A Few Scenes from My Life at Work

BEING A NURSE



when they burst in on him

he jumped out the window
the mob caught him
and left him dazed and bleeding
naked in the street
in the hospital
the night shift heard
there were death threats
and pushed furniture
against the back door
of the nursing unit
in the morning
one of the two policemen
takes off his kevlar vest
my patient is impassive
and silent
I rub lotion on his back
and put vaseline
on his puffy lips
he says thank you
out at the station
they say
oh that one's yours
how could someone do that
to a five-year-old girl

Amazing,
said the former Barbeque King,
looking up with his sweet smile
from where he'd fallen in urine,
after all that's happened to me,
how many people
still
want
to come by and talk.

HOME CARE WITH AN OPEN WINDOW

Bone-deep pressure sore.
Waved away again, two flies
land on his penis.

Isolation room,
fourth floor: ladybug enters
on my yellow gown.




Waking in the light
from the bathroom 
as the nurse empties his urinal,
he recalls his diagnosis.

To the east, 
on the marshes 
between route 2 and the lake,
so many ducks, 
down from the flyway, 
drift on dark water.

Arie Antiche

In the late 19th century, Alessandro Parisotti compiled a list of Italian baroque songs that he labeled "Arie Antiche," which has become the standard collection. Unfortunately, my first exposure to these songs was on Cecilia Bartoli's album "Se tu m'ami." I say "unfortunately" because her every note is a polished gem strung one to another in a supple whole--and periodically I look for other renditions and always find them to be disappointingly stiff and strident. Until now. Just came across Emiliano Geant's wonderful recording. He looks fairly young and it seems to be his only album. I never heard the term "coloratura baritone" before, but it certainly fits.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4uBAexJwms&feature=share&list=RDL4uBAexJwms

Grasping Misapprehension

Which is more me,
a lemon drop melting on my tongue
or spittle drying on my chin?

Which is more me,
that paper I no longer understand written for a syntax seminar
or the unconscious grammar that's in us all?

Which is more me,
a mangled, still warm, severed thumb
or a well-formed stool in my sigmoid colon?

Which is more me,
the intention to stop drumming the table
or the fingers persisting?

Which is more me,
I, lying blankly here,
or this yellowed paper in your hand?




  

A New Li Bai Translation

VIEWING THE MOUNT LU WATERFALL

Above Censer Peak, sunlight on purple smoke.

The falls, a curtain hanging in the distance,

is a torrent plunging three thousand feet down.

The Silver River rolls from highest heaven.

Two Poems for Joseph Campbell

1.  THEN IT'S TURTLES ALL THE WAY DOWN


The god who holds our world
in a slowly closing hand
sits for her moment
in the warm palm of another.




2.  INNUMERABLE GODS AND ALL ARE LOKI


The gods have fled
before our widening gaze,
first beyond the sun and moon,
then beyond the stars,
the galaxies,
the multiverse,
leaving no trace,
not even their laughter.