Malcolm M. Sedam – Book Cover, The Eye of the Beholder
The Eye of the Beholder
Chronicle Press, Franklin OH, 1975
The following poems are from Mr. Sedam’s third published collection, The Eye of the Beholder.
Declaration by poet
Whatever I am or ever hope to be
I am in truth reborn in poetry.
1 ON THE DAYS THAT I SAW CLEARLY
On the days that I saw clearly
in the quandary of time’s coming,
my intellect strayed and I could not escape
I drank intoxicating myths
but I created no gods,
and then the leaves fell from the tree
and I recognized you as the new ghost of the sun –
Though I sensed the contradiction
I was afraid to wait
while time came circling the seasons
and I was renewed in its flight
so I have written you into being
and if this divine seed should fail
so be it, for I was saved
when I gave the miracle a chance.
(A slightly different version appears in Between Wars.)
2 ABRAHAM AT MORIAH
Trusting His promise:
Unto thy seed will I give this land;
I went on and on believing
that my descendants would be many
like the sands among the sea,
that He would make of me a great nation —
I sired a son when I was very old,
proved I had magical powers
perhaps so great I challenged even His,
for jealously He asked me for this son —
My will divined the purpose of the Rod,
no man would kill his son for any god,
and knowing well His promise I had blessed
I thought it time to put Him to a test
and so with Isaac I traveled to that place
and took along a ram
just in case.
(A slightly different version appears in Between Wars.)
3 SMOKE SIGNALS
Remembering that lost date of steam’s demise
I looked upon my race across the rise
as utter foolishness
that smoke pall was a diesel in disguise
a carboned copy
of that trim production-line machine —
but still the fact remained
here was a reasonable facsimile of a train
and so I stayed and watched until the red caboose
had traced its path across the plain —
While in the early Western morn
I tracked the fading echo of the horn
and heard the rising rhetoric of the roar
converge upon an elementary point
in the objective distance
the SD-45’s had been impressive
both in strength and size
but in the wide reflection
their dissonant pronouncements
would always be a prose rendition of power —
Then from the East
over the sun of some forgotten dawn
the black cloud of a whirlwind marked the sky
the silver rails resounded with a cry
a K4 whistle chimed a holy sigh
like a mystic revelation
the air became committed to the cause
the farmers stood in momentary pause
the earth rose up in thunderous applause
as the Broadway Limited went flashing by
in a golden symphony of speed and sound —
And when the fantasy had passed
I stood there smiling to myself
as I basked
in the wondrous pollution of that day
shaking the soot screen from my clothes
brushing the cinders from my hair
coming face to face again with reality
at last I drove away
looking for some other telltale smoke
knowing I would always find a poem
in every lost horizon.
4 SECOND COMING
In the dawn between time and tomorrow
I lie awake and watch you as you sleep
curled on the pillowed breath
of love’s last pleasure
your eyelids flutter as you dream
and I am filled with a persistence of desire
to touch your moon-gold reverie
but I do not awaken you
for you appear above my senses in another world
your beauty silhouettes the morning sky
beyond this earthly reality —
all good things are at least twice lived
I accept you in the dream
and fall in love with you again.
(Another very different poem title “Second Coming” appears in Between Wars.)
5 UNDERSTANDINGS
I have heard these aunts before
damn their fat Victorian souls
who gathered in our house
those poor depression days
for grand reunions
with gossip of the years
and I the slender one
too young too male to hear
that day hid behind the door
and combed their conversation
for tidbits dear
for boys too mean to bore,
and in that painful hour
they took my subject sex
and tore to bloody shreds
all acts of manly fire
of passion and desire
all aunts but one
who would become my favorite
in the end
she said: “The way I see it girls
the way you should
it don’t hurt me none,
and seems to do George a power of good.”
(This poem also appears in The Man in Motion.)
6 THE SHORTEST DAY
Today we live unnaturally
in the eye of a peaceful calm
where here upon this high and lonely ground
our isolated isle defies the storm
by the will of the gods
a typhoon rages furiously out at sea
and for two hundred miles we are surrounded
a conspiracy of the clouds has stopped the war —
I should write those details to you now
about the great Osaka strike
but strangely my hand moves without me
as if it were drawing a power outside itself
fusing my long since calculated words
with imagery that I could not relate
when I was so careless with time
and so I await
watching a tireless soaring gull
while Keith is drawing a pencil sketch of me
he wants to make a record of this day
to contemplate our meaning in the war
a mirror of every mission that we fly
and this picture is mine when he is finished —
“What color shall I make your eyes?” he asks,
“What mood do you prefer,” I say,
“you have the choice of blue or gray or green
to match the shades of my chameleon mind.”
He chooses green, the philosophical one
to please my faint resemblance to himself
he squares the jaw and set the cheekbones high
then squints one eye and makes my nose too long
but I am pleased that having come this far
the small resemblance ends
for we are not alike —
Keith’s eye are azure blue
his build is slim and frail
he has a painter’s fine artistic hands
and he is not the fight pilot type
which is precisely why I love this man
he is the last innocent of the war —
He is almost finished, he says
he wants to check the color of my eyes again
but when I turn toward the light
he frowns perplexed:
“Your eye are now a penetrating blue.”
