Ric Carfagna
from Symphony No. 13
(deconstructedidyll idol)
from Insignificant Figures
Where one is
alone with age
illusions to deceive
the sag to portend
that the house
will soon be
empty
will soon be
without
a succession of seasons
passing the glass
glazed with hoarfrost
and rime
with the stars
with the galaxies
returning to the eye
with a night sky
with sparrows in the alcove
rodents gnawing the rafters
and this great turn of light
among angular columns
and spiral stairwells
accruing pestilential shadows
the numina of extinction
the sundered tapestry
the distillated tincture
dripping sustenance
from shrouded deity appendages
and the saviors from saucers return
within entropy’s convalescent hem
weathered and frayed
with a last word to contrive
visions for abandonment
a quantum dissolution
a dead tree
a crow
a sparrow in the privet
an iron balustrade
angling down
as the road curves east
and a light that cannot be
apprehended
traversing the windowpane…
++++++++++++++++
A ship passes the window
morning without an ocean
a meadow’s fragrance
reminiscent
scorched edges
retrieved from memory
as if childhood
was not the sentinel
guarding the citadel
where ghosts reside
transparent only to the physical eye
to the patches of bare ground
beneath footfall
scraps of paper
scribing deciphered
as in a view through haze
a convalescence of shapes
days retracing a labyrinth indistinct
movement in a room
removed from observation
removed from an ocean
austere in isolation
depth-forms
a solidity of mirrors
and a voice
where there is no
one
to hear
words
echoing in a
pulse
through this day…
++++++++++++++++
Some idea of a past
gathered into gaps and hinges
into equations and variables
the number six
and a partial ghost
resolving only
this indeterminacy of touch
this nullity of vision
this quiescence of vacant houses
wandering corridors
to notice paint peeling
from ceilings
(to believe) voices are still
possessors of presence (of pretense)
an absence of flesh
notwithstanding
the gray shapes
of disembodied thoughts
the blurry light
filling gaps in crevices
the continuation of music
viols in framed occurrences
terrestrial facets
across a relativistic divide
across hemispheres
of blood and DNA
across interstellar otherness
and of what cannot be
anthropomorphically contemplated
through a glass darkly
through verities of saints (of scholars)
through scalar incomprehensibilities
through a raving madman’s amphetamine slaw
through a continuity somewhere within
the obvious (the oblivious) the clandestine
a matter of relative measure
or an old woman with her dog
waiting at a window
+++++++++++++++++
From here to return
is to traverse wilderness
with mountains removed
by one questioning faith
with a forest surrounding
a deity unnamed
where severed limbs
marked a trail
with briar and nettle
blighted latitudes
limiting touch
on a physical plane
anomalies appearing
a corollary to the invisible
face in the mirror
trash in the grass
debris prescience extinction
a deity absent
blood among flowers
a wind through trees
words dismembering (remembering)
torsos limbs
womb of orphans
and end to things
through a doorway
Lazarus returning
into a future that has been
a preordained presence
defining a vision gathered
a vague perception
this slow drain
of isolated occurrences
not specific in tone
+++++++++++++++++
from Fractal Labyrinth
11-
Of these (latter) days
nothing remains only
fragmentsof a history
disinterred and entombed
latitudes lost to spatial mutations
landscapes that cannot be
fully articulated
primordial states
andnot the straight line given
an evolution’s percussive dissonance
the afterimages of ancillary radiance
terrestrial alcoves concealing
the sporadic bleedof essence in decay
+++++++++++++++++
15-
Somehowresolution
is a weedy patch
of newly-mown lawn
is a line representing
the density ofmatter
is a myth with structure
andsentience
a burden to endure
in a labyrinth tracing
a sun falling in angles
with perspectives
of intimacyand detachment
with ebb and flow of life
distance and estrangement
when observed
through a telescopic lens
+++++++++++++++++
19-
A bookopen
to page one
still no resolution
in all this useless knowledge
a butterfly beds down
in the tall grass
it is enough to know
where there is no need
to circumvent the boundaries
to travel there to understand
the weightof semaphores and stalemates
the pull of gravity’s progeny
approaching at the speed of light
the breath returning
to animatethe flesh
the sparrow on a branch
at the end of the day
+++++++++++++++++
Klee Waifs - 4
The concern with form…
I realize Iam not
pictorial
not the constructivist
paintedinto a fusion
throughtones
foreshortening
the thirddimension
yet I dream of myself
(modestly)
in an epigonic age
of not being discovered
with consciousness
crumbling around me
+++++++++++++++++
22-
Physical progression
a theorycontingent
on the rise and ebb of tides
theoretically
an ocean at the window
the swing of a pendulum
from here it seems
days withdrawinto obscurity
calendars of empty numbers
a sympathy of hours
lost among weeds
growing at the pavement edge
thresholds complexities divinations
and what is unfinished
always in shadow
always hypothetical
always itinerant
+++++++++++++++++
28-
Temporal again
this heart
this stone
atoms create
grey fates where eyes close
at the endof the day
another page unread
another wind entering
the widow’s frame
the doorajar
the corridor light
voices down stairwells
dim reminders
when ghosts whereechoes
dismembering the past
Ric Carfagna was born and educated in Boston Massachusetts. He is the author of numerous collections of poetry, most recently: Symphonies Nos. 5,& 9 published by White Sky Books-
https://archive.org/details/SymphonyNo.5_175
http://www.lulu.com/us/en/shop/ric-carfagna/symphony-no-9/paperback/product-21128532.html
Symphony No.3 (caryatids for the firmament) (pending from Unlikely Stories Press)
His poetry has evolved from the early radical experiments of his first two books, Confluential Trajectories and Porchcat Nadir, to the unsettling existential mosaics of his multi-book project Notes On NonExistence.
