No Waiting for Godot...

Three POEMS for May -

In this brief quiet space between a new Ellicott City feature (an artist or place downtown), here are three poems covering a time span of thirty years:

Or Ariadne
Once around the nighting pale,

Medieval limned for love's sake

our orbing mouths frolicking long,

And Dorinda spinning

her blank sheets,

sterile as the sun,

We sang our songs

while old Dorinda spun

her lucid webs

in our dim lighting

to show us how it really was.

When close came bright-skinned dawn,

clothed still in our naked thoughts,

we went running to her wheel,

to turn it 'round and 'round,

We found Dorinda dreaming

counting slowly backward

in her sleep,

the once-tight threads

loose blown and raveling,

Her garment almost gone.

Kay Weeks, 1973

_______________

The Woodturner

I can see now
how close to carpentry it is,
how sawdust has to fly
to make a bowl.

I can see now
how it works around,
how in the end,
the product’s more:


Something plain,
something sound,
something finely turned--
a round, exquisite vessel!

I can see now
how close to artistry it is:
How unlike you,
how unlike me,
how unlike it is
we are.

Kay Weeks
c. 1973, rev. April, 2010

Note: “The meticulous process includes selecting suitable fallen trees in the woods, rolling them out, curing (which takes many months), sculpting on the lathe, sanding, and finishing. A minimum 40-50 hours work is required per piece”. Studio of Robert Gray, Art of the Mountains, Colorado. This bowl is made of Aspen.

______________

Adoth

I thought I had been here before--

Like a repetition of thought,

Of hope or dreams, you know,

Bad habits. But I wasn’t sure.

Maybe it was Nepenthe?

We drove together,

And, as always, I was alone

In my thoughts, and you

Gone somewhere, in yours.

Maybe to Camp Nye

Or some canyon.

So when we got there,

Connected momentarily

By surprise, we talked about

At how the place had changed,

Grown up, grown old,

Without our knowing--

We closed our eyes.

The old diner,

Warm and alive, was gone;

There were only a few people

in sight; and we swore Adoth

Emitted a kind of ghostly presence--

Only a shadow of its former,

You know, Self—if a place can be a Self.

We agreed it could.

A convenience store was there,

And I recall you filled up the tank

As if it were a longing mouth,

Then pulled out and headed

Into that murky sunset.

All quiet now again between us,

And the next place so far away.

Kay Weeks 11.09. rev.2.5.10