Cosmology Of The Birth Of The Poet
From the red-hot magma, its already congealed layers,
from the great emptiness of silence on the ocean bed,
from the submerged temples of Atlantis, from the
petrified forests of sea grass, the stillness of the Arctic
ice, from the immeasurable depths of thought,
its invisible hands,
roaming through space like burning comets, from the
Book of the Dead, from long breaths of life recreated,
I ascend. Millennia have flourished and faded in the
of my gaze. The blare of jet planes merges with the
Palaeolithic yells of
naked hunters. Branded by time that has passed I drift
fluid river. I sit under a mango tree like gentle Buddha.
High in the
palm of the sun I climb pyramids and kill,
bloody-handed, with the conquistadors.
I wander through the halls of Cortez’s dream.
I stretch across the Palestinian sky, over the continents,
passion. What I breathe as I swim towards the surface
be air. Perhaps I walk and ascend the Babel tower of
Astral bodies fall from me and return to me. I multiply
like a protozoa.
I’m both a man and a woman now.
Now I’m the gentleness
of late summer rain, I’m the famine and the hurricane,
which carries off houses and kills people.
I’ve never been merely one.
I was Hiroshige’s waves and his wind, I was the flame
in burning Rome, an arrow at the Crusades and
the explosion of a bomb over the endless dunes
of Normandy. At first
I was frightened, having seen myself as the Satan
of Blake’s imagination.
I was scared when I caused the first earthquake.
calm and unafraid, I let the cascades of time break
against me, I let
multitudes make love and hate in me, and blood does
through my veins, light flows through my arteries and
darkness down my veins,
and like a bolt of thought I break my way through the
of water, the membrane of air, and inhabit
the skull of a sated
beast. My back is protected by millennia. I watch my
image of the beast and in silence wait calmly
for a new time of hunger.