Sunday, March 18, 2012

Monday Poems: "At the Equinox" -- by Arthur Sze

The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars. 
I have no theory of radiance,  

               but after rain evaporates 
off pine needles, the needles glisten

In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon,
and, at the equinox, bathe in its gleam.

Using all the tides of starlight,
               we find
               vicissitude is our charm.

On the mud flats off Homer, 
I catch the tremor when waves start to slide back in;

and, from Roanoke, you carry         
the leafing jade smoke of willows.

Looping out into the world, we thread 
        and return. The lapping waves 
cover an expanse of mussels clustered on rocks; 
and, giving shape to what is unspoken,    

forsythia buds and blooms in our arms.           

*     *     *     *     *

Arthur Sze is the author of eight books of poetry, including The Redshifting Web (1988), Quipu (2005) and The Ginko Light (2009). His work has been honored with an American Book Award and a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, among many others. 

Sze was elected Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets in 2012, is a professor emeritus at the Institute of American Indian Arts, and is the first poet laureate of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

1 comment:

  1. Six inches of new snow on my brother's deck in
    Bozeman this morning. My nephew's Iranian-born wife wished our family "Nowruz Mobarak" a greeting for the Persian New Year (year 2571 according to the traditional calendar)which begins at 11:14 tonight. Spring? One world? Why not?