after PK Page, Leonard Cohen, John Keats, Thomas Bruce, Earl of Elgin “Here is the problem with eternity! Guerrilla ranks of starlight taunt us a lonely ragged column on a forced march our umbilical slashed. We clink and tumble onward, bones shaken from a burlap sack. We weep that this will never end. We weep that it will.” The doctor takes my pulse in shirtsleeves, his eyes bruised like there was a vigil to keep. During the day I laugh and during the night I sleep, I have no quarrel with eternity. But he receives me in his attic, fingers the melon readiness of my gut, and says, friend, there is something wrong. Like a batty priest through a parthenon, he patrols his stacks of paper, tweaks wheels on a telescope. On a bank of the Weser, on a bench, lunch in lap, I vomit blood. The reddest waterclock peals. My favourite cooks prepare my meals but my stomach has declared its sovereignty. The Weser courses on unconcerned for the whole day, for its last ten long miles. Peeking at my blood-flecked shoes, I think, did it not run into the sea, it wouldn’t run at all, just sit, an icy shelf. In the mornings, I leap from my bed a Lazarite. Life pinches like new boots, as if I come at night—I come, an elf— my body cleans and repairs itself. The doctor takes my pulse in shirtsleeves. He is an old doe, shuffling through white trees. He salaams at an eyeglass and is a moth drinking nighttime slow through his proboscis. My body, he says, is a broken planet. I grin oceanic. I heave and swell ambergris as the fields of the North Sea. “Once things stop happening…once all verbs become be. Then are we indissoluble and all my work goes well.”
A glosa unapologetically,
“Olbers’s Paradox” takes as its cabeza
a quatrain already borrowed for the purpose
by P.K. Page from Leonard Cohen’s
“I Have Not Lingered in European Monasteries”:
During the day I laugh and during the night I sleep.
My favourite cooks prepare my meals,
my body cleans and repairs itself,
and all my work goes well.
As the winner of Echolocation Magazine’s 2012 Poetry Contest, this poem was published as a broadsheet by Echolocation Magazine and printed by Massey College’s Brian Maloney. It is available for purchase here, with all proceeds going to Echolocation Magazine.