#130 - deixis (with a few riffs from the Gospel of John)

11.5.20

130

deixis

with a few riffs from the Gospel of John

for Kate Rees

here we are

at a certain page from nebulous

then can we be clear?

is a fire bounded?

count leaps to grief

a fingerpost

this thatness

one here

and over-there-ity

a multitude and more

now it’s time elapsed

touch, hold and point

what’s there, what’s not

(a quid for your haecceity)

I’m looking at you

you’re pointing, it’s rude

it’s this one – now it’s gone – I meant

make faces and the wind could change

darkness will not understand

what did you expect?

bread of?

take a child’s touch

thing is then

makes edible the feast      

because we must provide

I refer you to

when gone already

and with a dalek twang

shut eyes or there were none

let’s consider ‘to begin with’

can’t have been a word or with

no one has had been

‘same was with’ –

don’t think so

                             

here, shine some lifelight on it

have to conduct your own search

go door to door

skip rooftops and over

try to get out more

skip conversation

have a wilderness weep

no one will see

flesh it out

it’s poetry to be

(like that cradle reach before)

‘in the world and made by him’

neither known

how’s that working out?

let us assume nothing

it’s safer

haven’t they come for a show?

exit stage which?

somersaults

try backwards, go on

notice how words have made more world

than we ever knew, could see

it’s always like that with explanation

is why we lose the notes

… so… somebody parted seas once

here we are – which wing (?), whose prayer (?)

and I won’t say again

but just a little further

come into my window

zoom, reverse

(I mean turn round –

not you, it, thing)

                      

the that-which

word was

now a whom

make of it what you will and wisp

‘one comes after’

consider what a cat is for

this He to come

whom have we met?

it’s luck to have an audience

you can arrange the object

count readers and never get to the toes

do not discount music

wild rides wild rides

were I with you

my avatar and curl up after

verses to the forest trail

and in a clearing lit

know I am the sacrifice

so give my all to it

shriek’s from somewhere

drill down into

here’s the poem

                                  

body’s temple

and put an oar in too

else surface

have a lovely float

was that eel or more?

neither last word nor the first

planets and breakfast

light’s otherworldly

                       

cracked skin

and who was it flew in?

try atemporality

or

‘what have I to do with thee?’

‘my hour is not yet come’

you have to breathe with what’s-it-called (?)

and sometimes just a whiff’s enough

in the compost now

let sunshine

just for punctuation –

the angry argument of worms

am I it?

who’s you, me?

some days only imagine you’re here

thing by skin of teeth

and how’s your father?

sadly gone

still in conversation

no you are

no you are

other astronauts visit in dreaming

the house passes into historical time

and do the daisy pushups

rhizomatically

think of I’ve been there, you haven’t

but you sort of have

ancient animosities

must resolve them here

ghost dust

how light tricks them back

to words with us

and as you were

                       

let’s say it was affliction

makes you my viral load

how many headed?

go google

in a numbers book

everything goes in to poetry

you have to ask yourself where it’s from

(else not)

the image and its fears

abstraction and sincerity

vehemence, the tree

and poise – a pose

it’s everyone

your children are there

bloody entrails read             

this love is unconditional

work out the notes on the keyboard

stretch first of morning

though you’ll have dreamt it

know the poem’s far

bipolar

gloom white horses

joy the wave rode in

how you’re dealt the hangman

happens to be trans

and motivate coincidence

it’s yours now

heartfelt murmur – that’s you too

feel the effects of one absent article

guess on!

here’s  kitchen dancing

pots, pans thrown

the toast smashed in a roaring fire

make us servants of a morning

scrape and brush and pan

what if the pages were one poem

always there for you

your inheritance – this many words

all of dad’s things are mine

the library, this world, others

thrown and can you catch?

none of the adventures fit

after these things

hard saying

who’ll believe on, pass it  

and – bread of what-was-that?

which vine?

the true one

turn the word out

and you find the world

but the oneness is a terrible mistress master

already makes two

and baby three

so on

let a hundred flowers wilt

fed which sheep?

they’re mine!

often cannot read a self

and that’s when I ask which

had not thought verse had undone so many

at the gates of the place you’re greeted with

‘here’s your shovel – now dig!’