The Least of Reasons

Poetry Chapbook from January, 1994

(Jim's favorites boldfaced)

Sometimes all the firsts in life are not yet over
but it takes a mind that's wide as life
a readiness to leave the certainties
a gambler's instinct
Sometimes the risks are worth the risk, sometimes not

There may be friends and lovers out of sight
beyond the length and width of everyday
a pricey menu in a foreign tongue
long trip for a meal, a continent away
Sometimes the restaurant lives up to expectation

Of all the possibilities we held out to one another
each had warmth and promises of pleasure
contingencies of shattered confidences
eventualities that might be hard to turn away
Sometimes life beyond knowing is waiting there to know

Tickets for a concert, walking, touched only at fingertips
a constant intervention of skin hunger
the mutual rise and swell of shared thought
pouring ourselves from you to me and back
Sometimes that rarity of church bells, ringing at intermission

REPETITION

Walking cobbles
three times the age of my country
Mozart strolled these streets
Kafka, too

It doesn't mean a thing
The time is now
A moment and then it's gone
History, repeating

SLIPPERY

He led me through fifteen years of life
tugging on the leash, always just ahead
Furious stub of wagging tail, the Springer look
A raving canine romantic, high on life

They say dogs become just like their owners
Carry on the selfsame manner, selfsame look
It's not true, but quite the other way around
I became him over years, thank God

Learned to get my nose close to the ground
Recognize the earth, its tender greenness
Identify the cling of smoke to clothes and hair
Acknowledge life

Spirit free to welcome friends, wagging
my own tail, tasting salt on skin
Curling in a corner to snooze and wonder
what splendid circumstance would wake me

Learning to love without duplicity
Heart pumping, taking it for granted
to leap ahead, impatient with my leash
Snapping at the air, bounding into waves

Didn't even take him long to die
Just one more adventure down the road
Handled it with the grace of willingness
Teaching me, perhaps to do as well

JUST ANOTHER KID

He was born part of a profit structure
Breast fed, when she remembered
her milk laced with heroin
He cried away his hunger and habit

Solitary by the age of five, learning
the cunning of hunted animals, the art
of not being seen, untrusting any touch
Eyes withheld from everything that hurts

A shadow life at ten, mixing darker shades
that slip down stairwells, dank with piss
Running with survivors, edging away
Bold, when boldness is the only hope

Dealing, stealing, reeling at fifteen, his shoes
a badge of honor in a dishonored life
Father to his own son, born of a nameless girl
Continuing the heritage of no heritage

Dead at sixteen, no major news event
Uncomprehending the history he's left
at the bottom of a stairwell, blood and broken glass
Just another kid and life and death move on

HEARD FROM HIM?

Heard from him?
Gone a year in January
Had to get away and write
Wonder if he's any good

Wonder what he thinks
A foreign city, a foreign tongue
What he does as my sun comes up
and his goes down

Suppose he has regrets?
or thinks it's all just cool as hell
Smiling at the vagaries of life
why some stay, some have to go

Could be easier for him this way
with no witnesses, out of sight
Out of mind, only one side to tell
Who could remind him it's otherwise

What's a writer's life, if not to tell
those long, involved, strangulated lies
Not bold, the telling easier than living
History, from the winner's point of view

It's a thieving, running thing to do
hiding from a life that didn't work
Making one that does from writing it
Have you heard from him ?

