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Back to 2005 Ghazals
2005, Set Three, Page One
- King of Silence, John Isaacs-Young
- Lying Ghazal, James Schiavoni
- Oblivion, Mary L. Mazzocco
- I Will Not Give Up, Rick Miller
- Editor's Comments
King of Silence
by John Isaacs-Young
Everywhere you try to hide, someone always finds you.
Elude the men of violence, the king of silence binds you.
The law has sealed heaven's gate, but the breeze is coming through
And to seek forbidden pathways, it inclines you.
The saddow gods are numberless - the gods of light, a few.
They dissolve before the face of One who blinds you.
The auctioneer has spoken, and the settlement is due
'But the deadlock must be broken', he reminds you.
The farmer in a sweet attack has cut down what he grew
And the miller immaculately grinds you.
A fierce wind has left you clean and wonders become true.
The angel burning gorgeous green, entwines you.
And your polka dot tomorrows, are merging into blue
As the silent king of sorrows redefines you.
Lying Ghazal
by James Schiavoni
New strategies of diversion (that means lying)
in reality T.V. find the means for lying.
Vast cartels of hubris fuel enrons of despair:
emotional commerce takes such paeans for lying.
God's mortgages keep sins in escrow funds
until the devil forecloses our liens on lying.
Thunder thumps on grief's distant back.
I bless the sheets on which my wife leans, lying.
Where Buddha sat, ants scrabble in the earth;
in shadows the reincarnate evening's lying.
Around the muddy halls of Baghdad palaces,
broken words of poets unseen are lying.
Poor footsore hobbits limp across a bridge
beneath which trolls, hungry and lean, are lying.
Would you? Be careful of your answer, sahib.
Caution's butler tends to leave mean dogs lying.
The alley of disgrace has become a boulevard.
The emperor's parade demeans his lying.
Amid the waft of brulle, the whiff of wine,
Giacomo knows why he is clean and lying.
Oblivion
by Mary L. Mazzocco
Sleep descends the well of oblivion.
Dreams weave their spell in oblivion.
Grateful for nothingness, gather me
into the dark shell of oblivion.
When I drift in somnambulant bliss,
it's an easy sell--oblivion.
Fitfulness brings tribulation when
devils excel in oblivion.
The gray dawn comes too soon. Mary's dreams
must be expelled to oblivion.
I Will Not Give Up
by Rick Miller
Nobody believes I will not give up
even though I said I will not give up.
They can search their hearts for the blame they seek.
Secrets of the dread I will not give up.
You can pull me up like a hog in fall—
Even if I'm bled, I will not give up.
You can punish me by exhorting me
to the whipping shed--I will not give up.
Soldier sent to war by the man says 'No,
you can go instead; I will not give up.'
Homeless on the street told to work say, 'Soon
I will get ahead! I will not give up.'
Kill me and my ghost will invade your faith—
Even if I'm dead, I will not give up!
Editor's Comments
King of Silence
This ghazal is psalm of the wanderer/seeker, tracing pilgrimage from first awareness of the difficulty of the goal ("heaven's sealed gate") to the transformative goal ("the silent king of sorrows redefines you"). Each sher should be read from this perspecitve; ask who the auctioneer, farmer and the miller are--they have the key to unlock the sealed gate.
Lying Ghazal
I was taught to distinguish "lie" and "lay" as verbs, but that distinction as pretty much vanished. Add another verb, "lie," and you have the code for the ambiguity of this ghazal's radif: sometimes to speak falsehood, sometimes to recline, and sometimes a blend of the two that brings the reader to reflection.Oblivion
Another ghazal of awakening, albeit reluctant waking to "gray dawn" from the bliss of sleep and dream. Perhaps this poem can be read with and against the first two, a kind of contrary commentary on their privilging light and awareness. Freud after all saw thanatos (desire for death and nonbeing) as being as fundamental as eros (drive for pleasure and ecstacy).I Will Not Give Up
One of my earlier memories is seeing a hog hoisted up on a pulley and chain to be butchered--throat cut, guts removed, blood steaming in cool autumn air.Every reader brings such personal associations to the poem, one reason for the richness of poetic language: in evoking such associations in an imagistically dense text, the poet guides the reader through an experience that summons the reader's depths. And perhaps that's a reason why many people avoid poetry: they fear the depths within that a poem can summon, the shock of intimacy a poem can provide.