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Three poems by Mark Jarman
“The Chalk of Moses,” “She Twirled,” and “O World Flung Inward”
The Chalk of Moses Skreeks Between My Fingers
- The chalk of Moses skreeks between my fingers.
- Milton’s blindness burns through my sheer eyelids.
- Edmondsen’s hammer and chisel weigh down both my hands.
- Yes, in my dreams.
- Let me start again. I bite my index finger
- and follow a trail of thought into a tunnel,
- not moving from my desk, sweeping for clues,
- footing it slowly.
- Walls drop tapestries. Ceilings buckle.
- Interior rooms unfold like ruined churches.
- And bodies ready to be coupled with
- produce lampblack for ink.
- I look around for one true standing thing
- or lying thing. Rising from underfoot
- the realm of space is dizzying and close.
- I lean, put down a word.
She Twirled Along the Brick Wall, Fingertips
- She twirled along the brick wall, fingertips
- clawing at mortar to take hold
- and skittering over the wall face like a keyboard,
- frantic, muted.
- And I as usual was just trudging along,
- head down — on ice this time — more of a mincing
- than true trudging, though my soul trudged,
- when I caught her.
- Slim, young, padded in pleated fleece,
- and taller than I as I helped her stand,
- she pulled an earplug out beneath her knit cap,
- said, “Ouch.”
- And said it like a quiet bid for privacy.
- Paternal, winded, I wanted an assurance.
- And she assured me with a thanks that meant,
- “Just let me cry.”
O World Flung Inward by an Arm of Stars
- O world flung inward by an arm of stars,
- feeling out of control or stalled,
- o friend or enemy, propelled
- always it seems without effort
- among stars, a star yourself,
- trailing your solar wind,
- asleep in your life
- as we dream you’re awake,
- spare part, vital particle,
- hung in a table leg or wisp of steam,
- your permanence and evanescence
- balanced by a term of art,
- o make a joyful noise,
- you’re on your way,
- your transit has been noted
- and made music.
Mark Jarman’s most recent collection of poetry is Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems (Sarabande Books, 2011). His honors include the Lenore Marshall Prize from the Academy of American Poets, the Poets’ Prize, the Balcones Poetry Prize, and a Guggenheim fellowship in poetry. He is Centennial Professor of English at Vanderbilt University. Sarabande Books will publish his next collection of poetry, The Heronry, in 2017.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Three poems by Mark Jarman
“The Chalk of Moses,” “She Twirled,” and “O World Flung Inward”
Three poems by Mark Jarman
“The Chalk of Moses,” “She Twirled,” and “O World Flung Inward”
The Chalk of Moses Skreeks Between My Fingers
- The chalk of Moses skreeks between my fingers.
- Milton’s blindness burns through my sheer eyelids.
- Edmondsen’s hammer and chisel weigh down both my hands.
- Yes, in my dreams.
- Let me start again. I bite my index finger
- and follow a trail of thought into a tunnel,
- not moving from my desk, sweeping for clues,
- footing it slowly.
- Walls drop tapestries. Ceilings buckle.
- Interior rooms unfold like ruined churches.
- And bodies ready to be coupled with
- produce lampblack for ink.
- I look around for one true standing thing
- or lying thing. Rising from underfoot
- the realm of space is dizzying and close.
- I lean, put down a word.
She Twirled Along the Brick Wall, Fingertips
- She twirled along the brick wall, fingertips
- clawing at mortar to take hold
- and skittering over the wall face like a keyboard,
- frantic, muted.
- And I as usual was just trudging along,
- head down — on ice this time — more of a mincing
- than true trudging, though my soul trudged,
- when I caught her.
- Slim, young, padded in pleated fleece,
- and taller than I as I helped her stand,
- she pulled an earplug out beneath her knit cap,
- said, “Ouch.”
- And said it like a quiet bid for privacy.
- Paternal, winded, I wanted an assurance.
- And she assured me with a thanks that meant,
- “Just let me cry.”
O World Flung Inward by an Arm of Stars
- O world flung inward by an arm of stars,
- feeling out of control or stalled,
- o friend or enemy, propelled
- always it seems without effort
- among stars, a star yourself,
- trailing your solar wind,
- asleep in your life
- as we dream you’re awake,
- spare part, vital particle,
- hung in a table leg or wisp of steam,
- your permanence and evanescence
- balanced by a term of art,
- o make a joyful noise,
- you’re on your way,
- your transit has been noted
- and made music.
Mark Jarman’s most recent collection of poetry is Bone Fires: New and Selected Poems (Sarabande Books, 2011). His honors include the Lenore Marshall Prize from the Academy of American Poets, the Poets’ Prize, the Balcones Poetry Prize, and a Guggenheim fellowship in poetry. He is Centennial Professor of English at Vanderbilt University. Sarabande Books will publish his next collection of poetry, The Heronry, in 2017.
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