THE LEAST OF REASONS

The day's elk hunt over, afternoon dropping
suddenly to night, Montana in November
does things like that, startles those
occasional participants who need to know
the power of mountains

Gathering horses and men, blowing on fingers
Stamping feet, cinching leather, rifles slid
to scabbards, swinging on, a long ride to camp
No elk today, just solitary climbing, do you know
what solitary means in big sky ranges

Quiet riding back, each silent, lost in thought
Creaking leather, plumes of steaming breath
Rolling steady gait, horses heads down, seen it all
Men's heads up, two feet of snow across the valley
Full moon washed silver, no words nor should be

Stifled, breathless beating cry and wings
Whistler swans, necks stretched, string the moon
Their migration, only by night and seldom seen
they'll cry across these ranges, pulling winter
Who wouldn't cry to leave

Cutting trails, elk and moose, coyote long gone
Skidding a creek bank, sit back, urge forward
gingerly on ice, snorting, ears pricked, breaking through
Scramble, balanced against stirrups, reins loose
Clawing up again, leaned forward now and glad

Rhythm of the saddle settles in, two hours yet to camp
High mountain logger's camp, timbers a century standing
Smoke curls, drifting away to follow Whistlers south
Unsaddle, feed and water, rub them down, horses
that have seen it all, see it too soon again

Rifles outside on the wall, shielded by the overhang
Muzzles down against the snow, ready for four in the morning
ready for forty below, for the dark ride out to climb
Time now for hot bread, warm stew, slice of pie and coffee
Quiet, reverential conversation, a sip of Wild Turkey, bed

Killing is the least of reasons for the hunt

HERE AND THERE

Took nine months to learn
the soap in my dish scrubber
runs out too fast
filled more than halfway
Strange way to spend nine months
Not the only thing I learned
but it seems significant
and I wonder at that

Learned to care about myself
I may be overfilled and running out
Learned to clean the toilet
Disengaged from television
Stepped down from wanting things
Saw things inside, darker, brighter things
Emerging of submerged
Funny stuff, great stuff, meaningless stuff

What's it like to live in a foreign land
a city not your own, they ask
Inquiring minds want to know
that's what they say, but not for long
Distracted by planning dinner, remembering last night's fight
No lessons drawn from someone else
not that mean a damn
You might wonder at that

Simpler here, but I'm prevented
from the understanding
of life in domination
All those heavy boots and heavy years
I laugh to write that, examine
the domination of my life lived free
We all hear boots imagined
And I wonder at that

Friends and work here, different
from friends and work back there
Back there is where I came from, home is here
A meaningless distinction to you, it's not to me
The work is eager, strains at the leash, pulling
Quickly focused
A city of coming and going
Turnover deprivation

A lot at stake in friendship
Broke amidst baroque, circling wagons
writing, wasting time, investing time
Pull of the leash, looking up
having coffee and talking it over
Standing in cold, lying in sun,
Waiting for a night tram, enfolded by a city
and I wonder at that

What about your life, the one you chose
or allowed others to choose
Does it warm you, let you lie in grass
shake off the cold, like mine
Are you lonely out there, or is someone loving you
Is there a pull at your leash, will you write
or has distance taken us too far
I wonder about that, too

TEN WORDS

We fight
too much
That's what
she said
She's right

INTERRUPTION

Knowing my heartbeat, breath, digestion
All that needed maintenance activity
taken for granted, ignored, abused
Working with a sense of urgency
Candles flare, before they gutter out

Why, this leaping flame of writing
Some race I run against mortality?
Think not, but wonder anyway
Just a rush, comes and goes, has before
will again, every sight a spooling thought

Shirtpocket, grabbed for pen and paper
scribbling against the tram's unsteadyness
Old things new, soft shapes grown sharp
walking, thinking, reaching for the pocket
Cigarettes and pen again, scribbling in flight

Writing is a hunter's gun, often without shells
Shoot, pick up the body, pause, reload
shoot again, quickly over the shoulder
Swing through, times like these are rare enough
Months ahead the game may all have fled

I'll take it while I can, a creature of opportunity
If it's a flare, then flare away, I like the light
Death is inconvenient, at the most
Won't come at a civilized hour, never knocks
Another interruption of my work

STUART PROMISED ME

Standing on the sidewalk
Two steel beams and a welding torch
trying to build a skyscraper
Expecting one
Knowing skyscrapers can be built
from such materials
Stuart promised me

