LAST

E.J. MCADAMS

BLAZEVOX[BOOKS]
Buffalo, New York
Last
by E.J. McAdams
Copyright © 2023

Published by BlazeVOX [books]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without

the publisher’s written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.

Printed in the United States of America

Interior design and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza

Cover Art: Passenger Pigeon by Brandon Ballengée

First Edition
ISBN: 978-1-60964-429-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023930998

BlazeVOX [books]
131 Euclid Ave
Kenmore, NY 14217
Editor@blazevox.org

publisher of weird little books

BlazeVOX [ books ]
blazevox.org

21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11
BlazeVOX
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

LAST was originally a visual mail art piece. The piece is in the collection of Phoenix Art
Museum.

A selection of THIRTY-SEVEN AUGURIES was published in Poetics for the More-Than-Human

World: An Anthology of Poetry and Commentary. Thanks to Mary Newell, Bernard
Quetchenbach, and Sarah Nolan.

THE DECLINE OF HERONS IN THE ARTHUR KILL was published in The Manhattan Review,
Volume 11, no. 1. Thank you to Philip Fried.

A chapbook selection of CLOSE-RANGE DIVINITIES received an Editor’s Choice Award in

the Jonathan Williams Chapbook Prize and was published by Shirt Pocket Press. Thanks to
Michael Sikkema.

THE REMAINDER was published online at Pamenar Press. Thanks to Ghazal Mosadeq.

An earlier version of “(You and I went…)” from CLOSE-RANGE DIVINITIES was published
online in EOAGH. Thanks to Trace Peterson.

Earlier versions of “(Dust…)” from CLOSE-RANGE DIVINITIES and “MINETTA LANE”

from THE REMAINDER were published online in LaFovea. Thanks to Frank Giampietro and
Philip Metres.

Earlier versions of “wind dies…” and “no one seen.” from THE REMAINDER were published
in Poet Lore. Thanks to Jody Bolz.

“(As if…,)” “(Dust…),” “(Living…,)” “(Generation…,)” and “(Trails…)” from CLOSE-

RANGE DIVINITIES were published in The Other Room Anthology #7. Thanks to Scott
Thurston, James Davies, and Tom Jenks.

FRACKING was displayed at Exit Art as part of their Social-Environmental-Aesthetics (SEA)

series of exhibits. Thank you to curator Lauren Rosati.

FRACKING was also published in Interim, for a special issue entitled “Offshore: Poetics,
Catastrophe, Peak Oil” (Summer 2011). Thanks to Jonathan Skinner.

MIDDLE VOICE was published as a chapbook by Dusie Kollectiv. Thanks to Elisabeth

Workman and Susana Gardner.

OUT OF PARADISE was published as an e-chapbook by Delete Press. Thanks to Jared

Schickling.
BEFORE SEWING ONE MUST CUT was published in The Brooklyn Rail. Thank you to
Anselm Berrigan.

JACK COLLOM MEMORIAL READING BIRD LIST POEM was published in Guest 14. Thank
you to guest editor Michael Sikkema.

DESIRE LINE was published in Counter-Desecration: A Glossary for Writing Within the
Anthropocene. Thank you to editors Linda Russo and Marthe Reed.

Many thanks to BlazeVOX, especially Geoffrey Gatza, who believed in this manuscript from
the very moment I sent it. Thanks to Brandon Ballengee for sharing his stunning art for the
cover and thanks to James Sherry who read a slightly altered version of this manuscript and
gave me useful notes especially on MIDDLE VOICE.

Deep gratitude to my teachers Robert Cording, Richard Howard, and Lucie Brock-Broido
who guided me in my first steps as a poet, and to the teachers I took workshops with – often
at The Poetry Project – in the decades after looking for invigorating paths: Ammiel Alcalay,
Fanny Howe, Robert Kocik, Tracie Morris, Kay Prevallet, Joan Retallack, Ed Roberson, and
Stacy Szymaszek.

Thanks to friends, collaborators, and fellow travelers who are inspirations and with whom I
have shared warmth, readings, bird walks, books, songs, and actions: Rob Battles, Anselm
Berrigan, Sergio Bessa, Jimbo Blachly, Lou Bury, Jack Collom, Steve Clay, Eugenia
D’Ambrosia, LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs, Thom Donovan, Marcella Durand, William L. Fox,
Katie Holten, Brenda Iijima, Robert Kocik, Joseph Lawrence, Michael Leong, Rachel Levitsky,
Clarinda Mac Low, Jill Magi, Jennifer Monson, James O’Hern, Julie Patton, Amos Poe, Kay
Prevallet, Alexis Quinlan, Evelyn Reilly, Sarah Riggs, Elena Rivera, Lauren Rosati, David
Rothenberg, Jared Schickling, James Sherry, Michael Sikkema, Jonathan Skinner, Robert
Sullivan, Scott Thurston, Edwin Torres, Cecilia Vicuna, Karen Weiser, H. Spencer Young.
And a special thank you to Phil Metres, who was there from the beginning and in my corner
from the start.

