’t be canned
Mozart probably wouldn’t approve
I like the taste of a light zinfandel
the winds & rain mix in the afternoon
bouncing off the hurricane shutters
whether it’s salad, sandwich or burger
isn’t very important.

Just why would a small army,
the templars of Agartha, defend
such an ancient kingdom?
Ah, chicken salad on romaine lettuce hearts
& another glass of wine
with a touch of garlic & pepper.

Legends have it that visitors were known
to pass through that part of Sri Lanka
without even realizing it.

After burying my father
I revisited the graveyard
feeling the smooth granite stone, carefully
polished, with its recessed names
names & dates of family deeply etched.

I add some tomatoes, slices of carrots,
chunks of celery, cheddar cheese
I’ve heard of the spiritual treasures
believed secreted in a famous university
in that land; it is also noted for the
weird birds with their pointed teeth
as well as turtles with extra feet.

Pouring the wine slowly
I inhale its fragrant aroma
& ponder answers to questions
about the occult, questions
I will some day pose.

Bread pudding is not very tasty
but Rice pudding is, for it is not
a phenomena with any secret ingredients.

I see no stone tablets or books to dislodge
no bottle hidden on dusty shelves
of cellars, no supernatural influences
beyond my human comprehension,
only lines of Rilke newly translated
his panther gliding into my space
barely filling my night air with sound
& then quietly become a silent image.

What of this morning’s shadowy reflection
in the mirror, what of the mask of Orpheus
on the museum wall?
This jello jiggles on my spoon,
it’s sugary sweetness clashing
with my sip of wine.

I suppose there’s no need now
to write my first sonnet.
Where did I leave my new canvas?
What is that noise pounding in my ears?

QUESTIONS: IT’S JUST ME ALL ALONE, INDIVIDUAL, HERE

Sitting in the shade of a massive oak just off the beach,
I watch the September afternoon ocean gently lapping on the sand.
Relaxing, I am in a state between hypnotic trance & daydreaming.
As I start to close my eyes a girl’s image appears in the lake;
her head, then her whole body emerges as
she walks toward me from out of the murky waters.
At first I just notice her, then gradually I recognize her figure;
it’s the same one I imaged seeing in brackish waters in Naples.
Only now, as she walks up onto the sand,
I watch her bend over & pick a wildflower from
alongside the dock. Then, as quickly as she entered
my vision, the girl just fades from my view.
What should I make of all this? Why has she returned?
Am I only imaging things? How can my vision
seem so real, and why am I seeing her now?
Perhaps it’s just me all alone, individual, right here.

SHOULD WE HAVE STAYED AT HOME?

Should we have stayed at home?,
The poet asks. Well, at first
I wonder if the tiny ants
Crossing the white tiles
Appearing and disappearing
Without ceremony, are a sign,
Some kind of notice I must
Learn to translate, find a means
To unlock a hidden meaning of.
Of course, each time I try
I wind up listening with one ear
Rather than two, for with my other
I can only feel the pulse beat
Of the tortoise in the zoo,
The quickened breathing of the doe
Fixed in winter’s midnight headlight,
This and much more too.
Can one really stay at home
On days when fluffy clouds
Gently drift by, in nights
When the moon is so full
The lady’s eyes would seem ready
To pop out, the stars mark the paths
So clearly even a bat might see by day,
Or the owl become wise beyond fancy.
Perhaps, should I become able to
Learn again how to tie and untie my shoe,
Then too, if I could feel by reading the lush
Colors of O’Keefe’s desert flowers,
Or even shape the lines of just one more
Verse, yes, at that moment only might
I have the answer to this question
Of my youth, now asked each day,
Not if I could, but if, given the chance,
Would I stay or not—which seems
Not to matter much any more.
Not now, when I might enjoy
Another glass of wine with you,
Here or there wherever that may be.

ONE LEAF, THEN ANOTHER AND ANOTHER

Lift one leaf, then another and another.
Look closely at each one in turn. Examine
Them well, don’t crumble nor drop any
Along the way. Notice, if you wish,

That the lifelines thread, connect,
And join particles into a whole,
The skeletal, wing supporting frames giving
Form, stretch out into the oxygen cycle

We take sustance from. You’re right,
Standing, sitting quietly in shallow waters,
One can see the plant, the bush, the tree
Breathing nearly as deeply as you and me.

While I have not stood in the Rockies as you
And taken in the majestic fissures, the broad
Sweep of color, the fanciful play of light
On nature’s sculpture, in fern-filled valleys

And on Dogwood dotted slopes of the Smokies
I have trailed both bear cut and butterfly,
Possum and raccoon, crossed spring-rushing
Streams and entered fall-colored hardwoods.

But, it is only when down on one knee,
Having stopped to turn over a small log,
That I can observe the hum of community
As tiny insects, ants they are, march

Or meander below and around seeking,
Dragging, carrying all into a common
Nest here beside a stone. Often I wonder
Just how much of the inside of a tree

I could touch if I pushed a finger up
Into the root and somehow, magically,
Moved into it, passing in and out of
Trunk, bark, branch, stem, and finally

That very leaf you’ve turned over to see.
Could it be like diving into the sea,
Coral spread out before and below,
The many sizes and shapes, texture
And bulk just fingertips away. This
Natural world before us, around us,
Is living just a might differently, for,
After all, it is really only we humans

Fully able to crawl or stand very tall
That are much like the other animals and
Creatures, one or all. Together, beasts,
We may play, but when we notice the swinging

Leaves of trees or ants nearing their nest,
Then, yes, maybe only then, do we humans
Escape, passing through a wall and fill
One void in the universe after all.

Copyright © 2004 Fred Wolven

Cover Design: Joseph McNair