And I am not surprised — for the last hour
I have been thinking so clearly of you
that you could be lying with me in the sun —
I watch the rolling ocean swells
rising and falling like the breathing of the world
remembering that day beside the lake
the towering moment
when we soared across the sky in perfect rhythm
and our breathing became as one —
“What were you thinking of?” he asks
but I do not tell him I was thinking of you
It is too intimate, too risqué
I say that I am thinking of a land faraway
with a valley view
and a meadow slope with a sleek smooth runway —
He smile conditionally but not quite satisfied:
“I guess your eye are mostly blue,” he says,
“I think I’ll change the color of them now,”
But I say, “Wait awhile and look again —
they’ve always had a mind to change their own.”
He listens to my mood intently
and maybe I have given myself away
humming to a tune of Tokyo Rose
I have written you five poetic lines
when I become patiently aware
that he is not looking at me at all
but staring at the satiated sun
and only then do I record the sound
of a fighter engine’s high pitched whine —
I watch it knifing through the sky
my instincts bristle with the cry
the hot blood races to my brain
and I am fortified once more for war —
“The mission’s rescheduled for tomorrow,” he says,
“we’ll be passing through the outer rim tonight.”
And I note a straining distance in his voice —
the wind has risen, the surf is crashing near
and in the falling light I watch he shadow disappear
as he despairs:
“I see something about you now I wish I hadn’t seen
gray is the color of a killer’s eyes
your eye have turned a shade of steely gray”;
I look away
I focus on the waves
the great repository of the sea
I cannot bear to gaze upon his face
the premonition of his death engulfs me —
“Then what color shall they be?” he asks —
I see the blazing guns, a reddening sky
the lethal flak that traps the atmosphere
I slam the throttle wide and clear the air:
“Gray must necessarily be a part of me
for I would survive,
but color them blue or color them green
color them anything but gray.”
The storm is come fast, we turn to go
but even in the closing night I know
that he will die
no gentle boy can live long in this war —
Silently we walk into the wind
my arm around him in last affection:
“It is finished,” he says,
“Here is my gift to you
and this is my flesh and blood
the soul and spirit of my youth
and maybe I can find the way again
someday, after it’s over” —
“”What are you thinking?” he asks.
“About the picture,” I say,
“I’ll treasure it always,”
but I do not say:
I am thinking of tomorrow . . .
how frail is tomorrow.
7 NO GREATER LOVE HATH…
(For Keith Weyland)
Flying
toward the strange white night
we thought of deliverance from the terror of choice,
the difference
the splendor of our scheme
we could not sleep and refuse tomorrow’s voice;
compelled
we thrust the unknown
with outstretched wings, a naked bond between
and then a distant light when we had come alive —
a flame burst over the harsh beauty of the sea
and Keith was gone.
(A slightly different version appears in Between Wars.)
8 VERTIGO
The sky was down
the clouds had closed the chance
a vast and inlaid sleep
then magnified the trance,
so set in power
I saw the phantom dance
that sent the brain dials spinning . . .
Abruptly
the sea cut my remembering
and I awoke in flames
9DESAFINADO
(For Allen Ginsberg, et al)
Through this state and on to Kansas
more black than May’s tornadoes
showering a debris of art —
I saw you coming long before you came
in paths of twisted fear and hate
and dread, uprooted, despising all judgment
which is not to say
that the bourgeois should not be judged
but by whom and by what,
junkies, queers, and rot
who sit on their haunches and howl
that the race should be free for pot
and horny honesty
which I would buy
if a crisis were ever solved
in grossness and minor resolve
but for whom and for what?
I protest your protest
its hairy irrelevancy,
I, who am more anxious than you
more plaintive than you
more confused than you
having more at stake
an investment in humanity.
(This poem also appears in The Man in Motion.)
10 MIGRATION
I have walked the hills for years
and have never seen a burning bush
though I have seen a few miracles
so call me a pantheist if you will
for I know it makes you feel better
to know that I believe in something —
You think that you hear the grass grow,
but Genesis and Spinoza told me nothing
I saw it! The mosquito drinking may blood
the oriole weaving its basket nest
and I rose from the reflective trees
lemming-like swimming in the sky
until I filtered into the plan
of orderly defeat and exquisite show —
I breathed the thin pure air
and suffocated from the strange loneliness.
(A slightly different version of “Migration” appears in Between Wars.)
11 NOSTALGIA
(For Lee Anne)
Call it the wish of the wind
flowing
from a dream of dawn
through the never-to-be forgotten
spring of our years
running
swiftly as a lifetime
flying
like a vision borne
Slim Indian princess wedded in motion
dark hair streaming
sunlight and freedom
floating on the cadence song
drifting shadow-down
in the distance
my daughter riding bareback
on a windy April afternoon.
(A slightly different version of “Nostalgia” appears in The Man in Motion.)
12 GOLGOTHA
(For Mary, One of my Students)
When I proclaim the world is flat
and that I’m searching for an edge
I am only rounding a vision for you —
I stand, a son of man, not God
and I could be called Paul as well as Peter —
I speak for our sons and daughters
and had I known, it should be thus explained
that we have all failed in our historical sense
there was manipulation at the manger
Saul died on the way to Damascus
and Simon was wholly afraid —
Only from that shipwreck of faith
did l learn to walk upon the water
so what matter, then, you call me in this place
a heretic, to give the cup and cross
for I accept knowing
I can live through a long series of deaths
believing in your all-essential good
and would not change your world in any way
except to lead you gently into spring.
(A slightly different version of “Golgotha” appears in Between Wars.)
