Saturday, December 22, 2012


Poem for the Solstice

Sunlight before seven and birds begin singing
clear music from a shy thrush deep in the woods
then orderly cadence   a song sparrow's greeting
uproar like a bazaar in orchard and bramble
proud are those song birds with established estates
brave red winged blackbirds riding on hawk's backs
purposeful finches mature in a season

Listen

a quince bush is scratching the window
pollen from pussy willow   daffodil   alder
settles dry and dusty on the skin of her throat
as mallards wedge the lake he moistens her kisses
hands gentle in movement    calloused by fence posts
hard work   molding and smoothing year after year
it's good to plant borage for long honey flow

and people also should sing





©  Dick Russell, 2017
An earlier version was published in Whidbey Island Loon

Monday, December 17, 2012


                                Near Nevern Square



She who tormented Yeats' middle years
plaguing his dreams with dying swans
with visions of blood and mascara smears
wanders unnoticed   a walking recluse
with golden hair and flowing robes long sleeved

she lives on   who once was Yeats' muse
her powers ebbing because unbelieved

in Earls Court   London   near the Great West Road
she listens for nightingales in vain
no flash of fiddles    but punks in woad

when at evening time Yeats spied her
by railings guarding a tree-filled square
waiting for someone to bring her flowers
or notice the spangles in her long  long hair
he passed on by

                        hurrying to his room
to confront despair in the long night hours
a modern theme    where poet and muse commune
divorced lovers on whom fortune glowers




©  Dick Russell, 2012

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

To a Taoist Hermit



Today   at work in the White House
I felt a sudden chill in my heart
you who live alone on the mountain
gathering wood beside a plunging stream
will be boiling white stones for food

I want to bring you a gourd of wine
to cheer you in this time of rain and wind
but the empty mountains are vast
falling leaves fill the paths
how could I find my way again



                                    Wei Ying-Wu
                                    T'ang Dynasty
                                    translated by David Sen, Dick Russell
                                     revised March 2017, Dick Russell

                                    Published in Chapman Chinese Issue, Scotland, 1972

Thursday, December 6, 2012


Ode to a Paper Clip


                        -i-


Paper Clip   the name of a horse running
in the third race at Belmont   out of Steel
Thread by Shapely Curves   losing to Dunning
Letter and Your Check Attached     no payout

so unless I please the gods with this ode
Paper Clip goes to the glue factory

                        -ii-


Sing to me of the paper clip   O muse
tell the glory of this print age item
tell how paper clips saved the nation
tell how they imposed order on chaos

Usefulness    that’s why paper clips survive
they sheaf together key facts of life
original signed documents   the scrip
of legality   birth   citizenship
a marriage

Useful
 in more ways than one they thrive

if Zeus had had his papers clipped to Hera’s
they’d still be together not all alone
unworshipped
each in a void of absence
each growing older   indistinguishable
from iron dust staining the stream bed red
where water trickles down from Olympus

Ease of use
Paper clips come as they are   with
no prohibitions against misuse

Plastic paper clips   more prone to snap than
the metal paper clips I prefer
can be strung into necklaces   bizarre
gifts perhaps   but effective therapy

Always pick up a paper clip if found
under employed   alone
& put to work   else anarchy ensue
disorder dominate your day

They work well with an opposable thumb
in moments of stress they can be straightened

Don’t use as a pick   don’t pierce an eardrum
straighten two a day in case of burn out



©  Dick Russell, 2012


Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Sand




They lay long side to their love
              sand       an elbow hard in the rib
                      sea soft and vulnerable

they clutched and twined fingers
            easing the pain    tell of the time
                      when lovers lay in the sand

memory tells him he counted from ten
            wind graining abacusand
                      the sand has subtracted since then

if they were children
           they both might have cried
                    their child-like castles built in the sand

for sea swollen waves met and crashed
          and they drowned with their hopes
                    as they lay in the splash





©  Dick Russell, 2012

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Green Eyes

Green Eyes

                     for EM

Green eyes in the swing
of her long black hair

she sat enclosed in a tear

rolling his cheek

green eyes   a blue dress

wild  black hair

she left him a coin

he threw at the moon

Celtic   gleaming

green were her eyes

in the swing of a strand

of her black   wild   hair




© Dick Russell, 2012

Friday, November 9, 2012

Richard Aldington and H.D.


