
- 88 pages
- English
- ePUB (mobile friendly)
- Available on iOS & Android
eBook - ePub
Change As A Curved Equation
About this book
Grounded in nature and the earth, but often soaring to high altitudes (Axinn is a veteran pilot) this new book of poems catches moods, seasons, weather; poses questions large and small about life, the earth, the passage of time and the seasons, about geography and geometry. In this his sixth volume of poems, he hones his language more cleanly and elegantly than ever before.
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Yes, you can access Change As A Curved Equation by Donald Everett Axinn in PDF and/or ePUB format, as well as other popular books in Literature & American Poetry. We have over one million books available in our catalogue for you to explore.
Information
I
REALITY AND CHANGE ARE
LINKED LIKE LOVERS
CHANGE AS A CURVED EQUATION
I
The universe
perhaps
curves back
and around.
At twilight my antique WACO biplane
and I lift off
the grass airstrip
To rummage around the Champlain Valley
to be reassured by
Otter Creek the Green
and Adirondack Mountains.
We pursue familiar lines and circles
for answers
But sometimes it feels like
we could be flying
with existence in reverse.
II
Think of a ball:
it cannot comprehend
or tolerate
the concept of corners.
III
Stephen Hawking
suggests that the elements
dance effortlessly in a cosmos
of gravity and space and time
While we attempt to deal
with events in a world
down here (or up there if you prefer)
that change and keep on changing.
IV
Reality and change
are linked like lovers.
If you pretend things won’t ever change
beware of explosions
A big bang
in your face
in your heart
in every presumption
Except if you believe
you possess a spirit
that protects you forever.
But does this spirit
teach you about the curves
and corners
that define your life?
Perhaps
memories dreams and fantasies
curve back to some beginning
we might better understand.
It comes down
to decoding
the meaning of change
if it curves
or travels a straight line.
WASHED IN THE FLAME
OF A SMALL GALAXY
for Jenny
Jenny waits 3,000 moon-shaped miles away
In Berkeley as I streak to be with her
This daughter of mine
In Berkeley as I streak to be with her
This daughter of mine
whom time has washed
In the flame of a small galaxy
In the flame of a small galaxy
where only certain children
Are born, those who can feel
Are born, those who can feel
the brightest clouds
and lead the rest of us
To the edges of our worlds
Up the mountains of our lives
Instructing us to part the curtains
To the edges of our worlds
Up the mountains of our lives
Instructing us to part the curtains
demand light
And share it with those who have trouble
And share it with those who have trouble
stepping out of the shadows.
This is Jennifer, from that small galaxy,
who broke the code
right from the beginning.
OVER THE ARDENNES, 2000
Eighty-five years later we speed high
Over the forest where soft-faced boys,
Unsuspecting actors in a diabolical comedy,
Saviors of their countries, like Arthur
And his knights, jousted in their
Small wood and linen-covered biplanes,
Flying over a countryside parading haze,
Where sky and land melded at their borders.
These naïve warriors maneuvered to shoot
Each other out of noise-splattered air,
Burning airplanes cutting holes that
Still exist but cannot be readily seen.
But now time brings us together and we watch
Them twist and turn, toy miniatures there
Below us in a living diorama of death,
The time of then merging with the now.
Look, one tails the other,
His bullets climb the fuselage
To reach the silk-scarved pilot,
His glory suddenly shot into eternity.
He waves to his adversary,
Slumps forward and spins into French soil.
Perhaps the victor was my grandfather.
EQUALITY
This sun-sponsored morning
Sweeps through tasseled grasses
and spread-armed trees
Into expectant nooks and corners
of a hawk-eyed landscape
Not concerned about which of us
Is burdened from memories
We’ve carried through our nation’s scalded history
Where you were star-crossed
if you came out
Black or red or yellow
if your god
Was not like theirs.
Observe children, their small sounds
Splashing laughing.
And listen to the dead.
We may still be able to boost
our frayed limbs into the sky
On fickle winds that spread
Passions along dark folds
of clouds
Designed to expose the ashes
alo...
Table of contents
- Cover Page
- Halftitle Page
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Contents
- Authors Note
- Acknowledgements
- Introduction
- Section 1
- Section 2
- Section 3
- Section 4
- About to Author