You Envelop Me [Excerpt]

- 1966-

16


for I have taken refuge in you



A book —whose wings— swallow me

Bird, created from water mixed with sand

Uses of wings, and claws hold oil for lamps 

Conceiving a wing-ed book is beginning to sort one's thoughts

An egg placed under the foot of a bedframe— to steady 

Quills for writing were unknown in Talmudic times 

Birds of three hundred and sixty-five hues read

Headlines or psalms as an indistinguishable combination of 

Affliction, concentration and praise

"Flee as a bird to your mountain."


Note on poem from You Envelop Me: Numbers for poems and text at the beginning of each poem in italics are taken from psalms (various translations). These particular psalms, often identified as Nachman's "healing psalms" were chosen by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810, Ukraine) and are traditionally read during mourning. This practice exemplifies Nachmans' use of sacred texts as meditative tools, and highlights his religious philosophy which revolves around intimacy and direct conversation with divine.

The Emergence of Memory, 1

His unset eyes — containing water — become expression, or color. 
They cloud in changing — though the change is never marked, it 
may eventually be seen.

The cloud is green

His hand is light

He watches this first finding — pulling a hand in and out of a living 
channel.
His newness betokens him all color. He passes through color — 
setting each resonance for light.

The sound includes experience which is remembered, though from 
not remote occasions, which swell upon his passing. Looking up with 
different thought filled hands.

Why then does experience comb the onlooker away from the child, 
when the child includes changing eyes in every picture?

Related Poems

Concordance [Our conversation is a wing]

Our conversation is a wing below my consciousness, like organization in blowing cloth, eddies of water, its order of light on film with no lens.

A higher resonance of story finds its way to higher organization: data swirl into group dreams.

Then story surfaces, as if recognized; flies buzzing in your room suddenly translate to "Oh! You're crying!"

So, here I hug the old person, who's not "light" until I embrace him.

My happiness at seeing him, my French suit constitute at the interface of wing and occasion.

Postulate whether the friendship is fulfilling.

Reduce by small increments your worry about the nature of compassion or the chill of emotional identification among girlfriends, your wish to be held in the consciousness of another, like a person waiting for you to wake.

Postulate the wave nature of wanting him to wait (white space) and the quanta of fractal conflict, point to point, along the outline of a petal, shore from a small boat.

Words spoken with force create particles.

He calls the location of accidents a morphic field; their recurrence is resonance, as of an archetype with the vibration of a seed.

My last thoughts were bitter and helpless.

Friends witnessing grief enter your consciousness, illuminating your form, so quiet comes.