The Love Song of the Square Root of Minus One (i)
Richard Siken


I am the wind and the wind is invisible, all the leaves tremble but I am invisible, blackbird over the dark field but I am invisible, what fills the balloon and what it moves through, knot without rope, bloom without flower, galloping without the horse, the spirit of the thing without the thing, location without dimension, without a within, song without throat, word without ink, wingless flight, dark boat in the dark night, shine without light, pure velocity, as the hammer is a hammer when it hits the nail and the nail is a nail when it meets the wood and the invisible table begins to appear out of mind, pure mind, out of nothing, pure thinking, hand of the mind, hand of the emperor, arm of the empire, void and vessel, sheath and shear, and wider, and deeper, more vast, more sure, through silence, through darkness, a vector, a violence, and even farther, and even worse, between, before, behind, and under, and even stronger, and even further, beyond form, beyond number, I labor, I lumber, I fumble forward through the valley as winter, as water, a shift in the river, I mist and frost, flexible and elastic to the task, a fountain of gravity, space curves around me, I thirst, I hunger, I spark, I burn, force and field, force and counterforce, agent and agency, push to your pull, parabola of will, massless mass and formless form, dreamless dream and nameless name, intent and rapturous, rare and inevitable, I am the thing that is hurtling towards you...



I am the hand that lifts the rock, I am the eye that sees the worm, I am the mind that strings the worm and throws the line and feels the tug, the flex in the pole, the key in the lock, as the root breaks rock, as sunlight streams across the plain to make the world visible again, foot by foot, I find the groove, the trace in the thicket, seed to flower to fruit to seed, a holy pilgrim moving through the stations of the yardstick, I track, I follow, a flashlight, a crowbar, I find the fulcrum, I hinge and turn, a simple machine, frictionless and efficient as an equal sign, I manifest, votive and incandescent, shrinking the space between here and there I become the future, as drowsiness overcomes the dreamer, as the eye of the archer is the eye of the target, I flip and fold, I superimpose, the letter delivered, the year decembered, I become location, plum pit and apple core, I am motionless and you veer towards me, the eye to which you are relative, single point, silent witness, there to your here, I decide and calibrate, magnetized for your revelation, the doors burst open, I am your outcome, the verb in the sentence, intransitive, end of the road, hook and bait, polestar and checkmate, time and space as I observe them serve me like gravity, lamp to your moth, dot to your map, home and heart and hearth, a selfishness, submit, surrender, I am your arrival, there is no refusal, we are here, you see, together, we are already here...

In the early spring I get together with all the people I've been
in my past lives. We sit around the table at my grandfather's
farmhouse-- mashed potatoes, creamed peas, cornbread. There's
the Confederate colonel with his mustache and battlefield odor.
The medieval peasant from Portugal with insects in her hair. The
Irish boy who died from the fever at nine. There's the patient wife
of the fishmonger. The petty thief from Cathay who's already
stuffed his pockets with my grandmother's paperweights. My
favorite is the Hindu monk. His orange robes. The sacred paint
across his forehead. He's never reconciled his lust for women and
steals glances at the dancer from Babylon my first life. Her long
dark hair. The thin veils draped over her shoulders. She loves
to lean across the table for the marmalade, exposing her breasts
for him to see. After dinner she excuses herself and walks into
the garden. He follows. I'm not sure if it's just a natural kind of
thing... One incarnation of mine seducing another... Or an act
so vile even Narcissus would have gagged.

Dear Brian,

Your girl, she doesn't like me.
I can't imagine why
I am the opposite of a threat
I have know you since Methusalah
we are like brothers and sisters
or something. Please
place her glares in an empty box
and send them post paid
to another life.

With all good wishes, Heidi

Sign--"I want you to not talk on your cell phone"

I am a moose at a butterfly convention.

I've been very busy with many things from Sufi twirlers to county fairs and stars off the 5th floor observation tower at Mohoney.

Learning to Floyd is a damn fine tribute band. Sitting with their parents made it even more fun.

I miss you but will probably never tell you.

Not only can I hear you from 20 feet across the lab, my mother can hear you,
my dead grandmother can hear you. Those things are in your head! Do you have any idea what you are doing to yourself?

satchel grande at the lauritzen tonight...ahhh....

Jack and Lori's summer solstice party. Belly dancers, drummers, poetry, mead, good friends -- all around the fire pit!

I would like to know where I can buy Coke (not Diet Coke) with lime in the Omaha, NE-Council Bluffs, IA area. It is the only soda I like.

They made me do a captcha, so this is serious business.

I will let you know if I hear from them

Now I am one of those who never win anything, but once I won a raspberry bush at a county fair (I gave it to a friend since I'm not really a gardener).

I was waiting at the light when four kids (3 men and a woman) crossed the street with their instruments and backpacks. It looked just like that Beatles album. They probably got off at the train station. I asked the furthest back if they were on their way to the Air Guitar Championship tonight. He replied in the negative.

I hope they had somewhere to go and didn't think they were walking towards downtown. The kind you just want to take home and feed and put to bed.

[Edit: I got computer "#9" at the library, only proving....something.]

the extent of my clever banter w/him: about 11 words.

Maywood poetry salon trumps the Green Mill.

at the neb city outlet mall

Sushi, which I guess isn't that weird in this current culture, but my friends were eating it, so I tried a bite: I was kind of like, "OK, my curiousity's satisfied. Next."

I suppose I'd eat it again if I were very hungry and nothing else was around--
As antlers2 says, "That's bait".

Several years ago, I drove to St Louis (about 444 miles) to meet SARK aka Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy. (I'd been reading her books forever, and at the time I thought, "She'll never get any closer to me than that." Now, of course, this fall she is coming to Kansas City.)

Now, I happen to like a roadtrip, however, it was quite wearing. (I was impressed she didn't appear offended when I toddled off to bed in the middle of her lecture.) But now you can have SARK anytime you want, in the comfort of your own home. Well -- almost. She is promoting Couching (a cross between coaching counseling, and mentoring--check the link).

Sounds intriging....

Bodhisattva (Steely Dan)

Here's a more recent one

Deep-blue hue of the body, silvery bloom
on its skin. Undersized runt of a fruit,
like something that failed to thrive, dented top
a fontanel. Lopsided globe. A temperate zone.
Tiny paradox, tart and sweet, homely
but elegant afloat in sugar and cream,
baked in a pie, a cobbler, a muffin.

The power of blue. Number one antioxidant fruit,
bantam-weight champ in the fight against
urinary tract infections, best supporting actor
in a fruit salad. No peeling, coring or cutting.
Lay them out on a counter, strands of blue pearls.
Pop one at a time, like M&M's, into your mouth.
Be a glutton and stuff in a handful, your tongue,
lips, chin dyed blue, as if feasting on indigo.
Fruit of the state of New Jersey.
Favorite fruit of my mother.

Sundays she scooped them into pancake batter,
poured circles onto the hot greased griddle, sizzled
them gold and blue, doused with maple syrup.

This is what I want to remember: my mother
and me, our quilted robes, hair in curlers,
that kitchen, that table,
plates stacked with pancakes, blueberries sparkling
like gemstones, blue stars in a gold sky,
the universe in reverse,
the two of us eating blueberry pancakes.




http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2009/04/19