Friday, November 4, 2016

The Journey from Charan

"Painted Eye" © 2016 David Prashker
To listen to an audio recital of the poem, click here

I lie upon my bed in deepest darkness
     and wake to face the dawn of truth

The blades of grass I set my cheek upon
               are razor-sharp
     glinting blue as freezing steel
against the sunny morning

I have come back to Moriah
               to the bull-ring
     drunk on prayer
leaving the eagle far behind me
   in the wild woods where I sought his lair
      on the shallow banks of Jordan
between the solstice                and the sun
between the furnace                and the rainbow
                      where my songs are sung

Now for the fire and the sacrifice
Now to be shot through with arrows
Now to embrace the totem

Now to awaken
   nascent in the growing morning
      on the craggy knife-edge
         of the rock’s precipice


I travelled with the hunters and the naked ones
   the lean children stooped over the lean carcass

I slept with the crickets and the soldier-boys
   with the underworldmen and the blade-makers
      with the girls of momentary oblivion
with the blood running down

Like a hand nestling in a flame
   my own hand pressed downwards
      on a palm’s open sore
And I rose to tend the wounded with my scars

I stood naked in the bull-ring
   until the sun had warmed my loins
I dreamed a perfect image to perfect my dream
 I licked my own sweat from the dripping carcass
  I danced with the stumbling children
     impaled on the bull’s horns

I knelt down with the bloodhounds
                                                 in the trenches
                                          in the pools of bric-a-brac

I carved deep into the bones
 I bandaged the carcass with its own flesh
  I tracked the wild eagle to the woods
   I forged my own spirit in the fire

I am he who climbs the ladder
     he who wins the wrestling-match -
                         come to me

I am the serpent who has acquired plumage
     the angel dancing on a pin-head -
                         come to me

I am he who guards the Truth
     and I am reeling punch-drunk -
                         come to me

I am the hunter in the wild woods
     the slayer of the eagle -
                         come to me

I am the keeper of the light
     and I am grown invisible -
                         come to me

I am the dancer in the bull-ring
          maypole-bearer -
                         come to me

I am the purple man
     hair of barbed wire
          ladder of bones -
                         come to me

Art is the mind’s medicine
   love the heart’s healing
      mine is the scarred hand
nestling in the palm’s flame
                         come to me

I am he who forged his spirit in the fire
          come to me

I am he
   who loves
      and hates
         the world
            on your behalf

                              come to me

     Come to me

You can find David Prashker at:

Copyright © 2016 David Prashker

All rights reserved
The Argaman Press

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