13 THE GRAND-CHILD
(For Annette)
As of this moment
he is the center of life’s celebration
the incarnation of the holy seed
and all the concentrated joy
that love can share
in the two short months of his existence —
he mostly sleeps contented with his role
we say he smiles as if we know
but whether he does or why we do not care
for all we need to know is
that he is dependent upon his mother
And he is greedy for her now
that much he feels and understands
finding his connection by the stars
the moon surrounds his eyes
flowing from the land of milk and honey
where she clasps him to her firm full breast
growing inside of her the fiercest hope
as from the moment when he burst from life
she offered him up to the world
as a sacrifice without blemish or blame
and she exists for him
holding the frailest heartbeat of his being
because he is helpless without her
is reason enough for she is his mother
bearing the burden of his claim —
When he was forming in her shadow
she felt a oneness with his mind
the urgent purpose of man’s genius
thrusting through the galaxies of time —
as he awakened in her psyche
he heard the lullaby of her soul
the tranquil message of the cosmos
answering life’s mysterious call —
But where did her instinct stop
and intelligence begin?
she cannot tell or explain
swelling with the confidence of love
her breasts are rounder than the sun
and more bountiful
her body warms the labor of his breath
wrapped in primordial memories
she brings a spiritual certainly
to the geological past —
he sighs across the vastness of creation
reaching for his senses in the skies
proclaiming everything that’s human
the Garden and the Fall
the halo round the Manger
the handprint on the cavern wall
And whether it was her will
or whether or not God planned it that way
she is more beautiful than the role she plays
she holds our rendezvous with immortality
and more
the knowledge-blood that links us with the stars
and through him she restores our faith
and for him we would praise her name
she is the Alpha of the Universe, the Soul
this woman-child, creator child
Grand-Child
Earth Mother of us all.
14 OBJECTIVE CASE
From symbols of love
I grew
a tangle of eyes and feet
and could I have stayed there
I would have been secure
but I insisted on a room with a view —
one yank
And I came from darkness
one smack
and I felt tomorrow
and falling backwards
I cried an eternity.
(A slightly different version of “Objective Case” appears in Between Wars.)
15 REGENERATION
Something in me and the abiding dust
Loosed an imprisoned force
And I became a man at the age of twelve
Proclaiming myself above women
I decided to be a trapper up North
But tried the near creek first
Caught a muskrat that turned me weak
Cried boys tears then came back strong
Finding maturity was thirteen
Growing soft on animals and girls.
(The poem, “Regeneration,” also appears in The Man in Motion.)
16 CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN
I have noticed that
we are both impeccably dressed,
but that you prefer
to make your appearance
in black and white,
while I prefer
a variety of colors.
this difference, I believe,
stems from the fabric
of our hair shirts;
yours seems to scratch you
while mine only tickles.
(“Clothes Make the Man” was first published in the Ball State Teachers College FORUM, Spring, 1963. A slightly different version appears in Between Wars.)
17 CONCEPTIONS
If I were a woman
I would become great with child
if only to test my creative power
to bring a fertilized egg into being
proof positive that my reproductive prowess exists
but being a man
I can still stare at sperm unbelieving
that there is anything great with me
having no conception of conception
I’m disturbed when she asks me:
“Aren’t you proud to be a father?”
and I answer yes and no
no for the biological act, yes after the fact
I fulfilled my responsibilities
and earned my right to that
to be called Father?
no, with no awareness of conception
I knew only, still felt only the pleasure,
so I would alter the master plan somewhat —
a woman should be wired for light and sound
and at the time conception
like an exciting pinball machine
her body would glow and the lights would come on
and bells would ring and out of her navel
would pop a card which would say:
Big Man with your wondrous sperm
this time you the the jackpot!
keep this card and in nine months you can collect.
(“Conceptions” also appears in The Man in Motion.)
18 DOWN TWO AND VULNERABLE
Whose knees these are I think I know
her husband’s in the kitchen though
he will not see me glancing here
to watch her eyes light up and glow;
My partner thinks it’s rather queer
to hear me bidding loud and clear
between the drinks before the take
the coldest bridge night of the year;
She give her head a little shake
to ask if there is some mistake
five no-trump bid, their diamonds deep
and one finesse I cannot make;
Those knees are lovely warm and sleek
but I have promises to keep
and cards to play before I sleep
and cards to play before I sleep.
(“Down Two and Vulnerable” also appears in The Man in Motion.)
19 SAINT GEORGE
He says he has a problem
and I say: Tell me about it
because he’s going to tell me about it anyway
so it seems he was making love with his wife
last night or thought he was
when right in the middle of it she stopped
and remembered he hadn’t put out the trash
for the trash man the next morning
so he asks: What would you have done?
and I say: Get up and put out the trash
which of course he did
but he still doesn’t know why
and I reply:
You must slay the dragon
before there is peace in the land.
(“Saint George” also appears in The Man in Motion.)
20 INCONGRUITY
Theirs is a house, a show place
of antiseptic rooms marked:
His and Hers
with climb marks on his walls
and halls that lead to nowhere
(they wouldn’t dare)
and yet they have three daughters
which their friends assure me
came naturally.
(“Incongruity” also appears in The Man in Motion.)
21 THE QUICK AND THE DEAD
As friends of the deceased
we stood outside the plot
and spoke of many things;
I said that I was a teacher
and it came out he was too,
somewhere up North, he said,
a good community — good school,
no foreigners, Negroes, or Jews
in fact, he said,
no prejudice of any kind.