I thank my parents, Edward and Joanne McAdams, and my sisters Mara Hand and Kate
McAdams and their families.

Deep gratitude for and to my children, Joe, Lyla, and Jane McAdams.

LAST is dedicated to Kathleen Ruen who makes everything possible.

LAST

1.

Death

is
the “Last of
the last

standing

wild
in North America
from the time
through
when she first pecked
the shell

death

nursed her care-

fully

a zone

remains

the size of

black wings

13
2.

there has
to
be found

the
extinct
way
within

loss

so that

together
feathers
will be
pre-
served
of
queenly young
delight and
love

iridescent

14
ORTHOPTERA OFFERS A SONG TO HUMANS

1.

Touching’s where sound comes from

Stridulating leg to leg
Corrugated wing to wing
Leg to wing to wing to leg
Leg-wing leg-wing
Wingwingwing
Wing-leg wing-leg
Leglegleg LEG

2.

Touching’s where sound comes in

Deci-belling below knees
Hearing without ears
Earth’s with-whir
Genuflecting a vibratory reflection
About lip-edge of thin membrane
Tympanum drum a-thrumming
Echoing in curve of the bowl ‘bov’-bowel
Sounding and resounding
Re-sounding and re-resounding

15
3.

Sounding to touch across distance

De-distanced to resound as touching
Touching distance courts broader collectives

insect concrete Earth rail line tree

steel beam human iron pelt glass

Distant touch by sound gathers quantum choirs

difference / no difference
difference / no difference

4.

Human larval imagination contains

Imaginal discs for embryogenesis
Chord molts to tone, tone to chord
A chordo-tonal organ develops
Envelops in a trans-species hum-pupa
For incomplete metamorphosis
One day touching-distance-sounding
May perhaps finally almost complete

16
THIRTY-SEVEN AUGURIES

White pear blossoms! Calling you on cell. Spirit is nothing if not. Egg yolk sunnyside up. Red
square where stillness is. Be Bim Bop. A trillionth of a second after the Big Bang. All my kids
want: a true story. For the poet Jaan Kaplinski. Next stop. Chance brought us all together.
Again. There. The beginning of the end of the line.

Peregrine still dead in freezer. A juvenile, the birder says. Broken beak from the collision.
Forms seeds of galaxies. Ends cyclically. Nothing can be taken for granted. Including nothing.
Invisibility. Anonymity. Readiness. First come humble feelings. Last questions. Kisses on cheek.
More dark after light is switched off.

That it was yes. No more no. Two chairs like a couple at table. Of all trees this one. Blooming.
Periscopes of daffodils. Let me see: complaining about living’s better than being ten feet under.
Next stop is 125th Street – stand clear of the closing doors.

Forsythia in full bloom. In Alan Sonfist’s Time Landscape. Art or nature? Or both? Breakfast is
served. To all fantasies of escape! Uptown on C. The title: Silent Migration. Caring or carrying.
Shang-hai terra cotta soldiers in lobby. Construction mogul says: I became a capitalist to save
the environment. Downtown N. Sneaking in a little poem. From sparrows to the sparrows.
Uptown on the 2. Joy. Before you’re halfway through. THE END.
17
A distillation to daffodils. Eye opening.

Kestrel on aerial. Contemplating bicycle wheel in motion. Hub, spokes, tire, blurring. A
translucent spider. Falls out of an orange towel. Reports of the death of environmentalism have
been greatly exaggerated. Open windows sculpt wind’s sound. My hands let go: my son pedals
on his own. Self-revolutions. Chicken and waffles. Kant’s definition of genius. April Fools.
Daffodils reflect lamplight. Joe Lawrence says something like: Who will anchor themselves in
goodness when the shit hits the fan? His friend E. takes us around the corner. Shadow of the
statue of SHINRAN SHONIN. He says the statue was in the epicenter of Hiroshima. Under
the shelter of his bamboo hat.

The sun doesn’t rise. But feels like it does. Blooms: without why. phusis. Remember who you
are. The indoor life is the next best thing to premature burial. (Edward Abbey) EAR. ART. HEART.
EARTH. Sleep never rests. For goodness sakes.

