Thursday, 12 July 2012

Apocrypha


Write a love psalm to the Goddess,
and watch how fast
they damn you.
Say God’s not bound
to gender,
and anathema will be
your name.
Say our blood
shares the warmth
of the shrew’s,
that foxes, elephants, weep,
that a chimp
isn’t guessing
when it’s right,
and to outer darkness
you’re cast.

Tell them that a Book
is only a book,
that saying so
doesn’t belittle
its worth,
that truth is fluid,
ever-moving,
never carved
on slabs of stone.
They’ll bar you
from gates of pearls,
assign them a flaming
seraph.

Now, in a whisper,
tell the woman you adore
she’s more beautiful
than the angels;
that the path of dirt
you walked on, together,
far better than roads of gold.
That if she’ll spend
a starry night
in your waiting-to-embrace-her
arms,
she may even love you back.
She may even let you kiss her.
She may even lie on the bed,
in eternal, restful pose,
allowing you to paint her,
or better still, to write a poem of her,
and of you and your misplaced gods;

and she might also watch and laugh
as you fold it in an envelope,
for mailing to a
publisher,
one who surely knows
to never print such dross
and drivel;
and she’ll hope you come to your
senses, take it out
before it’s stamped,

and turn it into a plane
you can sail
in a summer’s day,

a wind from the west
to whisk it on a journey
more pleasant, meaningful,
less stressful for your mind,

never having to worry
where it lands.



Andreas Gripp



3 comments:

  1. taken from my latest full-length collection, The Apostasy of Daylight (2012, Harmonia Press)

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  2. Andreas,

    it's always a dark arc the poet travels from angel to flesh to poetry. But after all that, what does it matter "where it lands"? A copy has happily sailed its way to me

    I see the sweet spirit of Carew, Donne here, always refreshing to the eye. A lovely offering, Andreas

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  3. very honoured to have my poem mentioned in the same breath as the writers you cited. thanks Conrad -- also happy the book arrived to your shores. cheers.

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