(“The Quick and the Dead” also appears in The Man in Motion.)
22 FACES
A funny thing happened in the war
and you’ll never believe it
but there was this Jap Zero
at ten o’clock low
so I rolled up in a bank
and hauled back on the stick
too fast
and nearly lost control
and when I rolled out again
there was this other Jap
(He must have been the wingman)
flying formation with me.
We flew that way for hours
(at least four seconds)
having nothing else to do
but stare each other down,
and then as if by signal
we both turned hard away
and hauled ass out of there.
We flew that way for hours
(at least four seconds)
and when I looked again
he was gone—
but I can still see that oriental face
right now
somewhere In Tokyo
standing in a bar
there’s this guy who’s saying:
a funny thing happened in the war
and you’ll never believe it
but there was this American . . .
(“Faces” also appears in The Man in Motion.)
23 MISSION IMPOSSIBLE
My mission, if I choose to accept it
(and when did i have the chance to refuse)
was to go the the Garden as a secret agent
create dissension, subvert their intention
and start an intellectual underground development —
And so I went, it was a living
(someone had to do the dirty work)
disguised myself as a diplomatic snake
a suave and beguiling rake
who with clever persuasion
oozing charm for the occasion
engaged the dame in conversation
advanced her mind in education
convinced her that the world’s salvation
was in spreading women’s liberation
around
but the plan was never sound —
It was not the apple on the tree that bothered Him
it was the pair on the ground
and when they donned those ridiculous fig leaves
I laughed and was found
as the lecher of privacy
a Devil with primacy —
And so it was, and so it shall always be
the Secretary has disavowed
any knowledge or connection with me.
24 THE GREEN MAN
He came through the Indian summer of my youth
a drifter in those bleak depression days
dropped off a slowly moving drag freight
at the crossing by our house
and changed the outer limits of my years —
No ordinary hobo, he
was a minstrel with a magic overview
wore a derby hat, a green serge suit
complete with watch fob and velvet vest
and he had a twinkle in his eye for me
as I followed him down the shiny tracks
wandering through the exploits of his past
toward the river and the water tank
to the hobo jungle of forbidden ground
where all the summer he would disappear
then reappear the next week and the next
dropping off the slowly moving drag freight,
and back into my life again —
The boundaries of my years were marked by rails
the bend down by the depot of the West
the grade that crossed the trestle to the East
until he came and opened far and wide
those legendary lands where railroads ran
and all the distant places he had been
a boomer engineer on the
Cleveland, Cincinnati, Chicago and St. Louis
see, it’s right there on that car
he would say
CCC & St. L., the Nickel Plate behind the Santa Fe
with every train that passed he told a tale
of the Frisco, Seaboard, Burlington, Southern
the Lehigh Valley and the Rio Grande
he knew the scenic miles of every road
and he had run on almost all of them —
And so each night I searched the atlas maps
until I found
the route of every story of his life
rebuilt his history
and built a greater legend of my own
following him around, his worshipping shadow
who told him that I liked him as he was
as he liked me, he said, because
I was still a simple unspoiled boy
who had a home and had a family too
which seemed to me a burden at the time
but it was roots, he called it, a continuity
a sense of place where someone cared
a somewhere that belonged to me
as he would turn me back toward the town
and disappear into the jungle
on forbidden ground —
But I was left with wondrous smells and sounds
of talk behind the leaky water tank
of acrid smoke from cooking fat
and stronger coffee hot and black
of Sterno fumes and bootleg booze
and stories of those boomer years
from men who drifted down and out
and back into our town again
until the autumn came and traced a winter path
of games and school
where I got lost in football and in books
forgot the Green Man with the magic overview
assumed that he like all his comrades
had drifted South to warmer lands
as they were prone to do —
And then one day I came home armed with girls
and heard my father tell the awful tale
about the big explosion that shook the sky
that morning
about the Green Man
it seemed that he had money after all
ten thousand in a secret money belt
or maybe closer to a thousand, I recall
of maybe only several hundred
but no matter
a legend always outweighs any truth
but the truth was
he dropped off at our crossing one last time
and walked on down the cold December tracks
into that jungle of forbidden ground
he wrapped himself around some dynamite
and blew up every memory of his past
burst the boundaries of my boyhood mind
and wrecked the world with his exploded view
of bones and flesh and greenbacks
raining down upon the fields and tracks
and people pouring in from miles around
to gather the blood-stained money from the ground —
Then I received a letter in the mail
the only letter I received that year
postmarked that day, a note with one word:
Thanks
attached, a railroad ticket to St. Louis,
and a crips new twenty-dollar bill.
25 NIGHT TRAIN
Loneliness and a faraway whistle
loneliness stirring the wind
loneliness swelling the moonlight
a storm swept song
callling
calling
COMMmmee . . .
He’s hard out of Glenwood now
trailing his midnight smoke
a symphony on steel
coming from someplace, somewhere
from places of never before
from fabulous lands and scenes
dreamed in my book of days
closer
closer
He’s rounding the curve downgrade
on rambling thundering rods
pulse like my heartbeat
pounding
pounding
he whistles our crossing now
his hot steam severs the air
COMMmmee . . . COMMmmee . . . A WAY e-e-e
Straight through the town, throttle down
deafening sound
the summer night made aware
screaming upgrade
exhaust in staccato rhyme
telling the world of his climb
rolling on Arlington now
high on his whirling wheels
gaining the crest of the hill
going to someplace, somewhere
to fabulous lands and scenes
pulse like my heart beat
calling
calling
COMMmmee . . . COMMmmee . . . A WAY e-e-e
(A slightly different version of “Night Train” appears in The Man in Motion.)
