Three Poems by Alexander A. Klimenko

 

Found in the Rushes

 

It is wondrous 

to hear your silence 

for your paper 

wind has created 

once more the universe 

 

You cannot imagine 

the amount of petals 

fallen on me since 

our eyes rolled 

to the different winds 

 

It may be 

the new era 

it may be 

the sweeping of antennæ 

across night’s marbled court 

that has turned 

a scattering of stars 

to the incandescent knot 

of morning 

 

Hot breath wakes my loins 

but cool and infinite fingers 

reweave your name 

in aqueous convolutions 

in my brain 

 

You are here 

my heart is soaring 

 

 

Manhattan Waltz 

 

When I read your loveable bombast, Walt, 

of American men and women more 

than great—divine!—I myself divine 

a touch of devil in the wings, since 

your theatre has cast me in myself 

moulding nature on nature 

in folds that scarce can wait. 

Myself reads you with a life  

of preparation yet unknown 

with a preparation of lives the same 

as a rush of knowledge reaches to exacerbate 

although the cosmic catalogue repeats savant 

repeats your lesson in a solemn gust 

a flaunt of solitary pages whirred 

on infinite horizons, dust: and                                   

rains of solid peaches 

(Persimmons! you would say) 

                                                 You remind me of a friend 

who wrights a poesy that preaches. 

The world is crying out in gambols 

Teach us. Teach us. Teach us.  

                                                 But the dream 

is in disclaim. And the song of the head 

rolls through countless antechambers 

antic in its echo, arctic in its heart 

(Can this suggest a polar art?) 

 

 

Through the Umbrella 

 

Where does one look 

when the ribs are bare 

and the jewel falls 

from the hollow middle 

 

silk raps on raw warp air 

bone hones dry song 

black silver face 

 

marble knight 

is gone 

but left his lace 

 

rooks no more 

a raven gone—the queen 

was wishing her hair 

as long—as long as longing 

and as long gone 

and on and on 

 

 

Alexander A. Klimenko is a poet, an actor, a linguist and a translator. Born in Manhattan, he grew up in San Francisco and has lived in Paris, now, for many years, working in radio, television, stage and film. The poems he offers up to the Divine Spirit and readers, alike, are excerpted from his manuscript, Love’s Leaves.