Never mind elemental physics
no time for architecture
balancing the systems
civil engineering just a bother
Stand back
let me fire this baby up
Stuart promised me

GET THE STORY

Faces, wounded faces everywhere
steady, working, see it through faces
young hopes, old memories, see it there
Half a century of boots
ten centuries of mostly boots

Come sum it up, sized to make it fit
Fill in blanks, paint by numbers
imposed dreams, ten thousand words
Journalists, four days to get the story
thousand words a century, ten a year

Sound byte history, no time for more
get the building, get the picture, get it right
even if it's wrong
Defenestration, what the hell is that
Where'd the body hit, get a shot of the hat girl

Havel's seeing us at four, plane leaves at six
A playwrite, chuckle, well we had an actor
Talk to Americans they've been here a while
The next Hemingway, Paris, hey that's good
Get me a poet, with a beard and an attitude

Four McDonalds, these Czechs know the deal
Free enterprise is all they need, get the shot
the lines on faces, memory of boots
Havel writes in weariness and prison time
Ten thousand words, get the story

UNEVEN GROUND

Negotiating
her firm jaw
neither confirms, nor denies
He searches her eyes
from a weak position

The bargain clearly struck
long ago, from weakness
His neediness
against her strength
Uneven ground

PROGRESS

I rather liked the rehab
Just an old building
a hundred years or so
Not old for Prague

Care with the details, wistful
slash of glass across the front
Old windows carefully preserved
intruding their speciality

Designer cared, followed through
Someone with an eye for style
enough for reverence
Passed by again last week

Painted the damned thing pink

LUSTER

She wore a lustrous beauty
Don't know just what that means
except it sticks there in my head
Won't leave me be, wants definition

Luster, I think, comes from polishing
Old silver, older brass come to mind
and yet her youth belies that
She may possess an ancient spirit

LADDERS

My toes are curled around
the rungs of knowing you
Acrophobia, this way on ladders
They say it's all a state of mind

Maybe so, unbalanced anyway
up here without support
Not knowing if your hand
will steady me

Fear only disappears in trust
It takes a while, for me at least
Hold on, hold on
hold on

COMPLETE / INCOMPLETE

Restlessness, wandering the streets
the Big Work, first draft done
Too high a high, dropping now
not far enough to hit, dismembered

Know the cure, know the way back up
Kick it in the ass, the second draft
climb back on and ride this baby home
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow

MIRRORED

Reflections of my worth
can't be found in your eyes
nor yours in mine
drawn in lines and shades
of subtlety

There's danger there
to find my value in your gaze
Charges it with everything I am
hope to be or ever were
If you look away, I'm ravaged

My love, my worth is known to me
Endless study of the best and worst
a feel for the topography
Look elsewhere if you must
I'll find myself, a mirrored image

RAPT

She smoked, that is to say
a cigarette
And yet, she was smoky still
Black hair swept aside

A look that advertised
with accuracy
no admittance
Tresspassers will be violated

Writing, other tables crowded
no one sat at hers
The smoking lamp was lit
only for the officers

Collecting myself, I settled
back to watch
She may still be there
Rapt in not being wrapped

TOGETHER BY AGREEMENT

Are you needy
I'm not into that right now
wanting to be done like the dishes
three or four times a week

Someone who comes for dinner
drinks wine, values conversation
stays to make love, knows passion
Wakes to know it once again

The luxury of leisured breakfast
The want to leave, pulled by her work
valued as strongly as my own or more
Requiring time apart, together by agreement

CONVERSATION

Love is a long conversation
savored with a friend
Looked at from differences
Value in the point of view

Like conversation suddenly withheld
isolation brings a kind of madness
No ear to hear the words I speak
or voice to give a needed argument

So speak to me from where you are
and let me hold your words
like your face, held in my hands
Gently, lingering in your life

The conversation need not end
for want of things to say, to hear
Distance hasn't cut away our need
to speak, to write, to touch, converse

