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POEM: the sound of Irish poet Paul Muldoon saying “now”

the sound of Irish poet Paul Muldoon saying “now”

It comes out with a vowel sound
unknown in American English;
close to “nye” (as in Bill)
but with a bit of the “w” left in at the end.

To Muldoon it’s just the way he says “now.”
Still I get the feeling he’s sparing with it,
throwing it in like the last spice in a soup:
not overmuch, but without it something’s missing.

So I listen, waiting for that syllable like it was
one of Coltrane’s high notes. Paul does not disappoint.
He sprinkles in a “now” here and there; bright
dandelions not yet gone to seed in an autumn field.

/ / /

Jason Crane
14 January 2015
Oak Street

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POEM: knots

knots

My skin smells of grapeseed oil.
My left arm, a hardened mass.
Her sure hands glide along it;
she breathes in sharpquiet; notes
the tension in my right leg as
my body tries to find balance.
My right foot is turning inward.
Soon, perhaps, I’ll be walking in
circles like Marvin in the swamp.
Twelve hundred hours on a cushion,
following my breath: I’m still in knots.
Slowly untying, relaxing, loosening,
falling back into this newly shaped life.

/ / /

Jason Crane
14 January 2015
State College PA

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