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Friday, February 13, 2009

Fast Day 89 February 13 2009 {A Trip to Les Cheneaux, August 2008}

A Trip To Les Cheneaux, August 2008

We went up north to dance nude on the sand
of a place of wonder and shameless trees;
blinded in the new moon's total darkness,
wearing only reeds and the tails of cats,
we heaved the floating dock
and heard our bodies' band.

The viole of your hips upon the chair,
softly played sweet music of unsung lips.
We run through the peninsular forest to
the erect hill of one recluse pine
whose wind swept brows curtain
our lovely Eden nakedness.

So did jump Adam's heart upon that day
he stood atop that limestone perch coniferous
and gazed at Eva's discovered beauty
and found they were alone, yet not insular;
and the eros of their smiles
and eyes would bridge the bay!

Let's forget the days of lotteries or
football, forget the joy of criminals!
O, unruly parliament of our desires,
each clamouring to catch the Speaker's eye!
standing on our benches,
yelling points of ardor!

Life descends from the genital Sun,
and warms the coldly libidinous Moon;
each light descends to the tidal pools where
we swim in dolphin arabesques of love.
This boundless horizon
no greed will harshen.

Les Cheneaux are in northern Lake Huron; all limestone, sand, and pines and cedars.


Ruth said...

'Let's forget the joy of criminals!' and 'Life descends from the genital Sun' and all are just samples of the sinuous here, and obviously the sensual.

You had me at the first line.

You can't know what a treat these are. I look forward to your poems like a private feast on creamed herring out of the jar. One bite is enough, rare, savored, and with surprises of vinegar and onion.

Montag said...

Thanks, Ruth.
This one had me, too. As soon as I knew there was going to be some sort of dancing in the night, the first line came and the rest just sort of swept me along like a spring flood.

It stings me with a sense of urgency.

Montag said...

...and that sting may be the surprise of vinegar...and the bite of onion.

Ruth said...

'Shameless trees . . .'


The more I think about it, I am realizing your poem embodies the feelings surfacing in the last couple of days in regard to the stimulus plan, bailout plan, ad infinitum. Just this: it is the human, fleshy, naked dance that will save us all, not government money. I wish we would let ourselves fall flat, because we are already seeing the naked dance - that urgency/sting gone sensual and helpful, the digging in and being there for our neighbors who need help. Ah, it's beauty!