Gull cry, bus idle, drizzle. All art is influenced by the artist’s relationship to the climatic conditions in
which it has been produced. (Amy Lipton) So don’t forget your umbrella. Rosie said: I didn’t get
here on the wings of the tailpipe of Mother Teresa’s car. Spring snow. Wind squalls. Balloons
shipwrecked in black branches. Like so many. Helping always helps. Fog. Blown away.

18
Steep spiral maneuvers. Co-extension of visible and invisible cities. Love is love. The source:
Curtis Mayfield on her iPod. That’s how fast the sadness breaks. Bud. Blossom. Bloom. Boom-
boom-boom-boom. The daily commute. Commuters. My kind of people – alive and living. As
large as their spirits will. Bee asleep in hive. Inward revolutions. Around invisible point.

Conductor says: Good morning Manhattan – it’s Friday and you’re looking good so let’s keep moving!!
Coming and going. And happening. And doing. And reading. And being. Human and otherwise.
Trumpets of forsythia. As companionship. Of desire. Wife static. Wordless comics on the
racks. Against the extirpation of wildness. Species forced almost to extinction have returned
more resilient than ever. Turkey, peregrine, coyote.

My daughter Lyla said: I put all the colors on and it looked like lava so I said it was lava. Took three
young women from Young Women’s Academy on their first bird walk. Toughing out the rain.
Their quick eyes, spirits. A kinetic understanding of science. One in seven chance of true
collaboration. In present climate. Cold, rainy. First there is need. (Reznikoff) Gray light. Lecture
given to couch. On wildness. Cilia on sunflower stalk illuminated. To see it through.

Hope as quality of tomorrow. Dawn choruses of birds circle globe. At rate of earth’s rotation.
Spring never ceases to sing. For ear that hears. End of silence. Territory and mate selection.
Interconnection of interstates. Driving North. Through two hardiness zones. From blossom
back to bud. Belmont to Lincoln to Salisbury to Beechmont. Welcomed in. Robin in its evening
chorus. This is all for. Or something like that.

19
To awake as a guest. With nothing but what has been given me. Sun, warmth. To travel from
interstate to highway to road to dirt road. Fractal journey. From trunk to bud. Spring peepers,
stars. To lie down as a guest.

To awake. For no good reason. Sun through window. Sung through window. Fresh bread
shared. Despite the headlines. To spite the headlines. Poets, poetry. Wherever you can find it.
Image of owl inscribed on mudflaps of eighteen-wheeler. Birds: symbol for speed. Birds: symbol
of freedom. Mos Def like a bird from the cassette deck. Slowed by bottlenecks. Cruise control.
Homecoming. But no one’s home. There are worse kinds of loneliness. Awards ceremonies.
Joe gets hockey trophy. Skips down 112th Street with his friend. We parents. Talk about
childcare. Cake for my birthday tomorrow somewhere baking. I hope. Not seeing the moon.
Doesn’t mean it’s gone.

Magnolia blossoms. One year older. The kids’ fingerprints in the frosting.

Doubt. In the process. Sunflower in living room came from seed son planted. Hairs on stalk.
En-aura-ed. In the incandescent. You know what will happen. Sure, death, but other stuff too.
Neighbor kid’s hamster running around wheel. Squeaking of hamster. Squealing of wheel. And
so on. And on.

20
Every day above ground’s a good one. Steve and I savoring coffee. Bitter, sweet. Like a Sufi
saying he tells me: a bridge of hair over a chasm of fire. Rather take subway. Seeking: byproduct
of forgetting. Out of station. In decorative yews. Sparrows sing: tremble, tremble, tremble.
You were there when.

Windows open overnight. Coolness on bare arms. Call out for. All day at work. At desk. Now
free. To saunter in the woods and marshes. Of her with. To get lost. If I’m lucky.

My heart is square. But still red like a heart. Lord, smooth it, soften it. With calculus. Robin
song on Houston. Sparrow song on Bleeker. Over Minetta Lane. Over the trickle of paved
Minetta Brook. Unhatched eggs in nest. Instinct makes her sit past sadness. There is no way
but. Waiting for something. Or someone to happen.

Saturday morning cartoons and rain at window. Neither rather than both. Sunflowers face
sunset. South-westerly. Life for. Evermore. Gone to seed. S.

21
Rain rains down. Upon head. Runs down. Upon shaved cheeks. And runs down. Upon collar.
Like fire. I doubt. Doubt.

Long before is, was. Chinese-born contemporary visual artist through his translator said. (This
is not an exact quote.) An artist speaks. For his (or her). Time. Through Roman gallery.
Through Great Hall. With potted cherry blossoms. Black cloud. Pocketknife of history. Hungry
for chicken gyro sandwich. On edge. Of Queens. The Rockaways. Woodcock males peenting.
Woodcocks like giant hummingbirds. (Joe says). Autumn olive on air. This. More ephemeral
than this. Was.

