Archive
The Truth About the World
by Jane Rice
Mouth-image of the unborn
unwinds the ball
of wrappings
how old this hankering
this wanting to believe
plural for sky
of silence
in silence
flurry of conjecture
life passing
at the pace
of generations
what lies beneath
carrier of secrets
gazes inward
upon the mask
for now
darkness floats
carried away with itself
on a chain of logic
on the past paid in moons
newborn eyes will widen
newborn lips
trust me
form will grow
splashy
spattering
wild
to distraction
boundless wave
lost at sea
tranquil mountain
ages the story
of beginning
day waits days
to become.
*
Silence with a thousand ears
specializes in purple
teats full of milk
the wind goes on singing
outside the houses
it rains and rains
clarity hides
on the shore
of the sky
despite everything
day ripens
you have my word
dream appears
sunrise full of noises.
*
Looking looks back
recognizes the world
so hungry to learn
work of hope
rewarded with joy
sad music may never stop
but dawn lightens
exhausted gray
just rest
the way the wind
settles without its voice
invisible moon still the moon.
*
Jane Rice provided this Writer’s statement: “To a certain extent, all poetry attempts to translate the inexpressible. I try to make visible, ascribe meaning and devote myself to the challenge of learning what we can about ourselves.”
Niggun for the Hand-Drum
by Jane Rice
Taste of soil
sings in the throat
solo clarinet
chin lifts
to listen
this, then
on the alphabet
of sound
on the nature of questions
keep and remember
this tree
this meeting place
now
is now
no other
welcome
to our land
angel, clearly an angel
greeted with kisses
light in danger
of darkening
earlier with people
finishes dusk
intricacies breathe
flaxen cloth
empty street
hangs
on every word
to learn
what fails
what balances
hour that listens
hears
sun and moon
together
how golden the sky
field of barley
ripe for the scythe
counting memory
wakes lunar dream
crowd is river
blue discussions
only the angel is barefoot
arm passes under the wing
and forward loosens
my hair
living water
enters
holds
a second so fast
the world turns
shadow upon shadow
so that little lanterns
of tambourine
fan and multiply.
*
Note: Niggun in Hebrew means humming tune. It is a short, wordless melody sung in a group to invoke a prayerful state of mind. The tune is often repetitive and improvised.
Jane Rice lives in San Francisco and pursues her interests in poetry, art and art history. Please visit Propolis Press for information about her letterpress chapbook entitled Portrait Sitters.
Go My Uncle and Fetch the Bride
by Jane Rice
1.
Under the road
a floor
black heat kidnaps the sun
and the desert planes land, land, land
soldiers float dreams
in shallow-
dug holes
as if they need
only width of shoulders
length: with boots
as if they scoop
fading light
to keep it
world of stories below
spring from the sea
2.
Who remembers
the tree
the garden
words make faces
something
lies in wait
side street
of trembling
labyrinth
arms itself
with branches
stream trickles
no wider
than a wrist
who
remembers
pebbles
hand’s gray face
nostrils on fire
shaken
eyes echo
each voice
of a candle
sings to the tree
3.
Little thing
like distance
soldiering a nest
of stones
smoke fans gray
and gray
fans smoke
fluke of breath
revives
sky of crushed
tilts wandering
the word earth
limited to land
amounts
to flight
charcoal tree
against the mountain
as are pronouns for those
not in the room
one plus one equals and
distinct
not interchangeable
ears weep
even if eyes
refuse
dust of nameless inks
remember the tree all green
*
Note: A 16th century poem, know as L’Chah Dodi, is sung at Friday night services to welcome the sabbath bride. There are many variations on the tune and numerous translations. The literal translation of the first line is Go my uncle towards bride. I heard it translated as Go my uncle and fetch the bride. I loved that translation much better than another version I had read: Beloved, come to meet the bride (or) Let’s go, my friend, towards the bride. This summer I was studying prayer-book Hebrew as part of my process of converting to Judaism. We were studying possessives, hence an explanation of “my” uncle.
Jane Rice lives in San Francisco and pursues her interests in poetry, art and art history. Please visit Propolis Press for information about her letterpress chapbook entitled Portrait Sitters.
Economy of the Untamable
1
I know the road
hangs by a thread
swiftly moss, sudden trees
pieces of sound
come like fish when called
say rain, say spiral
eyes murmur
so it is
breath can’t be simple, can it
everydayness of afternoon
breath can’t find
can’t be simple, can it
roots on a slant
get used to loneliness
salt, hemispheres, glass
break into sky
taste extends
as avalanche
quiet network of hieroglyphs
2
Night seasons
I speak a streaming wind
thrash, throw myself at corners
far off, hidden, lurking
under this lid of cloth, this flap of lawn
how hard to say
only what’s inside
every step sinks
myriad bees
widen my mouth
do you hear me
awake at the bottom of the glass
3
Why do I
speak hard things
days consume
let the sea
why do I
almost dwell in silence
speak hard things
alone—eyes
easy isn’t simple
without the sea
noise melts into hills
4
Any minute
is there then a world
night speck
what distracts me
is there then
a world
are these grains or dust
a world
how far can I fling
myself from sleep
how far
any minute
myself from sleep
effort coils
without face
without road
neither grain nor dust
any minute
a world
5
Underwater thickens sky
let me lie here
alphabetize myself
whatever you do, please, don’t come and go
whatever you do, please
thoughts ridge
unending
what if part of me all of me
into matchbooks
underwater thickens
part of me all of me
can’t stay like this
here the absence
here the drums
by Jane Rice
qarrtsiluni 