from Crown Decline

poetry 0
John Kinsella and Don Share

 

 

5.

The door of the big red shed hides nothing,
And this isn’t because the shed is empty.
In the season of fertility dugites hibernating,
The door of the big red shed hides nothing
And then splendid fairy wrens are conceiving
And dugites awaken with hunger’s ferocity.
The door of the big red shed hides nothing,
And this isn’t because the shed is empty.

 

 

6.

So much depends upon an open door,
The one through which you enter, waving
Away a cobweb here, a mote there, and more
Depends upon that open door
Than you can ever really say; where
You save yourself for the real dark, the nothing,
Where so much depends upon an open door,
The one through which you enter waving.

 

 

7.

I watch Truffaut’s Jules et Jim to recalibrate
Those parameters of lucid dreaming—
But insects crawl off-page into my whereabouts;
I watch Truffaut’s Jules et Jim to recalibrate
Perceptions, but rivers and trees distort
Human features—menage à trois that stings.
I watch Truffaut’s Jules et Jim to recalibrate
The parameters of lucid dreaming.

 

 

8.

A monument is not history.
History is not a monument.
A statue is not liberty.
A monument is not history.
There’s no epiphany in bigotry.
History is not heaven-sent.
A monument is not history.
History is not a monument.

 

 

9.

Chainsaw intense against resistance in the valley.
Chainsaw breaking through into turbid air, letting go.
Long familiarity with its ways doesn’t mean I know what to say.
Chainsaw intense against resistance in the valley.
Rouses splendid fairy wrens who fly to the lee,
And makes demands & posts bans, alfresco.
Chainsaw intense against resistance in the valley.
Chainsaw breaking through into turbid air, letting go.

 

 

10.

We cannot see the forest for the burning trees.
Don’t you see the planet is letting us go?
The planet is letting us go; we drink the lees.
We cannot see the forest for the burning trees.
Those long-ago-read leaves of tea? The burning leaves
Of woeful predictions have at last come true. Whoa.
We cannot see the forest for the burning trees.
Don’t you see the planet is letting us go?

John Kinsella’s most recent books of poetry include Drowning in Wheat: Selected Poems (Picador, 2016), Firebreaks (WW Norton, 2016), and Insomnia (Picador, 2018). He is a Fellow of Churchill College, Cambridge University, and Professor of Literature and Environment, Curtin University, Western Australia.

Don Share is editor of POETRY, and the author, editor, or translator of over a dozen books.