Rule me unbridled. Civilization: not so bad. Except its failure. To be what we hoped. Cracked
amphora. To hold the world’s water. Stone faces carved in facades of old Broadway. Looking
down or looking up. Grace Church’s spire. Like lightning rod for sunlight. Spark. Igniting pink
of cherry blossoms. The surprise! Constancy of ephemeral. Spring! Our outlaw.

Remote control racecar roars awake. My son and me. Up, down. Over hill. By creek.
Drumming woodpecker. Persistence: not quitting. He’s got that. At rock climbing wall. Defying
gravity. I could watch him all day. Scrambling joy. It could never end. But then there’s bed. Aw!
Then there’s bed.

22
Take kids to school. Two toilet paper tubes = binoculars. Pigeon. Starling. House sparrow.
Robin. Black-crowned Night-heron. A triangle of Great Egrets flying from their breeding
grounds on North Brother. To their foraging grounds in Meadowlands. Wingbeats in sync. V
of geese going. Northbound. Red-winged blackbird song. Common Grackle. Mallards. Blue
Jay. Drop kids off. Cross park. Chipping sparrow. Junco, tail white-trimmed. Herring Gull
circling. In earshot: White-throated Sparrow. Northern Cardinal. Red-bellied drumming in
distance. Out at 103rd. Jump on downtown C. Walk into “Conserving birds in human-
dominated landscapes” conference. Conservation conversation. Or is it about human
control? All over again. Seed networks of Andean farmers. ADM: The Nature of What’s to
Come ™. Ecology or externality? Farmland bird declines as mirror image of agricultural
intensification. Synanthropic birds. Increase of subsidized predators. Garbage gyres. A
Niagara of murres. Where we find our imagination. If not. Outside. “Civilization.”
Commodification is fate of extinct species. Our fate. Indeterminate at best.

Nowhere. Now here. In springstorm. Blossom squall. Honking my nose in a tissue. Ah-choo!
Of all flows. Cash flow is most foreign to birds.

Lyla says: I want to walk this way. I want to walk to the sparkles. Sparkles = sunlight on wind-
broken water. When we get close, the sparkles disappear.

Look. At. Me. Look. At. Me. The bird sings. But I can’t see it. In the brush.

23
Tiny writhing clouds. On meniscus of my singing tea. An atmosphere. Between my palms.
Swallowed inside. Outside, clouds. Diffuse in sky. Sun like aspirin in water. Anything may
happen. Clouds trespass all borders. Immigrant clouds.

Clouds are water and air, my son says. Clouds are where rain comes from. From Morningside
Heights west white blanket of clouds. From 5th Avenue east perforated blanket of purplish
clouds. Over apartment blue, cloudless sky. All this will change.

Clouds silent. A question. Clouds drift. More questions. Always questions. Infinite possibilities.
Of clouds. Endlessness. Endlessnesses. No wish. To finish.

Framed by window. Chimney swift. Cigar with wings. Bat-like. Hawking insects over
neighborhood. Against firmament of grey clouds. With valleys of pink sunrise. Reflected.
Another swift. And another and another. Their foraging flights. Dance-like. Contact calls like
contact. A response. Tilt and whirl. Stark black for moment. Against white of the grey. Absence.
Disappearing again into black of gray. Illusion. My eye will always fall for.

24
Lyla and me. Look out window at sunset. She slurps strawberry popsicle. Yum. Raspberry for
me. We watch. Descent behind Heights. The sun is going to sleep and the moon is stretching. Halo
of sun flares up. Deep purple shadows carve clouds. Contrails inscript. Flights on pinkening
sky. I love you and you love me, she says. I love you and you love me, I say. Chimney swifts. Appear.
Disappear in. Upper air. Never. Had to be. This way.

Real difficulty. Articulating. Basic intuitions about the universe. Not that there is no God. Or
nature. But these “terms.” Occasions. For all kinds of human fear, coercion, desire, wish, greed.
There. Reality beyond. Human reality. Just because. Zeno’s arrow doesn’t reach. Target.
Doesn’t mean. There is no. Possibility of target. GATHERING SONG: LBW#245: “All People
That on the Earth Do Dwell.”

PowerPoint. Brandon shows slide. Of his work: a slimy salamander from Staten Island. Scanned
on high-res scanner. Body as black as space. With spots like cumulus clouds. A universe. Tail
curled in question mark. Third of amphibians in world. Gone extinct. In our lifetime, he says.
To hell. With everything.

Dead rat. On subway platform. Hesitation. Then determined footfalls. Around. Its body.

25
Petalscatter.

26