Nxonfu II

Page Sixty-seven

Friday 13 Aug 2010… (yes, another new one)



V unq pbzr gb gur ubhfe, va n pnir bs gerrf,
Snpvat n furre fxl.
Rirelguvat zbirq, — n oryy uhat ernql gb fgevxr,
Fha naq ersyrpgvba jurryrq ol.
Jura gur oner rlrf jrer orsber zr
Naq gur uvffvat unve,
Uryq hc ng n jvaqbj, frra guebhtu n qbbe.
Gur fgvss onyq rlrf, gur frecragf ba gur sberurnq
Sbezrq va gur nve.
Guvf vf n qrnq fprar sberire abj.
Abguvat jvyy rire fgve.
Gur raq jvvy arire oevtugra vg zber guna guvf,
Abe gur enva oyhe.
Gur jngre jvyy nyjnlf snyy, naq jvvy abg snyy,
Naq gur gvccrq oryy znxr ab fbhaq.
Gur tenff jvyy nyjnlf or tebjvat sbe unl
Qrrc ba gur tebhaq.
Naq V funyy fgnaq urer yvxr n funqbj
Haqre gur terng onynaprq qnl,
Zl rlrf ba gur lryybj qhrg gung jnf yvsgvat va gur jvaq,
Naq qbrf abg qevsg njnl.


                                             ~~  louise bogan

Nxonfu I  ~~  Poetry  ~~  Nxonfu III

(gabriella veronese’s mask in original state at www.toscano.com)



Page Sixty-six

Tuesday 10 Aug 2010… new      Turners turned away

I’m being very slow about copying the original Sehnen posts from the now dead Soulcast website here onto WordPress. Slowly is the only way I get anything done. But I came across a soulcast post from Wed 8 Oct 2008 in some papers last night. Most of the post is no longer relevant, as I said some things about Turners in it that I no longer believe to be true.  On October 8 of 2008 I had just had my sleeping-in-the-laundromat privileges withdrawn, and had moved to camp on the canal for about a week and a half. I spent a lot of time in the library (and the women’s center, and the senior center) in order to be inside, and it was in the library that I wrote this poem. It was one of the last ones I have ever written.

Of course, how could anything else be true, it is for Lizzie, Canajoharie, and Tuuschi; For Brainse and Mishi; For Mandy, Judah and Shiloh; For Chailin, Ziidjian and Chan; For Aram, Abel and Chani. For those fourteen who were my children and friends and life companions, who were stolen and hidden from me, whose wereabouts were lied about, who were eventually killed. And none of those who have the answers about where and when and how they were killed will give them to me.


I am lost without you —
words used too much, by too many,
I suppose.
Heaven knows, though,
if heaven there is somewhere,
these words are true:                                                                                                                    
I am lost without you.


I walk blind without you.
I’m dancing too much, too frilly,
far too false.
Laughing false; shamed
to hear my throat to laugh
when this is true:
I walk blind without you.


Everything of me
that touched the stars
and met the moon
and melded with the water;
everything of me
that spoke of timelessness
and chainlessness
and why we walk this rock
was bound to you.


I sleep cold without you.
    (everything of me that touched the stars…)
I dream tears about you.
    (everything of me that met the moon…)
I walk blind without you.
    (love melded with the water…)
My share of timelessness
and chainlessness
and magical response
are carried off.
I am not fully I, or truly I,
or only I:
that I is lost without you.


I find us here in Turners, living outdoors, more every day, in the places I can get to without a car that were ours. I find us and cry, but despite all the pain, I am happy, happy, at the same time, to find us.

You suffer when someone you love suffers. No one at all, as far as I know, has suffered one moment for me in all these seven months, and therefore, there is no human who loves me. And the ones who did love me — the animals — what happened to them?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~     to the Poetry page