A boy on a horse,
a boy on a horse along a river.
Less simple—time intervenes thievish.
A boy on a horse in the rain along a river.
A picture emerges from mist—faint rain
hiding the regnant risk, arrowing rain,
boy lost on a horse in the rain along a river,
a high bluff beside water. Story:
the bit firm in the horse’s mouth
the hand of the boy unfirm.
What we played we played, dangerous
only in retrospect.
If it can be remembered
it was survived,
the era of imagined
horses in radiant landscape;
only the rivers remain.
From Light Wind Light Light (Omnidawn, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Bin Ramke. Used with the permission of Omnidawn Publishing.
What does it matter—material as in
paper, scissors, rock? Matter of fact,
res facti, not matter of law; res judicata;
mater, wood, in the woods, mother; a
child draws a box, triangle, chimney,
door of paper. A poem a product
suitable for interior use—hollow,
with corrugated support; or a
writing on paper from some wasp’s nest
A game is played to determine matters
beyond law, beneath it: paper covers rock.
Words for “write” in most languages
have a violent origin—cut, scratch,
incise. A few were painterly. To write
in water. To write in sand. To make
a house of paper, a floating.
Writan, to tear, as paper, skin, cloth.
From Light Wind Light Light (Omnidawn, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Bin Ramke. Used with the permission of Omnidawn Publishing.
We wrote of the facefulls of wind
which would gnaw
the space
which wind fills readily again
space is not place but
is the possibility:
a twig in the sand then
crayon on rough paper
later with blue school ink
through a Parker medium nib
on lined paper I drew rockets
clipper ships, small whales
and large dogs smiling. And
windows against wind
the wind a group of lines leaning
against trees. A shape of trees.
From Light Wind Light Light (Omnidawn, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Bin Ramke. Used with the permission of Omnidawn Publishing.
wings of angels rustle in Latin
says Zbigniew Herbert
I recall so little (amo amas
amat) the little so broken I
sauntered soundless
down paths in the park
I heard a policeman speak
in fragments from above
from a helicopter I understood
little
less than Latin
rotors and engines and roaring traffic
a soup of grammars and syntax
Angel is an ancient word for
Entropy which word was invented
in 1868 by Clausius
I mean the turning inward
downward
demanded by police
Energy is another word another
world at night a bird
probably mockingbird
keeps awake
the weary
means nothing by it
“Means”
“Nothing”
entropia, turning inward
an older word
than the French for Cajun
acadienne but
perspective was invented by Vitruvius
then was not needed until
the invention of the railroad in 1789
by William Jessup who
invented the wheel
or a flanged version of it
to hang onto an iron rail
I learned from a book there are
trees beneath earth
Geoxylic suffrutices
forests sunk
trunks underground
and the merest wisp
of leaves left visible
within earth beneath fire
beneath breath of man or cosmos
immortal wooden wilderness.
From Light Wind Light Light (Omnidawn, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Bin Ramke. Used with the permission of Omnidawn Publishing.
as in purpose; the purple of the hillside
enrolled me in its misery, mysterious mist
emanating.
When it was over the day
descended in the form of a star, ours,
which is to say the dark returned
which is to say a measure of darkness inter
posed between and among the sources
the lights twinkling against a moon.
This was a landscape longed for, lost.
Long as a verb—to increase in length
of days, of nights, of neither.
Still the purple stain, floral embellishment,
ingrains itself, inhabits banished gardens.
From Light Wind Light Light (Omnidawn, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Bin Ramke. Used with the permission of Omnidawn Publishing.