In which I take "There in the Heavens," based on a Pablo Neruda poem, and transform it into a series of "choka" poems.
An arrow that shoots Before my eyes, amid the Turning spheres, amid The roving planets, there in The sky, this once-green Ballista, which once had roved. You are above our Curving earth, these clutches of Constellations, only You In the heavenly Arches, living, in the vast Hall, the darkness like Light, the sea in the sky, No Mars, no Venus Before that celestial Architecture. And So many black dots impelled From the mountain trails, blackness Proferring their bright Halo, scoring, like stars, the Crushed earth, like tumbling Stones, white as the sprung rime of Antarctic spring. This Corncake hanging heavy on Stalk. This, the only Face (that contains every face) Out of this way station from Nothing, the only But the all sheathe of the corn Amidst the shadowed Stones, its letters and words black And leaping, a ship, The first kindly creature of The sky, tumbling and Spawning, creating now the Fields of its habitation.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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