DAVID JAFFIN SPACE of SPACE of DAVID JAFFIN SPACE of The Elizabeth Press Some of these poems first appeared in various literary magazines, and the author is grateful to their editors for permission to reprint them here. The Elizabeth Press publishes books for Liz Pub Ltd., Box 285, Wykagyl Station, New Rochelle, N. Y. 10804, printed by Stamperia Valdonega, Via Marsala 71, 37100 Verona, and distributed by Serendipity Books, 1790 Shattuck Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94709, and through as agent Words Etcetera, 89 Theberton Street, London N. 1. © 1978 David Jaffin • printed in Italy For Jim ami For Michael SPACE of The mirror of a bird re volving die sky lake no depth except for it. 5 plants finding the reach of sun late/ cold windowed glass i tipped with leaves delicate to the end your fingers caused this/ a- gainst my hand. You said it had cleared the air as if birds left only their flight be hind. And back to pick up stones breaking their pulse ( quiet sound) the waves birds bringing them in all of a way. Wires tied to trans mitting sound trees feeling out arranging space I see. Watch in the room out side. Now the waiting shadow ( hanging it self out) wind for your words to blow through. The mirror more right than left I walk a side dir ection angling it back to place. It’s not what I see too many windows to find the leng th / direction built in expression no more than reflecting the glass lights D D evening waiting/ for . The trees not higher I see climbing color the first of spring brought in a garden. The leaves han ging, trying to find shadow you walking carrying the space be tween your hands . Some words put me straight/ signed where the roads stretched their crossed out arms two directions for an evened posture I thought nailed in rain/ choked wood cities hung in the middle of nothing time put down to numbers a bird plumed at the top perched on his own view — why stop I asked himself ? Maybe the step articulate to where sounds come from the sun cracks its poly- chrome or the stripes/ expression perpendicular according to color it isn’t silver that makes glass shine and at that spring perhaps iden- tifiable as. hung in the af ternoon not wan ting to see. Before you prepared that occasional smile veil with reversible screen traditional courtyard of roses/ phrases I managed to tell you it was whatever/ so. without shadow walking myself hurrying back. A print of your face placing lines to where you aren’t, so. Birds don’t break/ sound they spend their weight lightening air a tree bends down eased by wind we feel that space in our hands not to be, closed. Late afternoon closing a book finding the fingers/ touch. Birds turned on water for the grass sun fol ding. The curve of my eye, road disappearing as far as I see. Design of watchin spider in his net defining exactly why the fly must be caught. The cold, fruit tightened to its curve I bite the hard of apple/ tasted sap . A step when the pe tals fall and leave stains is this place, here. i November 74 Dear Jim, I'm not writing you I'm writing it the way we see sounds move but the leaves stay, in their place color instead. Here, I sit the space of a mo ment time identifies it self— the poem, Jim. The sound of steps leading a way the closeness of what I hear defining it/ self. distance the willow hang their sorrow on Listening to wind the cut of moon keeping water close, by boat surfaced on sound. Space a word to define what a bird touches in snow performing cold. A slant of light just a cross angle 4 birch/ willow 3 birds atop black add a puff of smoke implying house don’t stop at/ that. Between where I see and the mvt./ line of my eye at sea the stars tilt out of place. Looking for a word to match this sense. Wliat was left of birds lines they’d made in the sky . If voice the moment words come back even the look of what is only no more/than this. The tree moves apart from its shadow no sun. The saying of you is a word like this I see. No change trees set in silence breaking the wind a bird takes its place commanding a higher branch pause of his weight til ting in the direction, what he sees. Snow in the mountains looking up holding its place a moon in the night clearing the sky. The white of birch with out leaves a bird singing its sha dow. 5 February 75 Jim. Let’s call it Active I’ve no proof nothing shines winter’s stopped looking at what I see a light turns on — if it began there? Not the fingers or string but then/ light and see the dark absorbs cold breathing its sound. Space moved in to a word creating itself 3 birds in a park cir cling round snow the cold between them. The sky not moved clouds increa sing weight across the street a man approaching, not quite quicker his own steps. The leaves be coining a tree spreading wind. This edition of SPACE of designed by Martino Mardersteig is limited 300 copies printed from Bcrnbo type on Magnani rag paper by Stamperia Valdonega VERONA MCMLXXVIII ■ ’ . 1 . '___________ ' •- o' If /feiniKi P-*rf- ‘if:l-.itMr; > ■ , M J/’i - M -. '' :V •% - ^ ;■. -■- ,v>U ■ • 'ihC^ - : ;. - ■ :..-- •;.-' . ■ ■' :rr? r:; ': J E i f»■? i ^ 5 vf |5 ? M? t t: , . V-, • - ■ i, -t ;l |-^v' -:- iP-?p * -;V • y;i’ \'■■■*: ■• £ I* ' ? , P ’ ■" *JP . : ■ -. .-f- ■sit. : • 4Vr" V:.',sUitAtU ■r - i ImPh: . - :■ f JaS t fr, jg|* ? H>* $? ;■ *1- WfrK S . • : iri; . i ; am '1‘ . Ot‘ >1-1] ■ *\4j -r pJ? ' ^' ,.’w3j :';, r ;■1 -u:8;e-i•:■n f•:? 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