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a tribute to creeley — Steve Dalachinsky

Steve Dalachinsky

boulevard ii / credit: de
boulevard ii / credit: de

1.

moments
in slow motion
withdrawn
like light
life
& their
eventuality

i can see clear rain
thru this bitch
day
believe in
still,
a voidless piece
        of
  gathering
 a not so trusted edge
        collapsing
 as humans collapse
      within this “animal debris”
          we are so endeared to

a false faith in staying
in belief itself

a false hand held.

2.

friendless & damp
      the sky
as threatening as
        incense
but not happening below this belowly
        always wet somewhere
        always silent somewhere
        always understanding
        always dead somewhere
in no particular place

always hungry somewhere
in some unknown place
inside us
somewhere.

3.

(culled from heaven
             man – I – fold)

wearing something
to go
somewhere
in our oddly shaped
boxes
so many edges
roughnesses
&
smoothnesses
in there
out there
eyes all over
every where
complex unshaven
    layers
tables separating “bulky sums”

it’s all there
        somewhere
                 a given
horizons in there somewhere
   days     nights
          scales to measure
                              our beings
full of….. the high point
               of low life
   is taking a piss some times.

4.

washing
one’s
hands

5.

&
to shit is a good
thing
tho we know
we’d rather not be
as close(d) minds
cannot relive
their
geographies.

6.

go in too from (to/from)
on wide street
is better than
being stranded on a
narrow street
she thinks
particularly in New York
tho in Paris
the narrower we
are the more we feel the flavor of.

7.

conserved
verse
seen/robbed
                           (births)

creeeeee creeeeee creeeeeee

    (t)reason
        passed away
        passed on
                    unke(m)pt

8.

who needs a thing
after it is passed
          on               (night mare)
                    he said
are you a friend?
        i  said  WATER  is subjective
             friendship is circular / is
                    0val     it seems!!          at  times

9.

dry clean only ( on wood )

10.

molinalimolionanimoly
soprano sax is scene to be only
instrument
left blowing
on this planet (even lisped a phone)

11.

sunlight thru certain stained glass
cannot stain certain rooms w/light
if they are already filled w/bulb light

certain children remain small
even as they grow old(er)
– equal facts –
one must make one’s own way
in the world      in the long run
                       as
someliness     as      wave & particle                from          up/stairs

12.

a hammer
a stein of ears
a painting of sight
a metal ball that stops
ala roulette wheel
halting                    Mem  or   I  al
tri-b(r)ute ®
the brightness of that silver-colored
metal ball as it sneaks away numb(erless)
to grasp & breathe the gasping air
                      (flood)

13.

rail
more
me
i
ai
ail
ale
loam
lime

14.

attention
these notes
were meant
to be noted
abstracted like the very ground itself
a marker along the roadside
or
a graveyard
full of senseless
stones

15.

folded

16.

a plaster shadow cast inside the heart

17.

salvation is a b(r)ook of salvaged good(s)
          (creak)
intimate reflections in the distance
boxed again in evening / tones

we turn the clock back
but there is nothing
no years then left us
no echoing story to retell
nothing
nothing that can stop time
18.

could not even lift the flowers from the vase
               (dense jingling)
     even dense seemed so airy

the fluff
the fringe
& then
where bulb light’s less visible
shadows are cast by the sun
colorless shadows of banisters
staining the wall
sunlit manuscripts of age old tales
illumined & fragmented
’til the clouds regain their
“ground”

19.

inward
i feel
even more     /or
          less          secure
 knowing that
     you kissed me on the lips.

written @ st marks poetry project, nyc, 10/29/05
                              robert creeley tribute

[Editor’s note: In mid-2019, Steve sent several documents containing many poems for me to choose from. Among them was a tribute for creeley. Most of them remained unpublished at the time of his death in September 2019. This poem was previously published in different form. Read more of his work from Steve’s author page here at EM.]

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Steve Dalachinsky

Poet/collagist Steve Dalachinsky (September 26, 1946 - September 16, 2019) was born in Brooklyn after the last big war and managed to survive lots of little wars.

His latest CDs are The Fallout of Dreams with Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach (Roguart 2014) and ec(H)o-system with the French art-rock group, the Snobs (Bambalam 2015).

His most recent books include Where Night and Day Become One: The French Poems / A Selection 1983-2017 (208 great weather for MEDIA), Fools Gold (2014 feral press), flying home, a collaboration with German visual artist Sig Bang Schmidt (Paris Lit Up Press 2015) and The Invisible Ray (Overpass Press – 2016) with artwork by Shalom Neuman.

Author: Steve Dalachinsky Tags: poetry, Robert Creeley, Steve Dalachinsky Category: Poetry December 5, 2019

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Empty Mirror

Established in 2000 and edited by Denise Enck, Empty Mirror is an online literary magazine that publishes new work each Friday.

Each week EM features several poems each by one or two poets; reviews; critical essays; visual art; and personal essays.

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