One Hundred Years On


When I think of Aldington and H.D. I think of the Sixties, free love, tragedy and war.  The Sixties and free love because when they met in 1911 he was 19, she 25.  They discussed poetry in Soho restaurants, visits to the British Museum, talking of Classical Greece and the Gods.  They married in 1913 having spent time traveling in Italy together before marrying.  Their child was stillborn in the early days of World War 1, a tragedy presaging the tragedy of war.  No anti-war protestor, Aldington enlisted early and survived trench warfare in France which changed him utterly. 

In 1907,  H.D. had been engaged to Ezra Pound, in Philadelphia.  Aldington and H.D. met each other in London.  They were introduced by Pound as poets and sanctified as Imagists. They lived, for a time, like gods surrounded by mortals, flower children.  The war changed their world forever.  They separated but remained friends, were divorced in 1938.  Aldington gained fame as a war poet and a novelist.  H.D.'s poetry was neglected until the Sixties made free love acceptable again, although Aldington anthologized three of her poems in The Viking Book of Poetry of the English-Speaking World, first published in 1941.

Aldington became infamous when in a 1955 biography he pulled T.E. Lawrence off the pedestal erected for him by the British Establishment, notably Winston Churchill and Robert Graves.   He lived most of his life outside England, was a friend of D.H. Lawrence and Lawrence Durrell.  His obituary said he was "an angry young man" and "an angry old man to the end". y

H.D. is probably better known now than Aldington.  Bisexual, she had a child while living with an artist during the war years while Aldington was in France.   Later she formed a lasting relationship with Bryher, the penname of Annie Winifred Ellerman. She lived most of her life in Switzerland and was a patient of Freud.

It's been roughly one hundred years since Aldington left H.D.and her baby, by another man, with Bryher.

                                               
Possession (Richard Aldington)                                                From Hymen (H.D.)

I must possess you utterly                                                     Never more will the wind
And utterly must you possess me;                                         Cherish you again,
So even if that dreamer's tale                                                 Never more will the rain.
Of heaven and hell be true
There shall be two spirits rived together                                 Never more
Either in whatever peace be heaven                                       Shall we find you bright
Or in the icy whirlwind that is hell                                          In the snow and wind.
For those who loved each other more than God-
So that the other spirits shall cry out:                                     The snow is melted,
'Ah!  Look how the ancient love yet holds to them                 The snow is gone,
That these two ghosts are never driven apart                         And you are flown:
But kiss with shadowy kisses and still take
Joy from the mingling of their misty limbs!'                          Like a bird out of our hand,
                                                                                             Like a light out of our heart,
                                                                                              You are gone.

           

Dick Russell
A shorter version published in Orbis, #160; 2012
            

Wednesday, November 7, 2012


    &


            I am so happy today
 feel myself encompassing the earth
    existing in all forms
        
            I've found beauty in the
                  quiet life of reeds           
    seen love in the eyes
                        of a pride of lions
heard melody issuing
                           from within the city

   I've reached
      I have reached out
            my arms have reached

   my hands have found

                        have found           





                                    © Dick Russell
                                    First published in Wolfprints, London, 1971
  

Friday, November 2, 2012

                               Romance


                  i painted the colors that awaken your eye
          apple green  orange  and lemon

                  by the grey sundial in the garden
                                  under the gables
          those turrets flying silken banners
               of a long bodied dragon
                       a proud white swan

                  on the morning of the tournament
                  i surrounded you with images
                  captured you in the colors of nakedness
                                        & love...

                        on sheltered moss
                  a green lea by an inland lagoon
              where bushes grew unkempt over disused paths
          sea weed smelt its way to them over the sand dunes
          past the signs    cotton caught on the briars
          a single battered shoe through which grass had thrust
          the many small feet memories of the seaside

                know that this sea is of your mythology
             & has not been called sea by your gods

                know the words of your lore-master for all things
             & your life will not lack

                         still main is the dark deep
                         eel-home & sailor's plain
  
                    now steep slopes foam over shoals
                    by sheltered moss lies
                    a sweet water charm

           once a kiss caught my warbling tongue
                taught it an old song
                told me of a deep erotic note with which to blend
                to flavor to serve my songs
                            of sun rising
                              water coming in from sea
                                        subtle camouflage of tiger and deer
                   protective dark
                          resting time spent in the shade of trees

                my songs return to the forest
                where there is shelter from rain
                dry wood no longer needed by trees

                we may walk with honor along
                                     those paths
                     at nightfall   sleep amongst gods

             but only look
             we are separate

           our eyes may perceive the rainbow
          the great archway of our gods
                     but we are apart
                  they have left us
                & the rain falling upon us
                  our mouth full of locusts,
                                        full of green
                                 they have left us
                                                 alone
                              walking with our rain
                             each stride taking us north
                                    to the north
                                             & the deep warmth
                                   of our earth
                                          in our future



