golempoem

poems, golems, poems

Archive for the ‘Frank Bidart’ Category

Frank Bidart–”Inauguration Day”

Posted by matt on 12 March 2011

INAUGURATION DAY

Today, despite what is dead

staring out across America I see since
Lincoln gunmen
nursing fantasies of purity betrayed,
dreaming to restore
the glories of their blood and state

despite what is dead but lodged within us, hope

under the lustrous flooding moon
the White House is still
Whitman’s White House, its
gorgeous front
full of reality, full of illusion

hope made wise by dread begins again

–Frank Bidart in Slate, 20 January 2009

Frank Bidart reading, links here.

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Frank Bidart: “God’s Catastrophe in Our Time”

Posted by matt on 18 January 2010

GOD’S CATASTROPHE IN OUR TIME

when those who decree decree the immemorial

mere habits of the tribe
law established since the foundations of the world

when the brutalities released by
belief engender in you disgust for God

hear the answering baritone sweetness of Mahler’s “Urlicht”

I am from God and shall return
to God for this disfiguring

flesh is not light and
from light I am light

when I had eyes what did I do with sight

Frank Bidart

Image: SNUFFED OUT by sarahnoo

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Frank Bidart: “The Yoke”

Posted by matt on 5 May 2008

THE YOKE

don’t worry       I know you’re dead
but tonight

turn your face again
toward me

when I hear your voice there is now
no direction in which to turn

I sleep and wake and sleep and wake and sleep and wake and

but tonight
turn your face again

toward me

see       upon my shoulders is the yoke
that is not a yoke

don’t worry       I know you’re dead
but tonight

turn your face again

Frank Bidart

Photo credit: one by pipocanancy

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Frank Bidart: “Injunction”

Posted by matt on 5 December 2007

Carina Nebula–Star Birth in the Extreme

Injunction

As if the names we use to name the uses of buildings
x-ray our souls, war without end:

Palace. Prison. Temple. School.
Market. Theatre. Brothel. Bank.

War without end. Because to name is to possess
the dreams of strangers, the temple

is offended by, demands the abolition of brothel, now theatre, now
school, the school despises temple, palace, market, bank; the bank by

refusing to name depositors welcomes all, though in rage prisoners
each night gnaw to dust another stone piling under the palace.

War without end. Therefore time past time.

Rip through the fabric. Nail it. Not
to the wall. Rip through

the wall. Outside

time. Nail it.

Frank Bidart

Photo credit:  The Carina Nebula–Star Birth in the Extreme by NASA/Hubble

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