Friday, February 25, 2011
poise (for William Crawford)
Always the lake of language
is roiled by some idiot winds.
All I can do is sit on a boulder
and wait for coursing phrases
to blow flopping onto my head.
Yes, I wait and sometimes whistle
dissonant tunes to blank me out.
If I'm stupefied enough, you see,
a thing with magic scales a-flashing
comes because the water gives it.
Though coming a bit goggle-eyed.
Will Crawford is a different angler,
his rod and reel work with poise.
Line unspools to trace his targets,
coaxing up those trophy images,
perfect visions for our reading.
This is not skill or strictly talent.
Something else is working here.
I think he is in secret league
with an unseen nymph below,
daughter of some liquid god,
she brings a phrase for hooking,
rewarding an unstupefied mind.
Language trout brilliant gleaming.
I don't understand how he does it.
He flicks his wrist like a magician,
and no image seems accidental.