Winking Demon

You are eighteen in November, 1782, watching
the sky, as ever, master of a perfect silence, the first
night you note the change and understand:
You belong to her. And you will lie
stock still on the rooftop December to May to learn her.
You do not know the sound of your own name

the shape of hers in your mouth. You are patient for
what she will teach each evening she gives you
so little it seems almost less. Tensed for the sensation
you fear this must be hearing. She turns your whole body
to an ear. Each morning you wake, stiff with listening.



Note: Astronomer John Goodricke (1764-1786), who lost his hearing in infancy, observed variable stars such as Algol and beta Lyrae from the Treasurer’s House near York Minster. His observations lay the groundwork for later astronomers’ measurement of the universe. He died of pneumonia at age 22.

Black Hole

        Poetry exists.
                —C.K. Williamson

my darkness is not hell
but darkness darkness

is naked and original
is not darkness but

density
and every meaning of in

is before description
compression

is word quark pion
meson atom

is fitting the self into
flesh and aura

a star collapses
from within

itself there exists here
no escape

from slow curvature
winking delay

the crushing need
for form

RR Lyrae: Supernova

        …eventually.
                —Jimi Hendrix

You love— this opening riff— as much as I—
My emptiness— like that of a guitar—
An instrumental hollow— In the sky
(Where else?)— diminishing’s an art— The star
Explodes towards— invisibility—
           ] I thought my life was over and my heart
was broken. Then I moved to Cambridge. [— We

Explode—         like this and Jimi plays—        the hurt

Backwards—                 over itself—                 The ocean gave

Its miracles—                 he sings—         It is enough

We watched—         a documentary         One wave—

The monster surf        at Teahuppo—        rose         god-awful

And blue—        we saw ourselves        As fluid—        whole

        Notes—         moving         away—        from wedded—         lawful



        Note: The italicized is from Vita Nova by Louise Gluck.

 

Copyright © Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon 2007

LYRAE VAN CLIEF-STEFANON's first collection of poems, Black Swan (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2002), won the 2001 Cave Canem Poetry Prize, selected by Marilyn Nelson. Her work has appeared in African American Review, Callaloo, Crab Orchard Review, Shenandoah, and other journals, as well as in anthologies Common Wealth, Gathering Ground, Bum Rush the Page, and Role Call. She teaches at Cornell University and is at work on a second collection, Open Interval.