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Okla Elliott

 

 

 

 

© 2005 - 2008 Per Contra: The International Journal of the Arts, Literature and Ideas. 

 

 

 

 

Chronicle

 

The sky is clear today.  A weather

for bomber pilots.  They break open now, or early tomorrow,

the blooms of the rhododendron.

 

The fields are dry.  At the fieldís edge,

men stand and look high into the air

where the buzzard flies in distancing circles.

 

Then she closes the window, the aging

woman, who owns the jeep below, in the courtyard,

the one with a sea chart in the passenger seat.                

                                   

 

 

Autumn Story

 

A sign, or just some scribbling. . .Iíve tried

to give the old, sunken pear tree fortification.

But the support of pencil-marks failed.  Now,

for a few days already, a fog reigns, one that finally

has finished the job.  Thereís nothing more to see here.

Thatís how everything has gone this year:

structures, frosts, the flight of owls, wars in September.

 

 

 

Possibilities for Paintings

 

Dark Tree in front of a Bright House.

Wishbodies.

Sad Eyes at the Shutting of Doors.

Wood and Milk; a Lamp.

The Wind, which Extends the Hand (in quotes).

Balloons, Dripping from the Mouth.

Joy in the Valley.

The Patience of Landmines.

Now the Meadow Grows through the House.

Leaping, over a Mark in the Air.

The Coasts of Exile (since 1957).

Winter Branches in Summer.

Triumph of Waiting.

Falling Pears.  Lying Pears.

Bicycle on the Horizon.

Soldiers and Bicycle.

The Night of the 7th of November.

The Misery of the Liberated.

Glass, between Figures.

Groups of People before the Horizon.

Fog; the Fossilization of Fog.

 

 

 

Renaissance

 

Now observe the meadow, not

the photograph, the meadow.

 

The cat, no movement,

and no movement, the blackbird.

 

Rust-colored leaves below the fence.

 

Rust-colored leaves below the fence.

 

And twilight, and wild snow.

 

The quiet snow.  In twilight,

the snow falls.