Ute Margaret Saine

 

 

(USA)

 

 

 

IN THE DARK–THE STORY OF ECTOPLASM

 

It would emerge from

the stomach

even the rectum

 

It could be made of pins

a comb  gauze  a handkerchief

paper  cloth  egg-white

soap

muslin was often used

swallowed and regurgitated

 

A membrane with swellings

gelatinous

said Arthur Conan Doyle

 

A small ectoplasmic hand

came out of the stomach

and waved about in the dark

made of animal liver

 

Materializations from

the hidden inside

loaded with a message

 

Instant

wisdom~knowledge~power

a fake

People too lazy

to trust words instead

and read my poems

 

[Ectoplasm, paranormal force of Victorian seances, revisited.]

 

 

 

INTEGER

 

How a poem comes about

what sounds to listen for

colors to see and imagine

silent sliver that is

the slant of a mind honed fine

a playful honeyed curl

in the wind of the world

 

Rolling and cajoling

from without and within

music of an eye spinning

in a sight of amazing light

the wind of the world

 

 

 

THIRTEEN SHORT PIECES ABOUT MY DEATH

 

I

 

Coming true

a door

somewhere

the light behind

and on the left

[always the left]

wasps building a nest

on the head

of a nail

[happened today]

 

II

 

How many angels

did they say

fit

on the head

of a pin?

[they did not say]

 

III

 

Outside

a fledgling bird

squawking

in the noon heat

dry to the palate

suffocating dry

then

dead

silence

 

IV

 

My destiny

to die

dreaming

[Stendhal]

 

V

 

Light

[obligatory]

slanted indirect

light or heavy

the body slumps

into her rights

stiffness in sight

 

VI

 

Dead fly

[this is not a poem

about dead flies]

it’s the singular

me that counts

[confused creature]

 

VII

 

Dead Sappho

all right

but her words shine

blown to bits and pieces

fragments

pierce us like shrapnel:

truth of things

that are born

truth of things

that die

 

VIII

 

Dead man blues

Jelly Roll Morton

dead woman

capacity to foresee

a dire vision

and still smile

still write [darn!]

 

IX

 

And I remember my loves

–Nothing is colder

than a dead love–

says Romy Schneider

[she was wrong]

 

X

 

My tears fall

over and around me

inside and outside the circle

I beseech the gods

as there are [if there are]

to abolish my death

abolish all death

 

XI

 

drop by drop

clouds swallow

the water of rivers

rain carries it back

to the spring:

a river reborn

[death a part of life]

 

XII

 

Slow black crows

grinding down

winter clouds

no worse dejection

imaginable

 

[to whom it may concern:]

let me die

in the sun

please

 

XIII

 

But ultimately

my death

[like Mark Twain’s

before the real thing]

has been vastly

exaggerated

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

____________________________________________

 

Margaret Saine was born in Germany and lives in Southern California.  She writes poetry, haiku, and short stories in five languages, also translating other poets. Her books are “Bodyscapes,” “Words of Art,” 5 haiku chapbooks, plus the mss. “Awkward Child” (in German, to be published), “The Five Senses,”  « Lo efímero queda » and “Reading Your Lips” (tbp).  Her poetry has also been published in Italy, Germany, and India.

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