Six poems:
The Sod House Crumbles
I Annihilate
Listen up, now, Longinus
War and Peace
Made in New Brunswick
Sing a Long Little Snow
This piece is about 5 printed pages long.
It is copyright © D.G. Jones and Jacket magazine 2007.
The Sod House Crumbles
The sod house crumbles
and the grass hut rots, the igloo
melting in the sun
gives up the ghost
and I rejoice
wading through the dead grass
to come upon a skeleton
of weathered stones
I am relieved
that no house lasts
But I am glad
that this house stands
and in the snow
preserves the order of green plants
your hands sleeping now
let go
that it protects
an extra season dried
roadside flowers
and for a week or so
this one green sprout
and fist of petals breathing
hyacinth
Tomorrow, next year, let the sun
fall like a hammer
among stones
I Annihilate
I annihilate the purple finch
In the apple tree
it is a winter dawn
it is “La Guerre” Henri Rousseau
saw charging through the shattered space
of the Second Empire
it is a faint
raspberry
in the silent cosmos
c’est une tache
sur la page blanche
un cauchemar en rose
c’est le Québec
libre
a bird
c’est ça
un oiseau dans un pommier
it may fly off
but it won’t go away
I neglected to mention the snow
Listen up, now, Longinus
For Maria
It was something about putting
your dress on the line
what it did in the breeze
to dry
the morning
sunshine
it had to do with the earth
fire, air, and water
sex, I suppose
all the heavy stuff poetry’s made of fluttering there
near the rooftops
you
à la dérobée
typing, “Hi!”
typing “Hey, just saw myself fly
past the kitchen window”
notes on the sublime, in haste
between spaces
pica by pica, fingers and toes
partitioning morning
War and Peace
snow
the day shut down like Napoleon
at Moscow
a day for art
the marvel of flight and of stillness
commotion and silence: the medieval
Japanese paintings of war
the warriors
birds, arrows, the armour
slatted, just like the feathers–all
flying with horses, what not, the pigments
over the centuries
lightly and deadly and pretty
nothing like it–well
maybe Dufy
the horses, jockeys, ladies with parasols
oh, the races in summer
oh, the summer in winter, the war
in art
Made in New Brunswick
chimes from the raw air rinse
a kind of music
as hard times
or war
wring from the unspeakable miracles and
stories like tears
it helps like
whistling in the dark or
crossing the Kwai
or the old
music of the spheres
mere string and brass, sounding
the wind
rain or snow
it is craft and chance in a wrangle, the yes
rhyming the no
Sing a Long Little Snow
ario davi diverchi
like atque
between ave and vale
the profound
and the patter
the days
the days and the weather
verchi saslaris and lightly
neve e mente
and candid, candido e lente
ario, ario, ario
the treble in branches
and davi the ground
diverchi in medias res
D.G. Jones is one of Canada’s major living poets. He was born in Bancroft, Ontario in 1929 but has lived most of his life in Quebec. He taught English literature at Bishop’s University and the Université de Sherbrooke. In 1969, Jones co-founded the bilingual literary journal Ellipse. His 1978 collection, Under the Thunder the Flowers Light up the Earth, received the Governor General’s Award for Poetry. His translation of Normand de Bellefeuille’s Categorics One, Two and Three received the 1993 Governor General’s Award for Translation. He has twice received the A.M. Klein Prize for Poetry, for Balthazar and Other Poems (1988) and The Floating Garden (1995). He currently lives and writes in Quebec’s Eastern Townships.
Acknowledgments: “The Sod House Crumbles”, “I Annihilate”. From Under the Thunder the Flowers Light up the Earth (Coach House Press, 1977).
“Listen up, now, Longinus”. From Wild Asterisks in Cloud (Empyreal Press, 1997). “War and Peace”. From poetry pamphlet. Standard pose (above/ground, 2002). “Made in New Brunswick”. From Grounding Sight (Empyreal Press, 1999). “Sing a Long Little Snow”. Previously printed in Vallum: Contemporary Poetry (Vol. 1. No. 2)
The Internet address of this page is http://jacketmagazine.com/34/c-jones.shtml