|
|
Oh, life is wonderful drama, full
of jokes and wounds equally.
It is because it amuses and injures
that it is so grand. It is these
that makes the racket and the wonder.
The test: to stand
inside the gates
of Treblinka and
declare: "This had
to happen!" So too
our fight against it
and our losing!
The killing cause and consequence
of our two thousand years and
our millions dead have a gravity
into which even light must fall;
So our own sins, our despair
torments us. God Judges. Judgment
is cruel, a sword hot with terror
that we render upon our own weak.
And our madness sees the abyss
and withers. Its vortex sucks out
the very being of fright and Being
Astonished we find, we find our skin
encases nothing, a shining void sucked
out to the grateful voids of space.
And we rise (these bubbles make
Being unbearably bright) and
stare into the holy emptiness
of our hearts which proclaims
freedom, is freedom and sings:
There is no sword, no sin,
no judgment, no torment,
no judge, and can be no fear!
We stand, the divisions of our hearts erased and dare even
through the camps, between
the gray and stumbling death,
the sublimity of Hiroshima,
its echoses of war and fright
of time and the death of ourselves
to move, to jump, to dance.
Our mean sticks whirl our eyes
flash, our keening is a song
that shatters silence. Light
flashes, selfsun flares, spins
quasar, dances small the star.
Heaven Bone, #6, Winter-Spring, 1989 Chester, New York
Steven Fortney
To Part III The Catalog of Bubbles; Anatta
Back to SF Poetry Page
Back to SF Home Page
Page updated by TiPi, 4/23/2000