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

                      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

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

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

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

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

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