            Dick Russell
            from Wolfprints, 1971
            Workshop Press, London 

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

CLOWNS



amongst the characters are both
men and objects for clowns combine
all essences of life
     by this I mean our laughter is provoked
              by both the bucket
                            filled with confetti
& the person cowering  
frightened and alarmed
in the front row

now my laughter divides despair
for Snout presents his wall
for fairest Thisbe

or if this scene were played in the fields
we might dispense with Snout
fo a hedge might serve

& the rain might fall
the rain might fall most unequally on Thisbe
& poor Flute the bellow mender would be so wet
he'd sneeze

          but hark !

these bugles announce the hunt doth ride
this fanfare proclaims the King
& poor Bottom is asleep
does not heed the hounds of death...

exeunt Snout & Flute, kind Peter Quince
O dear Nick Bottom so sound asleep
beware the hounds don't bite you

even Orpheus flees this scene
& the speed of his passing
bends back the trees

the world roars up to your innocence

for the King hath promised his Queen
her favorite pleasure of the chase

to pop out your balls like olive stones
to wear them on her necklace



Dick Russell
Wolfprints, 1971

Thursday, October 25, 2012


                      The Girl In New York



She was Lebanese   clever   strongly made
I with important work and a big head
words woven in harmonious brocade
won’t bring her back to life   for she is dead
she killed herself    and since I was obtuse
regret lingers though I atone with tears
for we met for coffee   talk was no use
I know now at an age when all coheres

when I heard she was dead I was shamed
I’d sensed her despair but did not reach out
gave nothing of myself   though as yet unclaimed
except by ambition and nagging doubt
she is dead   beyond questions   beyond love
my work!   so what was I so afraid of?




©  Dick Russell, 2012

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Endless Yearning


by Li Po


                        1

I endlessly yearn to be in Chang-An
a single cricket chirps by that gold-rimmed well
a Hippocrene
defying the season

a little frost   my bedding is cold

a single lamp lit in my room

one lantern hung high flickers

shadows mock me
making me more sad

moving to the window
I see Po-Chu-Yi's moon   and sigh

my desire
like a bloom beyond reach
yellow in deep dark reaches of sky

while below
blue waters run restlessly
through green fields
reflecting white clouds

anguish in my soul
my dreams grow weary
you are so far away

I think of the mountains
insurmountable mountains
that lie between us

impossible even to hope

endless this longing
breaking my heart


                        2

this evening
flowers shone like lanterns
through the dusk
sun set slowly

the moon so bright
it's like a piece of white silk

I wish I could take it
to dab away my tears
I can't sleep

I played some songs on a harp
simple songs about men and women
who are happy together

then I took up a lute
that has only two strings
each faithful to the other

these melodies have great feeling
if only you could hear them

who will bear them to you for me?
will the spring wind carry them there?

you are so far away
open skies have shut their doors on us
my eyes once sparkling
now deep wells of tears

if you doubt how my heart aches
return to me & see
just how I look
in this mirror



translated by David Sen and Dick Russell

Thursday, October 18, 2012


Water Colour


To have seen them
time crumbling from stone walls

to have seen them
in quiet conversation at water's edge

to have seen her in a painting
brushstrokes gold in black hollows
river bending between banks of thatch
dream sedge
            gold in black hollows

her words around his shoulders
his smile beginning with her eyes

               2 

a Hereford bull
head to head with a white cow
her newly dropped offspring
tottering to the udders

medieval ruins of family life
gone ragged in the wind
a water bucket slops on straw

boots on a stone floor
echo forced marches
now doubles the image of flaxen horse
while between the painter and his model
lies a heap of shivering glass

                 3

Through copper glass are dusk and dawn
portrayed & on a truckle bed wives laid
he mouths & blankets bare to flesh
interior gaze   gray shadowed cave
stone cottage impaled by sky

of all that is
only words have no matter
except this illusion that words exist
she mouths like this
while white gray cloud   or pink and black
or blank pigment of the screen
becomes our skin

