Inspiration

The_Famous_Scenes_of_the_Sixty_States_42_Izumo

Inspiration

I live in the back building in a ground floor flat that faces
a little German garden. The only people with access
to the garden are me, the Turkish family that lives next door,
and the widowed hausmeisterin
who lives next to them and keeps it green.

This morning, the garden is empty except for the little birds
fluttering around it. I stand on the stoop
in shorts and bare feet and no shirt
and watch them, listening to them chirp
as I smoke a thin
bent joint. Beyond the garden,
there is a sunlit
parking lot, a little tin-roofed garage,
and newly blossoming trees, hemmed in on all sides by
the surrounding buildings. I stand here
in my bare feet feeling
a dizzy rush in my blood and my blood trying to keep my brain
from becoming a fusty
beehive
of troubles.

Now is not the time, I tell myself. Now is the time
to go completely out of myself.
Now is the time
to become nothing
so that the nymphs and sprits of the trees
(who only see nothing,
who only work with you after you’ve reduced yourself
to nothing), will fill me with something

like cloudbursts and pale fire,
with fragrant burning twilight,
and violins,
with the lewd plump sea
and something especially
like the sweet ecstasy glowing in the hearts
of the little birds
as they flutter among the fenceposts.

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14 thoughts on “Inspiration

  1. This is a very touching poem. I love the images you conjured. I think my favorite is “fill me with something … / like the sweet ecstasy glowing in the hearts / of the little birds / as they flutter among the fenceposts”.

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