Ric lives in rural central Massachusetts with his wife, cellist Mary Carfagna and daughters, Emilia and Aria.
previous page contents next page
from Symphony No. 13
(deconstructed
from Insignificant Figures
Where one is
alone with age
illusions to deceive
the sag to portend
that the house
will soon be
empty
will soon be
without
a succession of seasons
passing the glass
glazed with hoarfrost
and rime
with the stars
with the galaxies
returning to the eye
with a night sky
with sparrows in the alcove
rodents gnawing the rafters
and this great turn of light
among angular columns
and spiral stairwells
accruing pestilential shadows
the numina of extinction
the sundered tapestry
the distillated tincture
dripping sustenance
from shrouded deity appendages
and the saviors from saucers return
within entropy’s convalescent hem
weathered and frayed
with a last word to contrive
visions for abandonment
a quantum dissolution
a dead tree
a crow
a sparrow in the privet
an iron balustrade
angling down
as the road curves east
and a light that cannot be
apprehended
traversing the windowpane…
++++++++++++++++
A ship passes the window
morning without an ocean
a meadow’s fragrance
reminiscent
scorched edges
retrieved from memory
as if childhood
was not the sentinel
guarding the citadel
where ghosts reside
transparent only to the physical eye
to the patches of bare ground
beneath footfall
scraps of paper
scribing deciphered
as in a view through haze
a convalescence of shapes
days retracing a labyrinth indistinct
movement in a room
removed from observation
removed from an ocean
austere in isolation
depth-forms
a solidity of mirrors
and a voice
where there is no
one
to hear
words
echoing in a
pulse
through this day…
++++++++++++++++
Some idea of a past
gathered into gaps and hinges
into equations and variables
the number six
and a partial ghost
resolving only
this indeterminacy of touch
this nullity of vision
this quiescence of vacant houses
wandering corridors
to notice paint peeling
from ceilings
(to believe) voices are still
possessors of presence (of pretense)
an absence of flesh
notwithstanding
the gray shapes
of disembodied thoughts
the blurry light
filling gaps in crevices
the continuation of music
viols in framed occurrences
terrestrial facets
across a relativistic divide
across hemispheres
of blood and DNA
across interstellar otherness
and of what cannot be
anthropomorphically contemplated
through a glass darkly
through verities of saints (of scholars)
through scalar incomprehensibilities
through a raving madman’s amphetamine slaw
through a continuity somewhere within
the obvious (the oblivious) the clandestine
a matter of relative measure
or an old woman with her dog
waiting at a window
+++++++++++++++++
From here to return
is to traverse wilderness
with mountains removed
by one questioning faith
with a forest surrounding
a deity unnamed
where severed limbs
marked a trail
with briar and nettle
blighted latitudes
limiting touch
on a physical plane
anomalies appearing
a corollary to the invisible
face in the mirror
trash in the grass
debris prescience extinction
a deity absent
blood among flowers
a wind through trees
words dismembering (remembering)
torsos limbs
womb of orphans
and end to things
through a doorway
Lazarus returning
into a future that has been
a preordained presence
defining a vision gathered
a vague perception
this slow drain
of isolated occurrences
not specific in tone
+++++++++++++++++
from Fractal Labyrinth
11-
nothing remains only
fragments
disinterred and entombed
latitudes lost to spatial mutations
landscapes
and
an
the
terrestrial alcoves
the sporadic bleed
+++++++++++++++++
15-
Somehow
is a weedy patch
of newly-mown lawn
is
the density of
is a
and
a burden to endure
in
with perspectives
of intimacy
with ebb and flow of life
distance
+++++++++++++++++
19-
A book
to
a butterfly beds down
it is enough to know
to circumvent the boundaries
to travel there to understand
the weight
the pull
approaching at the speed of light
to animate
the sparrow on a branch
at
+++++++++++++++++
Klee Waifs - 4
I realize I
pictorial
not the constructivist
painted
through
foreshortening
the third
yet I
(modestly)
in
of not being discovered
+++++++++++++++++
22-
a theory
on the rise and ebb
an ocean
from here it seems
days withdraw
calendars of
a sympathy
lost among weeds
thresholds complexities
always
always hypothetical
+++++++++++++++++
28-
this heart
atoms create
grey fates where eyes close
at the end
another page unread
another wind
the door
the corridor light
voices down stairwells
dim reminders
when ghosts where
dismembering the past
Ric Carfagna was born and educated in Boston Massachusetts. He is the author of numerous collections of poetry, most recently: Symphonies Nos. 5,& 9 published by White Sky Books-
https://archive.org/details/SymphonyNo.5_175
http://www.lulu.com/us/en/shop/ric-carfagna/symphony-no-9/paperback/product-21128532.html
Symphony No.3 (caryatids for the firmament) (pending from Unlikely Stories Press)
His poetry has evolved from the early radical experiments of his first two books, Confluential Trajectories and Porchcat Nadir, to the unsettling existential mosaics of his multi-book project Notes On NonExistence.
Ric lives in rural central Massachusetts with his wife, cellist Mary Carfagna and daughters, Emilia and Aria.
posted by mark young at 9:22 PM
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