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By Etel Adnan
The morning after
my death
we will sit in cafés
but I will not
be there
I will not be
*
There was the great death of birds
the moon was consumed with
fire
the stars were visible
until noon.
Green was the forest drenched
with shadows
the roads were serpentine
A redwood tree stood
alone
with its lean and lit body
unable to follow the
cars that went by with
frenzy
a tree is always an immutable
traveller.
The moon darkened at dawn
the mountain quivered
with anticipation
and the ocean was double-shaded:
the blue of its surface with the
blue of flowers
mingled in horizontal water trails
there was a breeze to
witness the hour
*
The sun darkened at the
fifth hour of the
day
the beach was covered with
conversations
pebbles started to pour into holes
and waves came in like
horses.
*
The moon darkened on Christmas eve
angels ate lemons
in illuminated churches
there was a blue rug
planted with stars
above our heads
lemonade and war news
competed for our attention
our breath was warmer than
the hills.
*
There was a great slaughter of
rocks of spring leaves
of creeks
the stars showed fully
the last king of the Mountain
gave battle
and got killed.
We lay on the grass
covered dried blood with our
bodies
green blades swayed between
our teeth.
*
We went out to sea
a bank of whales was heading
South
a young man among us a hero
tried to straddle one of the
sea creatures
his body emerged as a muddy pool
as mud
we waved goodbye to his remnants
happy not to have to bury
him in the early hours of the day
We got drunk in a barroom
the small town of Fairfax
had just gone to bed
cherry trees were bending under the
weight of their flowers:
they were involved in a ceremonial
dance to which no one
had ever been invited.
*
I know flowers to be funeral companions
they make poisons and venoms
and eat abandoned stone walls
I know flowers shine stronger
than the sun
their eclipse means the end of
times
but I love flowers for their treachery
their fragile bodies
grace my imagination’s avenues
without their presence
my mind would be an unmarked
grave.
*
We met a great storm at sea
looked back at the
rocking cliffs
the sand was going under
black birds were
leaving
the storm ate friends and foes
alike
water turned into salt for
my wounds.
*
Flowers end in frozen patterns
artificial gardens cover
the floors
we get up close to midnight
search with powerful lights
the tiniest shrubs on the
meadows
A stream desperately is running to
the ocean
By Etel Adnan
This unfinished business of my
childhood
this emerald lake
from my journey’s other
side
haunts hierarchies of heavens
a palm forest
fell overnight
to make room for an unwanted
garden
ever since
fevers and swellings
turn me into a river
the streets were steep
winds were running ahead
of ships ...
There was indeed the death of birds
the moon had passed away.
*
The morning after his death
pursuing him beyond his bitter end
his mother came to
his grave:
she removed his bones out of
their pattern
and ditched them into mud:
women came at night
and claimed Rimbaud their own
that night there was much
thunder it was awesome
*
Laurels and lilacs
bloom around my head
because I stood up to the sun
You see the Colorado River runs
between flowered banks
I repeat my journeys to seek the
happiness that overcame
your absence
I was happy not to love you anymore
until the sunset reached
the East
and broke my raft apart
there were other rivers underground
covered with dead flowers
it was cold it was cold yes it was
cold.
*
Under a combination of pain
and machine-gun fire
flowers disappeared
they are in the same
state of non-being
as Emily Dickinson
We the dead have conversation
in our gardens
about our lack of
existence.
*
The gardener is planting
blue and white
flowers
some angel moved in with me
to flee the cold
temperature on earth are
rising
but we wear upon us some
immovable frost
everyone carries his dying as
a growing shadow.
*
I left the morning paper
by the coffee cup
the heat was 85 like the
year
and I went to the window to find
that flowers had bloomed overnight
to replace the bodies
felled in the war
the enemy had come with fire
and ruse
to stamp the names of the dead
in the gardens of Yohmor
It is not because spring
is too beautiful
that we’ll not write what
happens in the dark.
*
A butterfly came to die
between two stones
at the foot of the Mountain
the mountain shed shadows
over it
to cover the secret of
death.
*