Transparencies: Lovers Sing To Each, Death The Veil Between Them, After Japanese Noh Theater
.for Father William Rowell
Act 1
Each stanza is a scene or theatrical screen in which the drama is eternally unfolding...
O each eye holds a temple.
Each eye curves away from each.
Each knee contains a hidden country -
paddies are green now and ready for gleaning.
Green now and ready for gleaning,
each breath moves in rhythm.
Other's hands burn the thick rushes-
Go ghostly to ashes.
Go ghostly to ashes;
an obi, a sash opening.
Slash of swords and tongue
now lashes between laps
twain to twain, torches kneel
twining knots each to each.
Twining knots each to each,
reach arms toward dormant summits.
Adore. Summon. Rumor either
to either -
That other snows are melting besides Fuji's.
That other snows are melting besides Fuji's
rush fevers to still lips grown bluer.
Blow warmly then, Awakening Fire.
Blue blushes to purple -
grapes swell in ripening arbors, the quiet pond reflecting.
Ripening arbors the quiet pond reflecting,
a pair of swans leans forward into water
through mirrored peaks rippling there,
stippled plumes chasing after -
a tickle of down pillows breaks lovers to laughter.
A tickle breaks lovers to laughter.
Temple rafters playfully cover joyous
mouths, insistent, surging tongues -
such portals fill gardens green with seethe and seed.
Gardens green with seethe and seed
need now sun and rain,
each for each embroiling-
On monks' sills peaches soften in wooden bowls.
On monks' sills in wooden bowls
there swells grain,
stone, seed drifting now
to fruit and flower,
to sword and power -
Word has come, Master, that the gods have lifted clouds from Fuji.
Act 2
The lovers speak to each other...
That the gods have lifted clouds from Fuji
is no wonder. That you have lifted these
sighs from me here on this pallet is wonder -
enough for me to turn beneath you to earth,
to be dirt that you may sow again,
renew tendrils entwining each spring
that you may lay your leaves upon
fading clover, us the shivering autumn,
ours the promised bestowal -
us to be done over in six moons.
To be done over in six moons
boats gently sift waters
wearing thin transparencies -
suns, moons, stars jeweled facets,
and your face leaning beside the bank
fishing smooth stones to s*ck
for silver. Winter your need in me,
mine to lay crystal against crystal and flesh -
a fine mesh of stars now strains the river.
A fine mesh of stars now strains the river.
What catches in this net, Love, cannot be
spoken or named even when at highest peak
when blood flames and spills all barriers -
renders each soft murmur, Master, to silence and motion.
To silence and motion these veils
lift away. Swift currents flee toward
that reddening Sun-Sea once our divinity
now distant, far, far from this our dripping village of vapors.
From this our dripping village of vapors
hide me, Love, hold me harder. I fear
dawn when the peacocks cry fanning
mist from boiling waters.
Act 3
Green now and ready for gleaning
Go ghostly to ashes
Turning knots each to each
That other snows are melting besides Fuji's
Beside the pond reflecting
A tickle breaks lovers to laughter
Gardens green with seethe and seed
On monk's sills in wooden bowls
That gods have lifted clouds from Fuji
To be done over in six moons
A fine mesh of stars now strains the river
To silence and motion these veils lift away
From this dripping village of vapors
Peacocks cry fanning mist from boiling waters
O each eye holds a temple
poem by Warren Falcon
Added by Poetry Lover
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