poem: Charles Wright

(I’ve been too highstrung and jittery to think about blogging. One of these days I’ll settle down into life as it is now. Until then, poetry.)

After Reading T’ao Ch’ing, I Wander Untethered Through the Short Grass
Charles Wright

Dry spring, no rain for five weeks.
Already the lush green begins to bow its head and sink to its
knees.

Already the plucked stalks and thyroid weeds like insects
Fly up and trouble my line of sight.

I stand inside the word here
As that word stands in its sentence,
Unshadowy, half at ease.

Religion’s been in a ruin for over a thousand years.
Why shouldn’t the sky be tatters,
lost notes to forgotten songs?

I inhabit who I am, as T’ao Ch’ing says, and walk about
Under the mindless clouds.
When it ends, it ends. What else?

One morning I’ll leave home and never find my way back—
My story and I will disappear together, just like this.

(I love it mostly for the line “I stand inside the word here” and the way it makes me think about inhabiting language, which makes me think of houses built of words, which makes me remember a short story by Richard Brautigan about a man who loves poetry so much that he removes all of the pipes from his house and replaces them with poems, which makes me smile.)

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~ by Not Alice on September 4, 2007.

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