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SAMPLER Clairvoyance

SAMPLER Clairvoyance

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In Clairvoyance, a collection of poetry by one of our finest and most prolific young poets, Carlomar Daoana offers us visions of and meditations on what J. Neil Garcia calls the “varied personal and universal apparitions of the Spirit in a restively vanishing world,” turning our gaze beyond the mundane, toward the contemplation of the sublime.
In Clairvoyance, a collection of poetry by one of our finest and most prolific young poets, Carlomar Daoana offers us visions of and meditations on what J. Neil Garcia calls the “varied personal and universal apparitions of the Spirit in a restively vanishing world,” turning our gaze beyond the mundane, toward the contemplation of the sublime.

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Published by: UST Publishing House on Feb 26, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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02/26/2011

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Water Wheel
The water wheel is slapping the river. The axleIs always thirsty that’s why the imminent plungeIts accompanying ashseems to be the ulfllmentO certain arousals. The turning happens becauseThe world happens, which is to say stars continueTo dri in the direction o the wind like a clusterO salt. The water, as you know, cannot beImmobilized. The concept o a dam is similarTo the concept o God. What will swarm will splinterTheir winking lights across the darkness, carryingTheir packets o discrete intelligence. Should weFasten our belie in such small things?The miracle is how the nearby village makes useO something that is there already: eveningsDovetailing leaves and carapace, interiorsO soness that constitute ruits, and the riverWhich is now ululating in a feld o stones.Animals, at the onset o unmediated dawn,Will drink rom it, water grasping their tonguesWhile the many-winged blue that has been in vigilWill disperse, revealing the soened buckets o wood.
 
Two Figures
The eye does not have to open its watery vision in the poem which is its own feldThe air snatches the distance between the seen and the equally seenSo they may come ace to ace, they who or the longest time need to speakThey o course sit without eyes although the feld is awake, at the tip o its grassLet them utter, let their words rise up and reveal their glinting periscopesIn the feld which is a marshland, where grass undulates, nervous with lightBoth o them crawl rom their chairs which sink their wood into the so earthThey seek the light o each other which is the eye they le in the womb o the aerlieThe eye blinks the blur o what is considered as the eternal, identiying elementBut how about them, the two on their knees, searching or a hard notion o glassAren’t they eternal and identifable too? Look how they poke the clay with their fngersThey know what they are doing, they are aicted with something more than hope

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