26 CATHARSIS
As an incurable romantic
and a lover of Indian lore
I took every story I read on faith
as any good Christian would
never once questioning
or never thought I should
until I was almost twenty -one
believing that the fuel behind
those frontier prairie fires
was the gift of the Great Spirit
to his Indian children
like manna from heaven or something like that
until the realization came quite suddenly
one day when I thought of it
and the truth that had to be that
buffalo chips couldn’t possibly be anything else
but excrement
or to put it scientifically
a turd is a turd is a turd
such thinking which prompted me to apply
to another sacred tale:
how Jonah got out of the whale . . .
27 EXPERIENCE
Then there was that night in Baton Rouge
Jack and I went out on the town
looking
two looking for two
and we saw these two broads at the bar
and I said
there’s two Jack but yours doesn’t look so good
but he was game
so we grabbed them and wined them and dined them
with champagne and steak
I remember
forty-four bucks to be exact
and when we walked out of that place
I slipped my arm around the pretty one
and whispered
let’s go up
and she said
whadaya think you’re gonna do
and I said
not a goddam thing
and left her flat —
but Jack took the dog-face one home
and made a two-weeks stand of it
and come to think of it
I never chose a pretty girl after that.
(A slightly different version of “Experience” appears in The Man in Motion.)
28LEE ANNE
(On Her Seventh Birthday)
Walking
this side of her
when trees are bare
and distance sharpens the cold
into a clear necessity
a turning goodbye
as time reveals her role —
what wisdom
lies behind the voice
when she asks,
“Why are we walking his road?”
(A slightly different version of “Lee Anne” appears in Between Wars.)
29 RELATIVITY
Truth is relative, they say,
and incest too
which would be amusing
if it weren’t so close to being true
which leaves you laughing
when you think of your mixed-up
Male emotions
watching this lovely in her white bikini
rising from the waters of the pool
shuddering at the thought of all those
lecherous bastards
staring at her the same way
you stared until you suddenly realized
she was you own daughter.
(A different poem by the title, “Relativity,” appears in The Man in Motion.)
30 MYSTIQUE
My thoughts on the ring of morning
my insights beholding the sun —
I will say she is not beautiful
or shall I say
no more beautiful
than the average of her age
an average girl
in plain blue sleeveless dress
with soft brown sling-back shoes
and matching purse
but for the silver dragonfly . . .
ah yes! the silver dragonfly
as delicate as her slender hands
her red-gold hair
her high-born face
or the white lace of her brassiere,
which brings my focus to the nearer things
the rainbow from the window
the warm wet sound of the rain
the clean clear air.
31 BLUE ANGELS
And I will rise
on wings of splendid fire
and trace a thousand love poems
for the earth’s desire —
And I will climb
through towers of timeless space
and lift my ardent longing
to the sun’s embrace —
And I will soar
across the endless skies
and seek the precious moment
where the deep heart lies —
And I will glide
down halls of velvet white
and spread the golden morning
with a god’s delight —
Love will I bring to you
life will I sing to you
beauty becoming you
faith to ascend —
You look at me amazed?
I will being again . . .
32 CATCH
She trips on her attraction
testing the angle of my line
“You fishing for something?”
she asks alluringly
and I answer “No”
as matter-of-factly as I can
and she says:
“Well then you’d better
take you pole out of the water.”
33 PENALTY
Our drives arched high and long
and out of sight
we cleared all obstacles
and visualized the green
but when we searched
we would have settled for the trap
because we both found
we had an unplayable lie.
34 ADAM
For over a week you have appeared in my sleep
and I find myself seeking you endlessly —
should I deny what I am,
alone and awake
a shadowless man
tomorrow his glory gone like a season?
and when you close upon my flesh
then leave me naked and afraid
should I deny what you are
the storm of your coming
and from its center the heart of emptiness
the blood that cannot touch or give
until it commands existence?
I feel at this moment of birth
the death of all things
but let God speak honestly
the power was given me to weigh with immortality
and rather than let this moment pass away
I will awake and create a poem
which is woman
which is life.
(A slightly different version of “Adam” appears in The Man in Motion.)
35 THE PRODIGAL
There was a time when I came here
and sang these hymns with a friendly face
that was before I was engraved with the beauty
of the heavenly clutter and the peaceful rust —
As for my request today
I don’t quite remember the name of the song
but it goes something like,
“Don’t it beat Hell how Jesus loves us.”
36 DEATH OF A MARINE
Watching the imperial call
draining away his will
the thing I remember most:
the incredible blue of his eyes,
more than the blood-soaked shirt
more than the shell-torn isle
more than the greater war
of our last words:
“You’ll see a better day, ” I started —
He smiled and was gone.
(A slightly different version of “Death of a Marine” appears in Between Wars.)
37 MEMORIAL
(To the Fifth Marines)
Dim are the February dead
whose memory blooms like monumental flowers
fade from the color of red
on graves forgotten —
Praise God we are made to forget
that yearly rains obliterate the dread
and yet each spring by God’s own hand
I feel the memory grave cut deeply
crocus blooms —
blues eyes staring straight ahead.
