AS ONE DAVID JAFFIN AS ONE The Elizabeth Press NEW ROCHELLE, N. Y. Acknowledgments Some of these poems first appeared in the following periodicals: cave (New Zealand), the clare market review (London School of Economics), contrasts (England), crab grass (Northern Ire-land), THE DECAL REVIEW (Wales), DESCANT, ELIZABETH, THE FREE LANCE, THE GALLERY SERIES POETS, GLOBAL TAPESTRY (England), here now (England), hierophant, little word machine (England), new headland (England), oasis (England), open places, orbis (England), poet (England), poetry and audience (Uni-versity of Leeds), the university of portland review, samphire (England), scrip (England), Washington and jefferson literary MAGAZINE, THE WHETSTONE, & WORKSHOP NEW POETRY (England). late march was published as a broadsheet by The Sceptre Press (England), © 1973 Sceptre Press. © 1975 David Jaffin • printed in italy as always for Rosemarie, Raphael and Andreas CONTENTS AS ONE II TOUCH 12 THE ROSE 13 QUIET NOTE 14 SHELL 15 BUT THE ONE l6 BALLERINA 17 VERMEER 18 ANNUNCIATION 19 THE CUP 20 CHESS PIECES 21 TO DAPHNE 22 PRISONER 23 MANNEQUIN 24 BIRDS IN A CAGE 25 FRÄULEIN T. 26 a belief (of Nathaniel Pink) 27 CLARA 28 IN LIGHT 29 sunday: hind legs 30 PASTURES 31 AND AT THE END 32 AT THE RIGHT MOMENT 33 SYMBOLS 34 TIME PIECE 35 americana (Southern, 1880s) 36 SIMILAR CONCLUSIONS 37 A HOUSE OF WINDOWS 38 OF THE SAME THINGS 39 HOUSE OF DEATH 40 OF HER, NOW 41 DISTINCT 42 LATE MARCH 43 ACCEPTED 44 AS ONE AS ONE The sound of these words the image and sense are one if the reflec-tion of I in the vvaters in the late afternoon is the sanie. ii TOUCH When I touch this lamp I pull the stars down it closes light simply the touch my fingers teil its thoughts your face imprinted to this sound for the lines break a night of separate stars you think what I touch and the dark glimmers its light through US. 12 THE ROSE The rose is that rose to me: stilled petals, soft repose (but complete) to the fic-tions of touch, primed (considered), refined— the mind wanders as the hand, delicate breaks. 13 QUIET NOTE Autumn has a quiet note as well the way the birds turn to the wind that their co-lor is known. 14 SHELL I touched at its wings when the tides were in and I was sad before the waves rose to their height and I could not hear my sadness. 15 BUT THE ONE You told me two truths but the one (your eyes) transitional. 16 BALLERINA The world was balanced on a single toe. The dance was over, we’d all applauded the curtain feil but she didn’t move. We shuffled from our place the lights went on that curtain feil again but she didn’t move. Her eyes, her thoughts and all she ever was suspended from a single toe. 17 VERMEER She wouldn’t look to where we wanted her face to be didn’t quite come to focus but kept turning away, touching aside to the tangible objects of that place shy in a way but we knew her then as he turned that light in that she touched, as of herseif each feature with those self-enclosed fingers. 18 ANNUNCIATION Its shadow (was it taken as light) broken and still for a moment defined the wind— It was spring (its coming) That afternoon clear and known; She saw the sta-tues touched, a sun grazed their heart, distinct now. 19 THE CUP The cup was shared and clean, de- cipherable (too) for the present want; as it touched his lips the lights suc-cessively di-minished as a flame put out with co-vered hands; he drank, but his thirst was dry. 20 CHESS PIECES Time’s exact, the clean spaces be- tween, po-lished to the phrase, carved and rarified— Touch would gleam as touch, the eye confined as glass refine its chosen pre-sence. TO DAPHNE My mind’s cold the leaves are conscious formed your face refrains from thought; My mind’s the cold and conscious act the leaves are glistened, gold your face withholds the outline of its form. 22 PRISONER His loneliness pained him but once when he passed by mirrored wall regrettable (in-deed) his face reflec-ted scarcely there. MANNEQUIN Her dress spec-ially fit, tailored to fine phrases, the scent attri-butable (if spurious) as of fingers on cloth curled and consumed these strictures of fact. 24 BIRDS IN A CAGE One doesn’t like being closed in like that to such a shortness of space and with wings that couldn’t fly, provided they were taught to flutter harmlessly by, looking pretty, perhaps, but performing less; And one tires of gold, too tarnished at that that need be cleaned from time to time and of looking at oneself (two faces) in the mirror re-volving or looking out at what’s looking in. FRÄULEIN T. A bird flew in her room one day, She wouldn’r believe it though ran for her colored bird book found the proper wings as she was looking the bird flew away She wouldn’t believe it though sat long with her book by the window. 