Without the Twin
I’m camped out around the Paleo fire.
All my irons in it, when one half-second
after I want to ask her if she’s seen the gold-
finch yet this spring, it darts out of the sumac.
It’s a Jungian shudder flows through my bones,
as soon after I think of Charles Olson, that Titan,
who downright stole fire from the gods, & paid an
awful price with voracious eagle gnawing at his side.
Damn, jazz & poetry, painting, I told her
I thought immediately of Francis Bacon, let
alone Bob Rauschenberg, damned, to have such
insights require light from the fire of the gods, but
who’d trade it in for any normalcy I see all around,
some poor excuse for life barely lived, some life
without the twin, as Olson wrote, of life itself:
Robert Gibbons, a former Gloucester resident, is the author of nine books of poetry. In 2013, in addition to completing a Trilogy of prose poems with Nine Point Publishing, he published Olson/Still: Crossroad, a brief study concerning the similarities in approach to art by Olson in words, and Clyfford Still in paint.