Tom Hibbard


HOW MANY IS THE ONLY ONE

'the For-Itself, in fact, is nothing but the pure nihilation of the In-itself'
-Sartre

by order of orange barrels
with ticking amber cursed autumn comes
to the picnic grounds and grapevines
to frisk watertowers
to tend hedgerows with felonies
to set up the predetermined barriers of datum
from giant machines carrying other machines
to the banks of drained rivers
with sleeves rolled up they draw to drink
the wine of the concept of degradation
the year-end festival of counters
giddy enemy surveying a tree
it knows well the art of following
of exact aiming with its finger
till it achieves its goal—
lining up five unmovable trash receptacles in a row
turning water into drought

THE BLASPHEMOUS NAMES OF HEARTLESSNESS

logistical problems of flight
all the isms that make up a sunny april day
temps going up into the sixties
millions of chores just in your own tiny yard
the sensation is more a twinkling
more analogous to a reviving
a voyage resulting from staying in one place
attached to impossible
reforestation in some sense in vain
locating darkness' call
with only slight alteration
only the merest encouragement
an accidental transposing of letters
perhaps the removing of weeds from a garden
suddenly shows the inevitability of life rather than death
a calculation that contradicts
the notions of better and worse
of going forward or backward
a modest factor overdubbed
that reveals rather than covers
a staying together rather than falling away



Tom Hibbard's poetry, translations and reviews can be found at many places online. Crag Hill provides a list of his recent reviews here.

The above poems come from his new collection ghotki crater.


 
 
 
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