2 6 A BELIEF (cf Nathaniel Pink) My life is predicated on the belief that birds fly westwards in the afternoon, in the late afternoon and leave shadows behind, gather silences stretched out their wings I feel a purpose in that, something for me to believe I at the centre of things (as they pass overhead) Unobserved I stand anticipate the Start the flourish of wings, feel the expanse of sky (I at the centre of things) marking out that place at angles to myself, leaving shadows behind, gathering silences there. CLARA She was made of the things she took with her fingers according to season and want, berry and branch, the bloodless thorn that ran straight to her veins. IN LIGHT A bird uncovered sound, prepared its wing shadows kept close to the leaves the sun slate its heart written straight across the claws signed them all, SUNDAY: HIND LEGS Sunday: birds Sprint among thc branches upsetting the winter stillness a dog sirs in snow, hind legs the pillars of his house times are made that way: permanent scene sudden thought the arch of sound constructing a position to watch from. 30 PASTURES He was like a horse in a meadow without a fence. Someone had put him there he couldn’t remember anymore about those workings the early rompings the seasoned markings pressed to his side, ingrained for more than enough years Eie was like a horse in a meadow without a fence looking for water and a hand that could close him in He reared fast to the side, saddle and stirrups a-libied domestic stillness He wouldn’t come, the years had passed the pasture cropped with his takings and I wouldn’t build a fence there even if he told me to. 3i AND AT THE END And at the end you’ll ask, as you’ve always done, but then I won’t answer— Will you remember, thar l’ll simply Stare, set still as a face of stone, And if you ask again, a little louder your face concealing concern I won’t answer ei-ther— please, don’t expect that of me. AT THE RIGHT MOMENT He came at the right moment for the room was empty. He closed it quickly behind concealing himself there. He turned the key, he covered the Windows with shadow. He took his shoes and the sounds of his thoughts, off. He removed himself from that moment softly aside He stood where nothing could have been. 33 SYMBOLS You always agreed (either to what I said or the ar- guments opposed), Assumed, accepted satisfactions be- tween us Time stayed still, a cat curled with- out will of its own; but I’ve grown into that Symbol of his-self, at my feet (long since asleep) the cat. 34 TIME PIECE And the day after yester day When you put this apple in my hand and compared it (metaphorically speaking) to the rose All the world's round after all William Teil couldn’t have cared less and Eve hadn’t been named to the board of directors yet Sin has its price too I suppose all the leaves come down whether you like it or not I found this apple on the road just rotting away by it seif. 35 AMERICANA (Southern, i88os)for my nephews On a long summer day when shadows leaned their width full length against some other to be described, inopportune structure inappro- priately referred to as a fence, when birds scrawny eyed looked like straw hats tipped too far afront and one wore bluejeans brass buttons/ comic cobbed pipe between one’s molared lips proud of it all, increasingly aware of that aforementioned. 3 6 SIMILAR CONCLUSIONS A radio isn’t a room even if we’ve gathered about the same thing and Windows could look the other way out not back stairs don’t lead to similar conclusions unless we’ve taken the wrong way out com pared to that assumption a chimney with out smoke’s a radio with out a room to listen in. 37 A HOUSE OF WINDOWS That house was simply Windows it looked out at me as persons without names. It was stone and I thought it so it had a gate and I couldn’t enter. Birds sang, however bright, there through shadow one passed it by even when the lights were on and one could feel one’s Steps, withdraw. It was a house of Windows simply Windows looking out. 38 OF THE SAME THINGS And you didn’t look when I came in the room It was raining outside the door closed behind and we sat at the same table, the room itself was shadow, sound and object with a light in the middle and Windows at the sides. You didn’t look when I came in the room, when I took my hat in my hands when I closed my coat on the chair when I sat as any other object in that room It was raining outside and we could hear the sounds of the same things. 39 HOUSE OF DEATH She was cold when we came Hands stiffened ex-tended upwards wouldn’t remain in their place, Face swollen still that room alive and active wanting silence with-out her. 40 OF HER, NOW And what do we have of her, now: Those pieces we can’t seem to place, just right as they were; Smiles of that livened face that yellow at the sides; A house that’s provided for others, long since repainted A memory, a meaning here or there as the touch of free-flowing hair and a stone they’ve carved out since, quite clearly. 4i DISTINCT The clock was turning sound leaves stood in the late af-ternoon by the window your flesh muted in light I saw your face looking through itself (the circles of sound) A silence that could be touched in this room a shadow crossed birds held in flight as your hands thought, feit the edge of cloth The clock ticked a sound that the darkness was distinct. LATE MARCH Late in March there was a windstill on the lake the sky mirrored itself and we walked the winds our way Three boys stood at the bridge trying the water with their line though the land was want of growth and their fingers kept with cold the touch of the dead, this last of winter They gazed within the water searching for light Swans moved along the surface floating on sound the clouds closed within themselves Late in March, This windstill on the lake. 43 ACCEPTED He grew old in the afternoon, shadows became of him. He could have sat with a book in his hand, closing the Corners be-tween them. He could have talked outloud if he wanted as one talks to a child thinking oneself increa-singly smaller or he could have cleaned and cleared away all that unevenness others referred to as himself but instead he grew old in the afternoon, shadows became of him. This edition of AS ONE designed by Martino Mardersteig is limited to 400 copies printed from Dante type on Magnani rag paper by Stamperia Valdonega VERONA MCMLXXV