                 4

to have seen them
limping like dogs on the beach...
light made a faint impress on her cheek

watching each moment
he was poised on this one rock
water foaming past his heels
watching each moment stream
water down from the hill

emotion like water from pebbles trickling
brushstrokes of song smeared by wind

shouts lost in sound spoke into horizons




© Dick Russell, 2012
Early versions of Parts 2 and 3 published in Chapman Dick Russell issue
Edinburgh 1975

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Vinland 


five times first fires
sundered hearth stones
                then    next spring
we rebuilt the hall
& named our settlement

both boats being built
at the river's bend

from Vilborg's hearth
by the five pines by the river
is one days way to the first cairn

marks of deer
we found in the soft ground
we have seen bear by the river
fires in the forest

to the farthest cairn
is five days march

I slew an elk there
by the stone seat in the folds
from the sea to the stone seat
is the sight of an eye
& from Ulf's seat to world's end
trees move like the sea

axe rings clear
for the west seekers

though we found no oak
we mended stout ships

I will slay Vilborg's husband
when the west seekers return

though I do all this
my axe cries for man's blood

& then the crows will be gorged


Dick Russell
Wolfprints, 1971



Iceland


     a rainbow bridge
yellow
            red
                   blue
   & steep rays of sunlight
light the hills

                         stones
moor
             dolmens
                               outcrops
      sheep
alone
                  with their unity

cloud obscures the peaks
mist descends on the pass
sad green the lichen:

now calling to the gods
through a sky circle of blue
sunlight racing      wind rushing
color jumps into horse
                              moss & stone

snow glints on white peaks
sky deepens as the sea
now blue now purple
                      with a pinkish edge

     flat lands
filled with sand...
a road runs straight to a ford
a mountain ring watches
the silent procession of the stream
traveler's movement
the rain's revenge...

      days decrease
bring less light to the north
golden wings hang pale

black water slides down the fjord
there is hard comfort for brave men
in the gaunt crags
                    mountain slopes
      drip to the limestone caves

a hero is leaving the fjord
leaving the haunt of his songs
mist swirls over him

now the wind waits astern
       his songs will  steer his ship

soon no sight of him or land
but a gleam of red
where a wink of fire shines from
                                      his breast

so the father's broach is returned
        by the son

a sea eagle was his device
the winter was his habitat



Dick Russell
Wolfprints, 1971



Thursday, October 4, 2012

Aphrodite: Born of foam on a beach in Cyprus




                I am a shell
        if you hold me to your ear
     you will hear
              sea    my moan    the rush
of breeze in your veins
           through me
                 you will hear gulls mewing
         water sighing on shale
                       the sound of my love
              crying to you

              I roar like waterfalls
                 crest like waves
                     flood
          your body
                 as incessantly as waves
    fill cracks between rocks
                       violently
               gently
        as persistently
          as tides

                I am a shell
      if you hold me to your ear





©  Dick Russell, 2012


Monday, October 1, 2012

Canoe


A canoe expands the space in our lives
from lands upstream where white water rages
through rich valleys where the kingfisher thrives
to busy estuaries in stages
past quiet sloughs   mud flats   tidal gauges
So simple to dip a paddle and drift
towards dangerous waters images
of death by drowning rescue by airlift
contriving to make us face that ebb tide so swift

And in the retelling clichés abound
because it is tough to talk about death
death creeping towards us in silence wound
it’s hard to find a good hard rhyme for death
isn’t it?    there is no caress    no breath
in this dire word belonging below ground
its stress thuds like a sword into a sheath
impaling those present with dreadful sound
can we defend with blades unsheathed against death’s mound

I wish old age and cunning could trump youth
decrepitude defeat vitality
style and good manners transcend their uncouth
but this cannot be it’s just fantasy
nor can I escape death’s finality
with tricks I’ve learned   with wisdom I’ve come too
I know this now with clearer certainty
than when young and clever I had no clue
heedlessly and headlong    paddled my own canoe.




©  Dick Russell, 2012

Saturday, September 29, 2012


Cascando




simple to touch
simpler
        if not knowing
or caring not caring

but this cascando tonight
is no answer

there are white stars
& beyond them
a dawn
a brightness

there are black stars
& beyond them
an absence
an emptiness

        if we knew again
again we can't
there is only this
a nakedness

a nakedness words won't clothe

if we grow thin grow gaunt
they'll tell us we are in love

we grow thin grow gaunt
we have no love




Dick Russell
First published in Littack, 1974, edited by William Oxley


It Serves No Purpose it serves no purpose to sit at night hearing the wind gust from the sea wishing the wind would draw from me a similar f...