38 BANZAI
Now in the evening tide
the warring clouds have moved on to the west
and closing in the purple light
the gaping wounds that once were manifest —
the moon walks slowly through the mist
reflecting sands in prismed dew
and wind and wave have reconciled the spring
the surf rolls low on Kango Ku —
and March lies hopefully subdued
a scent of greentime permeates the air
Mt. Suribachi spreads her healing shadows
and scarred and burned out landmarks disappear —
The island is secure they say
our battle lines extend to every beach
all pockets of resistance have been neutralized
the last revetments have been breached
as night descends
the tempo of our lives has calmed
that violence of the blood is buried deep
we settle back content in carefree talk
and turn relaxed to almost peaceful sleep —
What was it that awakened us?
the moon is down
the night breathes heavily without a sound
the sulfurous smoke seeps from the sands
a cloud of creeping fear expands
it reaches out with evil hands
what was that tremor underground?
or was it the echo of a dream
an overflowed subconscious stream
that surfaced through the nightmare maze
to flood our nights with haunted days
our reason drifts upon the waves
but instinct warned us of the scheme
a shot rings out then ricochets
and we come instantly alert!
Something is amiss
we search the darkness of the cliffs
beyond the anchorage of the reef
a solitary ship blinks shadowless
then suddenly
a blazing trip-flare arches high
its eerie light hangs in the sky
a terror grips the atmosphere
death’s bulging eye stare far and near
grey shadows crawl then disappear
but we are certain
they are lurking in the cave
somewhere —
In the deceptive silence
we seek the solace of our own
a wish impossible
we are together but alone to face a desperate enemy —
like the Apaches of old
whose bravery mounted with the light
we fear dying in the night
a soul released will never find it way
and wonder throughout eternity . . .
but we embrace the menace
by necessity . . .
a closer sound, the groan is real
a guard lies dying in the sand nearby
another trip-flare soars aloft
the ghostly shadows multiply
a spectre looms against the light
our over-anxious guns reply
a piercing scream invades the night
Banzai! Banzai!
The earth spews out the demon hordes of hell
they rise before us everywhere to slash and kill
the horror of old tales becoming true —
the flash of swords and knives
black phantoms leaping from the night’s disguise
some are beheaded in the mad surprise
of their momentum
but we are afraid to move
they can disprove our ground of safety
we can only wait patiently in darkness
Over the chaos
a company leader takes command
and orders us to hold a line
his remarkable poise and presence of mind
breaks the confusion
but they are committed to the end
the smoking sand erupts again
Banzai! May you live a thousand years!
their fanatical belief has led them on
to a sacrificial death more practical than life
to die believing in Bushido heaven
of sacred war and certain honor
they can never surrender —
they come on charging, screaming, shouting
the incantations of the Samurai
they throw themselves upon our guns hysterically
for they are determined to die —
the battle scatters in sporadic fire
they fall like martyrs in their fateful hour
that religious discipline Marines inspire
has seen us through —
Banzaiii . . .
was it a whisper or a sigh
the distant echo of a lonely cry
the endless searching of a soul
for immortality?
As dawn prevails
our lost alliance with the sun renewed
the carnage that the light reveals
for us is cold reality
but they lie peacefully, their souls secured
we toss their lifeless bodies in the trucks
like wood
this final contest of the gods we have endured
the island is ours.
39 ODD MAN OUT
When I think of the whims of capricious gods
or should I give myself credit
for being in the right place at the right time —
As time went on we gained a confident superiority
taking the initiative in search and destroy missions
designed by Brass to keep the pressure on
targets of opportunity —
that day we found one hiding in the trees
an armored train, innocent camouflage
until we saw the tell-tale blinking lights —
we fell upon it in crescendos of sound
submerging in the waves of flak
joyously surfacing again and again
reminiscent of our boyhood games
the danger seemed contrived, unreal
three passes and nothing happened . . .
nothing —
we circled out, reformed again and headed for the sea
when someone called:
“Green Four’s missing, where is he?
“Phil – who saw him go down?’
No one – we searched the near perimeter
the land lay soft and sullen, contradictory to war
no wreckage or conspicuous fires, a clear horizon . . .
nothing —
we left him there, somewhere,
tomorrow’s fate confirmed
that there was nothing we could do to save him
to acclaim him, to mark his name
to say that he was ever there
nothing to sustain his mother
who later would cry in her anguish
that he was made a sacrificial lamb
no one to explain how souls disappear in death’s shadows
Phil Steinberg, last casualty
last man in the strafing run.
40 JOSEPH
Some things were never explained
even to me, and of course
they would tell it his way
but I believed in her
because I chose to believe
and you may be sure of this:
A man’s biological role is small
but a god’s can be no more
that it was I who was always there
to feed him, to clothe him
to teach him, and nurture his growth —
discount those foolish rumors
that bred on holy seed
for truly I say unto you:
I was the father of Christ.
(A slightly different version of “Joseph” appears in The Man in Motion.)
41 POEM TO MY FATHER
(On His Seventy-fifth Birthday)
And now
after the gift of our friendship
when I am alone to see myself for what I am,
how slow was my awakening, and it seemed
too many years had passed us by
but then as I became mature and unafraid
we made the bond enduring when we discovered
we walked the same valley of age and wisdom
respectfully different, feeling the same imprints
hearing the same footfalls
following the same river to the ultimate sea—
foreseeing that day of silence
I need no tears to purify the past
this was the gift of the gods
For as a man stands for love
there will remain his legacy, an everlasting moment
the memory of the nobility of man.
