Four Poems from Constellations – Ian Pindar

THEY MAKE IT NOT OBVIOUS

they keep from the sound of
the thing the melody

strung in the middle the
sound of the thing

weeping wailing it cannot be
what good does it do?

and I their servant
the servant they made of me
servile and lacking in majesty

keep peace for me
keep going keep going
though they take down
the heads and put up
the heads keep going

for me I am made to be
free don’t they see we
are waiting to be free
patiently waiting

free like the music we hear
that comes in the air
and is not challenged
cannot be unheard once heard
by those who would stop
up our ears

the music the music how
they hate it so
and cannot let go
cannot hope to be free

and I am free to change
and I am terrified and
waiting to be kept under
in durance by those
who cannot hear
are never to hear the music
who mass at midnight
on the border passing the
order from ear to ear

 

ALL THE INHERITED FIELDS
and grounds of formulation

formulating words of being
are provisional

the play of production
displaces

the chain of being
and depth and noise

give way to
silence and surface

IF I CAN’T WRITE
poetry what
am I good for?

even if finally
to say it means
nothing

in each head is
an inverted image

but nothing to write
home about

you are not me
if you saw the same

you would not be
the same

if you thought
the same also

where you stand
changes everything

stand in me and you
might see the same but

your thinking’s
all wrong

 

NO CONDITIONED
writing

no scheme of
articulation

the rigour of
play

is a universe of
sweet sounds

accommodate yourself
to this easygoing music

the theme is anyone
talking to themselves

what are poems but
tests in a landscape of thinking?