Thursday, 2 December 2010

Lyn Lifshin

All Night the Night Has Been

lightening with moths

white behind the walnuts

If a woman couldn’t sleep
and came to this window
in this light her skin
would glow like bones

Clouds over the full moon
even with the wind

What would have been
nuts looks like limes
on the white stones,

it sounds like some
one tapping on a glass
coffin. It sounds

like someone tapping
from within the tree

July 23

she lets dread
take the form of
tulips, bulbs
planted before
white camouflages
sky. It’s too late
to remember
camisole, lace.
Only papers
torn from confetti
on the 2 by 4
floor, the abstraction
of terror, other
cities people left
at night, herbs
never picked,
running through
ephemera, writing
the footnotes
before the text

Music Hall

If there was a lover I could
imagine, his thighs would
take me over the brass. If
I could remember when the
bow or strings could have
been a tongue on the crevice
where a knee and hip join.
If I could touch what I feel in
the cat’s fur or re-reading
Ruffian’s last hours. I
think of the Cadbury in my
pocket book, the winter once
he held me. In a drawer,
the sales slip: 1921, sold to
my grandfather before
he changed his name, good
quality. German, 360 dollars,
so my mother could star.
It was the reason she named
me Rosalyn Diane, a name
for the stage. I try to remember
the feel of the strings. “Talented.”
”Never screeched.” I watch
the first violinist, rhinestones
in her hair, black velvet
skirt near the one with short
stubby legs in what looks like
shorts she shouldn’t be
wearing. . The singer is nice,
making her cooing sounds. Years
after I throw glass as if to get
it out of me when my husband
ran off, he’s at the box office
in line near me a friend says
and like this night, I don’t
feel anything


Jenny said...

I love all three poems, but my favourite is "ALL NIGHT THE NIGHT HAS BEEN". Echanting and outstanding!

Peter Greene said...

Totally engaging. Can't do justice to the flow of images in the third poem; and in the first one, I felt very much memories of unnaturally bright nights like that - really neat. Thanks very much for the poems, Lyn!


Howie Good said...

there's no "e" in lightning.

Arkava said...

i guess the lightening is a lightening of colors rt? bleaching kinda.

not associated with the fulmination thing ^_^

enjoyed Music Hall the most. sweet narrative!!