(A slightly different version of “Poem to My Father” appears in The Man in Motion.)
42 AUGUST EIGHTH
Night and the unfathomable waters
night and the killdeer’s cry
and for all these years
and for all the invisible shadows
of one so loved —
Thirty years is barely enough time
to forgive that god for the scars
that witness the memory
clearly this year
I came down to the shore again
to seek the heat of that oppressive sun
to feel the cold awareness
still on my voice is the prayer
speak to me, teach me, tell me
why the soul of that great mystery
defies the dead —
close upon me now
life’s longing
the loss of touch
the disappearing meaning
still the fear of separation
find in me the reciprocal force
love is my need
love is the price I will pay —
The sun was almost down
we were sitting in the room
when the phone rang — they old us:
“Albert has drowned.”
(The Lake)
Waiting . . . waiting . . . .
a broken circle gathered by the shore –
someone said:
You will remember the date, 8-8-38.
all eights – easy to remember —
he’s down in the north bay
about four hours ago
the boys were swimming from the boat
when the storm came —
And for the first time I saw my mother
the look upon her face
a falling stillness of the waves
a mirror deepened by the night
like a great heart stopped . . .
except in the shadows
the splash of oars rowing . . . rowing . . .
back and forth
back and forth
dragging with hooks . . . dragging . . .
a tension in the rope
a tearing of the flesh
the hooks take hold
Caught!
a confusion of darkness – then shouting –
they have found him in twenty feet of water –
Gently, lift him gently
do not disturb the dead
who from their sanctuary
would open the question of love —
they wrap him in a blanket
not before she sees the tightened throat
the suffocated eyes
Death as it is written! Death by water!
God will make an end to all flesh.
(The Funeral)
She sat beside the grave
as from the beginning
he lay in his blue gabardine suit
against a mountain of flowers,
none absorbed her beauty
or sweating bodies confused her sight
with sounds of weeping, and of prayer
and of silence
and for the first time I saw my mother
the cold wet demon shining in her eyes
where once her soft smiling covered him
a hatred escaped, but controlled, she stayed
and held his hand until the last —
Before my vision
they lowered him away
Albert my almost brother
the first disintegration
an end to all flesh
as it was written —
They buried him on a treeless hill
brutal in the devastating sun
where withered flowers fell down
and joined the darkness of the earth —
Dim in my memory
his auburn hair and morning strength
his august height, red color of life
fading . . . fading . . .
Albert, what should I feel after thirty years?
(The Room)
Afterward
we gathered together for that final prayer
the circle broken and broken again,
we asked His blessing
knowing it would never be the same,
the heavens rent, the sun came down —
no sign — no promised rainbow —
God will make an end to all flesh!
I knew and I would believe no more
but she rose as from an ancient strength
and said:
“Thy will be done” That was all.
Gently, treat her gently
do not disturb the dead,
God was her need
God was the price that I paid
And through all these years
and through all the invisible shadows
I remember the face of my mother
and the child that died in that room.
43 DAYBREAK
And love shall be death’s alternative —
and when that time has come
when there is no tomorrow
when the moon has lost its shadows
in the sheer disclosure of the stars
come then and walk with me
above the earth’s illumination
you will find my true reflection
in the hazel blue of sanguine skies
and I will live again in our beginning
of love and beauty unfolding
the first opening of my eyes.
44 SUNDAY MORNING
I have looked down that far valley
with my country boy’s awe of the city
and marveled at their heights
spires over stained glass lights
bells sending God-like sounds
their one great tower
inaccessible, echoes redemption
but when I think of creation
I turn away
lifting my eyes unto the hills
searching for that one tall tree
that I can climb.
45 LONELINESS
On that October afternoon
under the maple bordered streets
the canopy of memory closed every Godly sound
when Billy Lambert died —
the rainfall felled and crushed red leaves
bled through bitter wine
and I drank paralyzed like any man
too stunned to reason why
too brave to cry, they said,
they took my silent grief
what sixty pounds could give
as proof like theirs, standing for strength —
they did not know that I was eleven
without faith.
(A slightly different version of “Loneliness” appears in The Man in Motion.)
46 OFF THE RECORD
[for Hart Crane]
You were never a distance swimmer
and neither am I
and I like you have roamed the world
in search of a tribal morn —
but with a bourgeois instinct for survival
and an artist’s propensity for the sea
I am learning to walk up the water
and given any luck and enough time
perhaps I can even tell you where the stones are.
47 BLOOD BROTHERS
We
who had never learned patience
rose from the cloistered walls
became the searchers
creation born
became the sufferers
torn from the fact of the sun —
Icarus
would they believe
what you and I have known
we dare and fell from grace
but we have flown.
(A slightly different version of “Blood Brothers” appears in Between Wars.)
48 INTRIGUE
Wandering
on a snow-night
with the autumn of things
a linden grove
in the purple lea of time
the heart leaves
with her beauty, knowing
that snow inevitably covers
the nature of things
and I never knew her —
then why do I grieve?
(A slightly different version of “Intrigue” appears in Between Wars.)
49 WINTER DAWN
At first
when the seed opened
I found nothing
but time and the subtle essence
produced a flower
then
from the dream silence
a distant drum throbbed
and in a summer mood
I was born –
was it real?
