Brilliant Poet Series Vol. 2:
AS/OF THE WHOLE
of Dale Going’s first book
I was sent from sea to earth. Transparency of water left
for madder and umber, sienna and ochre, burnt, raw, ash
The sacredness of life on earth. Incantations to make the
madder, rose cender,
rose carthame, rose brown, ash rose, rose grey, rose
The poet begins at home (hers) naming, like
ingesting. Through the book, we truly enter the place
of the poet.
rosedust, rose dorée, rose marie, rose mauve, rose
rose nude, rose pink, rose plum, rose purple, rose red,
soirée, rose taupe, rose wine)
From “House Dreams
” comes the question: Is life as
simple as a detail? Is a detail ever simple?
The layering of one color upon another. Shapes to shapes:
Relationships. Is life always relationships?
Immediately I made the bed in the yellow room. Washed
Measured the bed for a dust-ruffle. Two chintzes
for the pillows. Rose-patterned cotton,
soft as Liberty lawn, for dresses. Playing Strauss waltzes.
What matters is not ownership; that she can make
birds come to her, yes like an equation:
X = bird, I x it.
All day in the hot sun garden, weeding and watering,
turning soil over, readying for seeds.
glassine or interleafing
between things closely set
Is the poem making for a better life? Is the
home? One gets the feeling that for Going, the life
and the home, the poet and the poem are inseparable. This
whole creating the exuberance which is everywhere.
I want it to be summer night oh it is
summer night, one of those rare for here
Become what the imagination desires…. or is it
ones but I’m not near delirious enough
despite the fever what I want I mean
In any case… let the desire be transportive
roaming the streets for the smells of
love, the rich smells of summer nights,
and language, better than experience
is to be in love, for it to be
a summer night and I in love,
Hot, hot. In a long loose dress like Isadora, roses,
Pink lips, arms pink, hair wild with sweat.
In the foreground is the size of –
is the focus –
but in the background – in the peripheral –
in the sight of the birdseye –
The nimble path, frail obdurate erigeron.
The garden not wanting to be completed – not the
point, flower by flower, the poem growing line by line,
into, poem by poem. Serial poems. Each part a different
shape, size, reason to live.
The poem or house that Dale built (Philip helped with the
house). Words like furniture do not have set places: I
was clothed in robes of roses,
and should surprise to
delight, slightly a door
. A turquoise mirror
reflecting nothing, turning its reflection inward…
smothered in roses, cendre and carthame, d’althaea and
nude and soirée
Perception as a device for making objects more
themselves. Going is a poet of intense perception,
an imbuer, giver of life to things we didn’t even notice
like the swan with its hideous legs
swimming like a magician’s
feather flower chinese
lanterns on illumination
When I say dream, what I mean is, think. When I say think
instead of dream, what I mean is, nothing new.
lighter than moss, stronger than oak, deeper than apple,
bluer than laurel, paler than myrtle, painted of seaweed
the salt thinness of skin. Can anything be clearer?
the light I recall when I dream
is the greeny blue green of the sea, greener than gentian,
Images stack up but do not clutter like the
magic house, always a new door to open into… Or reverse
motion where rooms are disappearing as one backs out of
them, as in “Something About Absence.”
revealed in “Passionate,”
the first poem in the
series, are then rearranged, deleted, and give the feeling
of their titles: “Constructed,” “Narrative,” “Broken,”
Each poem a memorial, the same one wearing
down to the essential image and white.
Will not accept as logical what’s not. Going is not
but language is.
the end in sight. I cannot understand why
you walk further or farther backward or backwards
Humor and delight in perception. To see rather
than to recognize.
Successfully leaving learned ways of perceiving, forming
the words and punctuation so we can see it is new, in Dale
Going’s house – that exuberant universe.
About the Author
A connoisseur of brilliant poets because it
is who, she believes, makes the most sense.