The lady we pass
on Opal knows the song
and joins our
chorus in a sweet contralto:
turtle-dove and a partridge in a pear
tree…
You laugh astonished
at this coincidence.
Twelve — a
number beyond imagining — days,
counted down by
ladies, milkmaids, swans, gold rings.
“More Krispess Heights!” Christmas lights, you talk with an
accent as if you had recently swum over
from Babylandia, smelling of molecules,
emitting
carbon dioxide as you ride
past lights on
tree and porch like stars or candles,
while the
stroller rolls forever down Opal.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John Oliver Simon is one of the legendary poets of the Berkeley Sixties who has remained true to his calling. Published from Abraxas to Zyzzyva, his last book was Caminante (2002) which Gary Snyder blurbed as "a major poem." He is also a distinguished translator of contemporary poetry from Latin America, who received an NEA Fellowship for his work with the great Chilean poet Gonzalo Rojas (1917-2011). He is Artistic Director of Poetry Inside Out, a program of the Center for the Art of Translation, and is River of Words 2013 Teacher of the Year.
Bay Laurel / Volume 2, Issue 3 / Autumn 2013