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Trout Lily, E&A Nature Trail, Elkin

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[ 2 poems by Arthur Sze ]
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Entanglement
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5
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Along the shore, bald eagles nest in the yellow cedars—
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my clothes reek of cedar smoke—
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I wrap clothes around glass jars of king salmon in my knapsack—
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standing on a dock, I board a floatplane—
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floaters in my eyes, wherever I go—
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wherever you go, you cannot travel faster than light—
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synapses firing in my body are a form of light—
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threads of fugitive dye entangled in neural firings—
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scent of summer in the blackening leaves—
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a black bear swipes a screen door and ransacks a kitchen—
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we ransack the past and discover action at a distance—
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entangled waves of near and far—
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a photon fired through a slit behaves like a wave—
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we inhale, and our lungs oxygenate a cosmos—
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a fire breaks out of the secret depths of the earth—
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revel in the beauty of form.
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Arthur Sze
from White Orchard, new poems in The Glass Constellation, New and Collected Poems; Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend WA; © 2024
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Transpirations
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Leaving branches of a backyard plum—
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branches of water on a dissolving ice sheet—
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chatter of magpies when you approach—
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lilacs lean over the road, weighted with purple blossoms—
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then the noon sun shimmers the grasses—
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you ride the surge into summer—
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smell of piñon crackling in the fireplace—
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blued notes of a saxophone in the air—
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not by sand running through an hourglass but by our bodies igniting—
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passing in the form of vapors from a living body—
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this world of orange sunlight and wildfire haze—
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world of iron filings pulled toward magnetic south and north—
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pool of quicksilver when you bend to tie your shoes—
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standing, you well up with glistening eyes—
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have you lived with utmost care?—
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have you articulated emotions like the edges of leaves?—
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adjust your breath to the seasonal rhythm of grasses—
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gazing into a lake on a salt flat and drinking, in reflection, the Milky Way—
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Arthur Sze
from White Orchard, new poems in The Glass Constellation, New and Collected Poems; Copper Canyon Press, Port Townsend WA; © 2024
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Adam & Eve Orchid, E&A Nature Trail, Elkin

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 .  . . . . Last night, gazing
at Orion’s belt and sword sparkling in the sky,
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I saw how we yearn for connection where
no connection exists: what belt, what sword?
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from Ravine, Arthur Sze
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And yet when I try to separate things, pull them apart to understand, they feel like they are all connected. Like the lines in these poems. At first each is its own crystallized moment, its individual monoku of presence. I slow myself to read the lines again, calmer, unhurried, in sequence, and they begin to speak to each other. They entangle and combine. They spark little flashes at the back door of consciousness. Meaning wants to come in from the dark. I can’t necessarily tell you Meaning’s dimensions nor her Latin binomial, but I can say that she seems companionable. She looks and smells and speaks like someone I’d like to have come in and set a spell.
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Meaning, are you out there waiting patiently to be found, or are you nothing but a fancy my mind creates? I know your cousin Reality is not really comprised of infinitesimal billiard balls in orbit but rather clouds of potentiality. Nevertheless, Reality and mind do interact. Quantum superposition – the wave function collapses to a defined presence when touched by consciousness. This line of poetry is infused with meanings. I bring all my history and my own potentialities to its moment of reading. Who could foresee how all those elements might react? But they do. And Meaning and I leave the event arm in arm.
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Arthur Sze is the twenty-fifth Poet Laureate of the United States, appointed in 2025. He was born in New York City in 1950 and lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with his wife poet Carol Moldaw. The Glass Constellation collects poems from ten earlier collections spanning fifty years, as well as twenty-six new poems (sampled here). It is the winner of the 2024 National Book Foundation Science and Literature Award.
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The Glass Constellation is available from Copper Canyon Press, and you can sample two poems from Arthur Sze’s newest book, Into the Hush, at an earlier poste HERE
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Cranefly Orchid, E&A Nature Trail, Elkin

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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . every Saturday I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
 . 
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
 . 
 . 
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
 . 
If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
 . 
COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
 . 
Thanks again for joining the conversation.
 . 
– Bill
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 .IMG_0768, tree
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Saturday morning readers share:
Ben Stinson
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Cosmic Okra
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With a low,
warbling harmonica
and a banjo pluck intro
We fade into Jim,
he’s got a beard
like a startled badger,
and I,
well,
I’m wearing mismatched socks, again.
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We’re staring up,
at a sky so black,
like a cosmic inkwell spilled.
Jim says, “You know, the nearest star,
it’s, like, a zillion miles away,
give or take a Tuesday.”
I say, “Yeah,”
and remind him,
“that’s just
the neighbor’s
backyard bug zapper.”
 . 
Sitting on his porch swing,
the rusty springs creaking like a chorus of old robots.
We’re eating pickled okra,
(because,
well,
why not?),
While pondering the sheer,
unadulterated,
mind-bending,
eyeball-melting,
banana-hammock-wearing,
vastness of it all.
Galaxies spiraling,
black holes slurping,
quasars burping out light
like a drunken dragon.
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And here we are,
Jim and I,
two blips,
two specks,
two slightly damp,
okra-flavored consciousnesses,
witnessing the cosmic freak show.
Like two white squirrels
at a symphony,
trying to figure out
if the conductor’s hat
is edible.
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We’re here,
we’re aware,
we’re mildly confused.
And Jim just asked if the moon is made of cheddar.
 . 
The universe,
it doesn’t care about our socks,
or our pickled okra,
or our existential dread.
It just keeps spinning,
expanding,
doing its thing,
like a giant,
cosmic washing machine,
set on “infinite rinse cycle.”
And we’re here,
watching the suds,
wondering
if we left the dryer running.
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And Jim just burped,
saying profoundly,
“That’s probably a supernova.”
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I am a sculptor and poet living in the mountains of NC.  I find inspiration from all the bounty that nature provides. — Ben
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❀    ❀    ❀    ❀    ❀
 . 
Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . every Saturday I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
 . 
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
 . 
 . 
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
 . 
If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
 . 
COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
 . 
Thanks again for joining the conversation.
 . 
– Bill
 . 

