Winter 2005

WINTER 2005

Ira Cohen CORNUCOPION Coming to the end of this little notebook I discover a profusion of perfect petals embedded in the paper. Though we are out of the dog days of August not a sign of red or yellow is yet implied. They speak of golden years, but I don't really yearn for the sun to set -- Let the dew rise heavenwards in the last exhalation of an endless summer. So much for hallmark feelings. everywhere the passing stream. If only I knew what to do would it be alright with you if the gold & the black broke the back of the wave, could we, together at last, leave the moving past? "Soso," intones the skinny nerd as two blondes in pink & fawn colored outfits show their tresses passing by just as I was thinking of Dante's ladder to the sky & the reluctance of Phaeton teaches in regard to the chariot of the sun. If love's ardor magnetizes grace, ten show me without your veil of light the lineaments of your face. (A meadow down in its place.)   Ira Cohen EXTRACTION The only real experience occurs when you are alone, not when you are part of a crowd. When you come alive it is in the likeness of spring. One day you will eat the blue, then you will know -- When it is all over the word will remain. So it is with poetry as with prophecy. Praise will issue from the mouths of strangers. Then in the Land of Promise the real struggle begins.

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