Poems from Fragments from the
Stars (1990)
“His poems seem made of
vivid details he saw out of
corner of his eye—precise
sketches, concise form.”
—Allen Ginsberg
“Cope renders the particulars of each scene with a
striking intensity . . . full of insight and feeling.”
—George Drury
Copyright ©1990 by David Cope
Acknowledgements
Poems from Fragments from the Stars were published in Big Scream, The
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2
Poems included here:
Industrial Clinic
Killings to Be Made in Soybean Futures
Blowout in Fast Traffic
Jane Marie
New Moon
The New Foot
The Invisible Keys
Farewell
Will
●●●
Industrial
Clinic
the man on crutches,
leg muscles ripped pushing a heavy load—
the woman, teeth clenched,
hand curling & twitching, too many hours
polishing pins—
the grandfather, wrist bound into a stump
where his hand once was—
the woman, barely more than a girl,
her foot a gauze ball, flesh pierced
a week before by a punching ram—
all look up
as a dust-covered boy in hard hat comes in
wringing his hands,
swinging
his arm & groaning, blood spraying out
across the floor—
the nurses meet him there & usher him quickly
to a room where the doctor’s waiting.
here comes the janitor with his mop.
someone sighs. their eyes follow the mop.
Killings
to Be Made in Soybean Futures
oldtimer swigs & shades his eyes,
look,
my tractor's paid for, but
what a way to end my years farming—
how many families
already packing up?
how many men out behind their barns
staring into their own shotgun barrels?
giant dustclouds
roll off his discs & wheels,
last time he'll cultivate these rows,
hopeful shoots
withered in less than a month.
distant heatwaves rise,
distort the hill, the farmhouse,
the line of trees beyond.
Blowout
in Fast Traffic
limping home
on a beat spare—
bright streetlights
on this deserted street:
the lone pedestrian’s
swinging his umbrella.
workers in the old factory
lean across the break table,
laughing, in the window,
as I pass,
far from the fast road now.
the shops’re all closed:
moon above,
& faintly,
the scattered stars.
Jane
Marie
under my hand,
moist forehead—
Sue looks up—
the doctors cut
thru flesh wall,
fat layer—
still deeper—
their gloves redden
with her blood—
she is purely
calm, her calm
becoming mine
& now the doctor’s
hand enters her
abdomen,
the aide pushes,
pushes,
a blue head appears
wrinkled, angrily
drawing breath—
a howl
as the whole
blue body appears,
cut & clamp,
weigh & check
& suck out nostrils,
hand her to
the father, me,
who sits amazed
as blue flesh turns
slowly pink,
Sue’s hand reaching
to touch.
New
Moon
tonight
as my baby sleeps
roses & poppies
fill her dream.
new moon,
train whistles
around the bend,
toxic wastes
from Dow
shipped south:
O, the lantern
in the brakeman's hand!
my hair is greying
quickly now;
after barren years
this child's
an unexpected
blessing.
hard to keep
one's mind intact
& calm.
bombers fly above
defending "us."
if we are
breathing here
in twenty years,
what masks
will we wear?
The New Foot
the door slammed;
cane tapping,
tapping, he works
his way down
the ramp, one hand
against the wall—
men at the table
look up from coffee,
fish stories, tales of
bowling glory.
he stares at the door
20 feet beyond them
where he’ll hang his
coat & tool pouch,
then looks down at
his new leg & foot, his
cane, & slowly hobbles
across the room.
heads turned back
to table & talk:
he shuffles
slowly—no more walker,
nor pinned pantleg,
nor therapy, for him.
The
Invisible Keys
dead, old John, premiere piano player,
found sitting up on his toilet after
3 days not answering his bell:
yellowing sheet music, old records,
unpaid bills
piled on his dresser;
clock radio blaring the latest hits,
the morning news;
government checks stuffed in the mailbox,
unclaimed;
no relatives, no claims for his things,
landlord to arrange his funeral.
spot on
the sax,
he’s on his knees making that thing
scream
just above the heads of the dancers
who’re humping it,
sea of heads jumping in the dark,
smoke haze up in the lights &
now it’s John’s turn,
bass thumping
raw nerves underground raging river,
he lights into those
high keys, staccato—
fingers flying faster & faster,
sweat dripping off his eyebrows,
crashing cymbal & snares & high hat
clanging!
& now that guitar coming in
sweet & low,
trying to take it—
even the bouncers at the door
look in,
the dancers
stop dead to watch or
collapse into their seats, exhausted,
take it babe—
that guitar
out front all alone
burning away sadness & anger, unpaid bills
& careless loves,
burning a bright new fire
to get them all to that coming dawn,
burning all desire
away,
leaving them
quiet,
breathing
softly
together
at last.
somewhere
that old tune’s floating up
in a dingy hallway
one bare bulb hanging
& those keys’re
rolling, waves under fast fingers—
& two floors up
a woman sobs alone on rumpled sheets
shattered glass
on the floor, picture on her pillow—
two lovers
in white, with a red rose—
hearing those notes
again, she’ll rise & look out at
the empty street,
streetlights going off in the
lavender dawn,
& she’ll remember an embrace, a
tender moment
in a room like this, & sighing,
wipe her eyes
& fix her hair, who knows who
might turn up today,
toes still tapping to that old song.
Tiananmen
Square Sequence
Tiananmen
Square
the Chinese student revolt
has sent all the western analysts
scurrying to their Sunday talk shows:
optimistic dreams about Miss Liberty
whose lamp shines over a polluted harbor
where little men & women race for
more & bigger better lives &
new! improved! ways of making cold
hard cash, avoiding above all any
talk of breath & death.
these students have open eyes.
may they sit, & hear the silence.
Spider
Writhing in Lamplight
close the book; turn off the lamp.
you, too, may find light in the dark
& see the thread you hang on.
The
Avenue of Eternal Peace
bullets spray; bodies’re carried off.
troops advance from east & west
toward the portrait of Mao
where the students man barricades
with rocks & broken bottles.
we wait, & listen for dispatches
bringing what news can get out:
once, we too dreamed
we’d sing our way to peace:
brothers, sisters,
I send this slender prayer for you.
The Apology
the lips & cheecks now quiver
in the white light,
in the white room.
the body is bent forward
on a chair, against a wall
facing its accusers:
soldiers with machine guns.
the eyes face the floor.
& now, from the lips & tongue,
abjectly, the apology.
Farewell
skull & shell in rock where
the delicate tracery of nerves once
shot the gap thru living meat,
bone digit that once pointed out
stars or tenderly touched clitoris &
birth canal in moments where
their eyes drank each other in
& their skin was singing flame—
O song! rise out of that
dead mouth now! bright babe!
leap thru those jaws
into white air again! spinning seasons,
oceans, rivers, rocks & tides &
still dawn where one leaf floated
by the boy’s dangling feet, who rose &
looked back once & walked away—
tonight a brother’s greatest gift
to brother is letting the goddess star
guide that dark sail beyond
any horizon for the knowing: that gift
is tears, yet here’s the heart
where kindness is more than kind &
kin is bond for breaking. farewell!
keep watch from that other shore,
we’re coming.
Will
today, overcast but promising
spring,
springy step
on the green earth:
open the door.
your time is now.
the passage isn’t simple
but for those who will
come,
comes.
what your father
& mother suffered,
what you suffered,
is past.
no promises! wake!
the heart
has a proper place.
if you’d be clear,
be calm.
child, young man,
hard laborer,
sage, old fool,
make it what you will.
will to make it well.
your hands,
for tender touch.
your ear & eye,
for compassion,
will see & hear
what’s needed:
freely bend your will.