GETTING OUT

Breaking camp in Big Sky
Hunters all gone
the last
trucked out at dawn
Bucking it out
against the coming storm

Packing, rigging, loading
to pack it once again
downtrail, at the creek
Nine miles, where trucks wait
silent, oil thick as tar
Cattle racks, trailers frozen in

No time for reflection
on the turning
of another season
Shots missed, things seen
Gear and outfits broken
against the teeth of cold

Sometimes spirits too
The dreams of those who come
for what's not here
Looking for adventure
Missing it
before their eyes

Time only to collect and carry
Strapping down, frozen fingers
counting, checking lists
Leaving cans, beans and coffee
Cabins unchained, unlocked
The law for the lost

Four riders load and lead
eight horses packed
Slipping, scrabbling out and down
Curses, laughter, times forgotten
Broken leadshanks, patching
looking back, saying goodbye

The mountains say nothing
nor need to
A century of hunters, prospectors
loggers too have come and gone
A needlepoint of light
against the sun of mountain time

CLOSE AROUND

There's a tailoring to you
a seamlessness of form
Long through the back
a shape that fits my mind

The cloth of you, casually draped
falls across my shoulders
Warming me
An understanding, crafted in the cut

Comfort, in sincerity of weave
Knowing, years and miles from now
when the chill of age shivers me
I'll pull the fabric close around

I LOOKED AWAY

A tap on the shoulder
Excuse me?
I'm death
I beg your pardon
Not necessary, I'm death
It's time

Surely, you've made some mistake
No mistake, it's time
You must have the wrong address
No
But, I've made no preparation
No one ever does

Perhaps next week
It's time
But, you've made no appointment
Never do
Didn't even knock
Never do

First a letter, not so much to ask
Should have written last week
But I didn't know
That's what they all say
I suppose you've heard it all
Heard it all

So, where are we going?
Can't say, it's not allowed
You seem so ordinary
Death is always ordinary
Have we met before?
Several times, you looked away

FROM HERE

What would you ask of me
It's yours
To touch you with tenderness
hear the child in you speak
all of the unspoken words
of clouds and sun behind your eyes
It's done

Can't give you my foreverness
it's not mine to give away
Belonging just to me
as indivisible as pulse or breath
Expect me though, to love you always
long past our togetherness
I will

Settle down on me and rest a while
Take some time for trust
and when you leave I'll hold you
close always, with the letting go
Conceive only that I love you now
will love you tomorrow and tomorrow
From here

TIDES

Two people I thought were gone
having coffee at The Globe
A third, just about to leave
waits for me at dinner

The constancy of removal
each to another place
away from here, away from me
for the best of reasons and the worst

Some for money, some for love
Some because they've both run out
The purpose of their coming
purposeless

Ten thousand on Atlantic flights
on any given day
Lost in thought and time warp
Arrivals and departures

The tides flow both ways

NO PLACE TO GO

Why would he do it
this madness
Standing in the cold and heat
dealing other people's dreams
A life at immediate risk
kept or taken daily

The answer may lie easy
as the slouch of manliness
in this boy
Or as uneasy as the eyes
flirting down side streets
peeling walls and cars and faces

This madness is uncommon skill
Rising of cream, scholarship of streets
Will to live and love, to die
a notch above the rest
Honor the courage
with no place else to go

MISSING BUSES

One of the calm periods
in a life still not too stormy
But unsettled and needing breath
Time to pull it all together
as if that were possible

There are times for this I guess
A wonderment of no lightning
Bulletproofness after too many bullets
Busses that stop midway in the block
but usually I missed them

And what of you, is your tide rising
Supporting, carrying you inland
A crest that's sharpened by demand
knowing now's the time to swim hard
taking the long strokes upward

When it wants to surge ahead
let it run, spool it out a way
stopping only for moments to reflect
Taking time you need, it's never offered
An imperfect world, but heady stuff