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[ 4 poems with a scientific bent ]
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Epistemology
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I
Kick at the rock, Sam Johnson, break your bones:
But cloudy, cloudy is the stuff of stones.
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II
We milk the cow of the world, and as we do
We whisper in her ear, “You are not true.”
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Richard Wilbur (1921-2017)
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❀    ❀    ❀
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Seeing Things
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Close as I ever came to seeing things
The way the physicists say things really are
Was out on Sudbury Marsh one summer eve
When a silhouetted tree against the sun
Seemed at my sudden glance to be afire:
A black and boiling smoke made all its shape.
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Binoculars resolved the enciphered sight
To make it clear the smoke was a cloud of gnats,
Their millions doing such a steady dance
As by the motion of the many made the one
Shape constant and kept it so in both the forms
I’d thought to see, the fire and the tree.
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Strike through the mask? you find another mask,
Mirroring mirrors by analogy
Make visible. I watched till the greater smoke
Of night engulfed the other, standing out
On the marsh amid a hundred hidden streams
Meandering down from Concord to the sea.
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Howard Nemerov (1920-1991)
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from the installation EXQUISITE CREATURES: CHRISTOPHER MARLEY
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Little Cosmic Dust Poem
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Our of the debris of dying stars,
this rain of particles
that waters the waste with brightness;
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the sea-wave of atoms hurrying home,
collapse of the giant, unstable guest who cannot stay;
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the sun’s heart reddens and expands,
his mighty aspiration is lasting,
as the shell of his substance
one day will be white with frost.
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In the radiant field of Orion
great hordes of stars are forming,
just as we see every night,
fiery and faithful to the nd.
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Out of the cold and fleeing dust
that is never and always,
the silence and waste to come —
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this arm, this hand,
my voice, your face, this love.
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John Haines (1924-2011)
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Cosmic Gall
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Neutrinos, they are very small.
+++ They have no charge and have no mass
And do not interact at all.
The earth is just a silly ball
+++ To them, though which they simply pass
Like dustmaids down a drafty hall
+++ Or photons through a sheet of glass.
+++ They snub the most exquisite gas,
Ignore the most substantial wall,
+++ Cold-shoulder steel and sounding brass,
Insult the stallion in his stall,
+++ And, scorning barriers of class,
Infiltrate you and me! Like tall
and painless guillotines, they fall
+++ Down through our heads into the grass.
At night, they enter at Nepal
+++ And pierce the lover and his lass
from underneath the bed — you call
+++ It wonderful; I call it crass.
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John Updike (1932-2009)
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These poems are from The World Treasury of Physics, Astronomy, and Mathematics, this year’s Christmas present to me from Linda. Essays by Albert Einstein, Werner Heisenberg, and Stephen Hawking jostle up against chapters by Annie Dillard, Isaac Asimov, and Lewis Thomas. And then comes the section of poetry! Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, and Gerard Manley Hopkins open to be followed by these four 20th century poets, and there is even a poem by James Clerk Maxwell (1831-1879), titan of electromagnetism and whose equations remain the bedrock of classical physics. Who knew? The following paragraphs are from the section introduction, The Poetry of Science:
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+++ The scepticism that many poets display toward science reflects, and to some extent perpetuates, the myth that science is cold and inhuman, poetry warm and romantic. Yet science is more romantic than is generally realized, poetry less so, and the scientists and the poets ultimately are allies. Both are creative and unpredictable (and therefore dangerous). Neither can tolerate authoritarianism, blind obedience, or cant. And both, to do their best work, must draw on aesthetic as well as intellectual resources; a logical but ugly mathematical theorem is as unsatisfactory as a pretty but silly sonnet.
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+++ This is not to say that scientists should try to emulate poets, or that poets should turn proselytes for science. Poetry and science are both too powerful to benefit from so bland and bourgeois a marriage, and their relationship is likely to remain stormy so along as each remains vital. But they need each other, and the world needs them both.
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The World Treasury of Physics, Astronomy, and Mathematics, edited by Timothy Ferris. Little, Brown and Company, Boston Toronto London. © 1991 by Timothy Ferris.
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from the installation EXQUISITE CREATURES: CHRISTOPHER MARLEY
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❀    ❀    ❀    ❀    ❀
 . 
Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . every Saturday I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
 . 
If you would like to offer a poem for consideration, either by a favorite author or your own work, please view these GUIDELINES for Saturday Readers Share:
 . 
 . 
If you would like to receive an email each time a post appears, please SUBSCRIBE to Verse and Image using the button on the Home Page.
 . 
If you have a hard time finding the SUBSCRIBE button on this WordPress site, you can send me your email address and I will add you to the subscriber list. Send your request to
 . 
COMMENTS@GRIFFINPOETRY.COM
 . 
Thanks again for joining the conversation.
 . 
– Bill
 . 
 . 

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