We're at different points of the compass
You gaining ground, swimming hard
me floating and carried by the wind
Not the time to catch you by the hand
Your bus never even paused, halfway in my life

PRONOUNS

The faces are here
My friends, all of them
pronouns among the named
Jack in another language
Karen with a foreign voice
before the immigration

America born here, its history
moving through the streets
Eyes and hands I know
Recognized architects
Countrymen before the country
No strangers to be found

EXPECTING NOTHING

Her eyes are dark with quiet fear
Furtive, clinging to the silver
ornament of his scuffed boots
worn more by arrogance than time
Speaking with her body, imagery
She is currency, he holds the note

Her worth is as he values it, no more
Immediate and subject to an alien law
the resource unshared, a one way deal
Her book written in the posture, no kind words
Who needs the other less is winner
and he holds all aces, kings and queens

Like money, some is never quite enough
She is only some, the bills well worn
unspendable, dropped finally in gutters
Her inconvenience defined, a shaky cigarette
offered with contempt, before the execution

Wordlessly he turned and left, she followed
Trailed his silver booted indifference, firing
a hail of silent bullets, catching her wide eyed
Her bleeding, long past remembered pain
Expecting nothing, knowing it was there

ABOUT ITALIANS

What is it about Italians
What shortening or lengthening of genes
delivers them, two steps past ordinary
to elegance

The Greeks, Chinese are older at the game
Further up the food chain of antiquity
and yet the grace is there, Italian
Unmistakeable, felt even in a crowd

Art is life in Italy, the conversation
swells with it, each word a craft
Hereditary smells and tastes, a simmering
of language, ladled over me

An entire nation on fire with life
Centuries, regarded from a fourth dimension
Visions pop, like rabbits from a hat
What is it about Italians

FOUR AT THIRTY

Self doubt
The enemy of shooting ducks
The lead too hesitant
Five yards at thirty
or is it four

Hesitancy
Crafting lines, maybe ill conceived
as though conception in itself
is ever ill
But it may bark, instead of sigh

All this shit impedes
No time for imposition
Hunting words or waterfowl
it's either in or out
Four yards at thirty

SHELL GAME

Does it, should it, will it ever end
This messing about
Humanity contemplating
its immeasureable self doubt
Groping, bitching
Never near enough or satisfied
An endless circular shakedown
lit from the history of art
Finding too often
all the lights turned out, a blank

This misadventure, turned
to a continuous shell game
Every goal seductive, winked at
changed and rearranged
A turbanned, dark skinned slight of hand
skillful, lightning quick
Happiness is there
Love beneath the middle shell, then gone
promised once again, always grinning
The deftness unexplained

Move the camera back
Pull me from neediness, unstack the deck
haul away the media fix
lower the flag, stop all the push and pull
of expectation, the hanging in there
catching up and falling back
Resolve me to another
less troubled and simpler tribal culture
All babies valued, held and breast fed
by any mother who's got milk

Hide away my lostness there
where all skin touches skin
Believing in another god
worshipful of sun and rain and wind
I need the black majesty of night
to cover me, aflame with stars
Await each dawn without appointment
smell the smell of dust rising
A whole community of eyes
that find my soul and nod agreement

My dinner table groans with choice
I'm overstuffed and starving
Too little nourishment, too much wine
I beg to call the check
pay the bill no matter what the price
leave a tip and run
Provisioned, where the linen isn't starched
Taste a simpler fare
devoid of crystal, no expensive silverware
A more communal meal

BOTTOMLESS CUP
(a variation on I Looked Away)

He ducked between cars
angling across the street
one step ahead of the bus
Hurrying, mind elsewhere
lost in scattered thought
Felt the tug at his shoulder
Excuse me? He looked surprised
I'm Death
I beg your pardon?
Death
But I'm late, really got to run
No hurry
You can't be serious, not now
Serious. Yes, now
Surely you have the wrong fellow
No
Sure?
Sure
Let's talk about it first
Cup of coffee?
Yeah, coffee would be nice
They all want that
What, coffee?
To talk about it first
Well, it seems the least you could do
Cream and sugar?
Yeah, now what's this all about
About?
Yeah, you know, why now, why me?
Why not?
It's just that I wasn't expecting
No one ever does
Perhaps, but look here,
I suppose you have identification
Not necessary
Cryptic fellow. Not even papers?
No
Well, I must say, rather shabbily dressed
I mean, not even a crease in the trousers
That a problem to you?
Well, I suppose not, but it seems so . . .
Irregular?
Yes rather, I mean one expects
What?
Well, an appointment. I mean this is a bit
Much to take in, without an appointment
You knew
Well, in the abstract, of course I knew
So, here I am
Yes of course, this is so somehow un abstract
I mean this is here and now, no phone call first
No phone call
No knock at the door, you could have knocked
Never knock
A little preparation would have been thoughtful
A lifetime to prepare
There you go again, in the abstract
There are some things I'll need to attend to first
No need
Easy for you to say, but I have obligations
No obligations
At the very least, a letter to write, things to say
Should have said them
But who would know, who would ever expect
You knew
Well, what will they all think, when I'm gone so suddenly?
Very little
Not much comfort in that, certainly be a shock
Not so shocking
There will be tears, they'll weep and wish me back
A few. Not many. Not for long
I'll be missed, grieved for, agonized over
Not much
Well, I can't bear the thought of not much and not for long
Not yours to bear
But I thought somehow it was all so important
Lot of that going around
Where are we going, what's it like where we're going?
You done with your coffee?
Not really, does it make a difference?
I could use another cup
Yeah, well me too, so answer me, what's it like
Not supposed to say
Oh yes, well. Expect me to just come along then
Pretty much
And suppose I'm not ready, refuse to go and all that
Not an option
Let's talk this through, is there a way around it
She's slow bringing coffee
I mean are there loopholes, something to bargain away
You've been reading too much
I don't suppose you've ever been bought off
You don't have much
Yes well, remind me of that of course, but supposing
It always happens
What?
They meet me and start supposing
Well, only natural, you do come as somewhat of a shock
Never really understood that
What?
How the inevitable could shock
Okay, so I buy the bit, now what?
The bit?
Show biz term, a kind of referential thing
Oh
So let's get on with it then, where from here?
From here?
Yeah, I mean we can't just keep drinking coffee
Thought you liked coffee

FLYING SOUTH

New Year's Eve, forced festivity
crams itself on Charles Bridge
Essences, all essences
the fabric an innocent madness
Smell of powder, clouds
of harmless smoke drift upriver

The yield of spontaneity
a thousand amateur celebrations
Randomly, skyrockets follow
a lone swan that flies unevenly
from nowhere to nowhere
up the night black river sky

An atmosphere brilliant with flash
heavy with explosion
Each detonation catching
freeze frame, the wide eyedness
Ambivalently, an early drunk
pees against cathedral walls

Ground rockets spray at ankle height
quickening the dance
Every bottle passed to strangers
swigged and passed again
No strangers now, in this
community of clutched strangers

A night of coupling, exagerated winsomeness
pizza and champaign
Punctuated, an explosive mini war
harmless and supercharged
high expectation, too high perhaps
A discontented Roman candle

Some arch the sky, against bright eyes
that promise everything
Some sputter, fizzle, gutter out
like worn through faded jeans
A girl sits on the steps
arms wrapped around herself and weeps

Twelve months of fantasy, the excess
powder savored for tonight
Dreams with fuses buried in the core
of lives throughout the world
touched off against reality
Twenty four time zones, east to west

The promised hope of everything
somehow needs to work at it tonight
Lovers kiss, strangers kiss, the unloved
kiss as well and all eyes look up
Another year explodes
shimmering into Prague from further east

and the darkened swan flies south