I yielded the pillow
and in the red moon
I saw the gods depart —
it is quiet once more.
(A slightly different version of “Winter Dawn” appears in Between Wars.)
50 EDELWEISS
Then I will tell you about beauty
it is the miracle revealed on a winter day
that in a careful moment flowers a barren land
and leaves tomorrow
wherein we walk from snowy graves reborn seven times over,
touch me then for that is beauty
the only kind I understand
what matters now is that I remember
for the longest possible time the longest day
when beauty is covered with sorrow . . .
this too shall pass away.
(The poem, “Edelweiss,” also appears in The Man in Motion.)
51 ICONOCLAST
Time and proximity
created the image
with an unlikeness
to any realness
and it stood motionless
while the flowers
formed from the shadows
of a spring song —
Time and propriety
weighted its wings
with the incense
of summer mysteries
but it grew restless
in the growing storm
wondering and searching
autumn prophecies —
Time and anxiety
tangled and taut
tested it magic
to tangible touch
and it broke with a kiss —
and she ran away
scattering the pieces
in the dying wind.
(A slightly different version of “Iconoclast” appears in Between Wars.)
52 GORDON CHRISTOE
I remember his confident voice
his high-flying banter
the sound of his chattering guns
that echoed his laughter
then the Samurai came
and shouted his name
and Gordon disappeared
in a black whisper.
(The poem, “Gordon Christoe,” appears in Between Wars.)
53 AL BARAGHER
When that burst of flak
tore off your wing
and sent you spinning through the sky,
you looked just like a maple seed
floating into the water
on a bright May-day,
I’m sorry you were chosen
to remind me of spring.
(A slightly different version of “Al Baragher” was first published in the Ball State Teachers College FORUM, Spring, 1963.)
54 CASUALTIES
Admission of reality
that time can bend a memory
am I a victim of my own credulity
or did I see the dark blood flow
from such savagery . . .
unbelievable
that I was even there
that I remember and forget
so easily
the brain is lensed like that
protects the image
sometimes dims forever
unless a matching pattern focuses the scene
joins two worlds
the then and now . . .
And then
it was no ordinary war
a time some unseen power
had set the stage for me
an unemployed pilot, I happened along
a spectator of the invasion
until the airplanes came —
Admission . . .
They brought the casualties in
and laid them on the tables
of the ship’s wardroom
where only hours before
we ate our peaceful fare
no white-clad nurses here, no softer graces
no operating room decor
I would identify
but my only experience is a football knee
and nothing in the past could conjure this:
A casual wound brings no travail
a shattered arm or leg they amputate
of mangled flesh in disarray they sew
a captain missing half his face
the jawbone almost gone
what primal instinct saved his life?
they can’t decide
he crawled back on his own —
another
with both hands taped down to his arms
his wrists nearly severed
he says his pistol jammed as he was struck
a sword—
a more immediate concern,
he also has a bullet in his chest,
they probe the fevered flesh that forms the hole
almost lose him
Shock!
a call for plasma!
the way that nature saves her own
or takes in death if the blood is pooled too long,
the surgeon quietly explains —
Admission . . .
the other details I forget
or something doesn’t want me to recall
it is only the surgeon who comes through clear to me
whose raw exposure captures me
record the butchery
whose eyes knew me
as I stood fascinated by his sight—
At three A.M. they bring the last one in
his back a confusion of shrapnel and blood
but almost perfect pattern of designs
a gaping hole with radiating lines
a mortar shell—
his face like the grey dawn precipitates the storm
he is barely conscious now moving through another world
perhaps the only peace he’ll ever know —
the stoic surgeon stares and then starts in
deadens down with morphine
with speed to equal skill
and then in rare expression, he’s feeling with his hands
searching for something
like fish under a log
he has a memory now
pulls out a bloody jagged hunk
smiles and drops it in the pan I’m holding
and for the first time notices me
and for the time I’ll do
a pilot orderly?
why not
incredible
but then how callous I’ve become
beside, I can perform and I am remarkably calm
he knows, sustains my balance
talks of fishing all the while
until the fragments are found —
Later
much later
our two worlds, match again
he sews with a feminine stitch
hands leading heart
compassionate in his touch
Surprisingly the human skin is very tough
he says
cuts easily but punches and tears hard
the consistency of leather
remembering how my mother sewed my shoe
way back there
he tugs and pulls, but carefully
the sergeant groans
from pain I ask?
no, reflex action he explains
the pain comes later
much later
More thread!
Will he ever get their wounds sewed up?
how neat the stitches come
a patchwork quilt, a Frankenstein design
and finally done
his genius shows, he’s made another man
but what about his kind
and if he lives how does he survive?
what cursed the learned doctor after time
and after twenty-five years
what monster roams to haunt the tortured mind?
Admission . . .
It is unbelievable the punishment
the human body can absorb
or what the mind can hold
at least for awhile
until the patterns match —
The greatest pain comes later . . .
much later.
(A slightly different version of “Casualties” appears in The Man in Motion.)
55 LAST LETTER
Before all colors fade
before you are gone
I’ll hold to this memory of you,
I see you in that gown like wine
two shades of purple pink and purple red
of passion drawn, deep down
I wandered weak from want of you
then knew your warmth and drank my fill
and filled the caverns of my mind
and sewed the hills with vineyards fine
that I each year might touch the spring again . . .
When you are gone, and surely you are
I know it now
for the words are beginning to come.
(A slightly different version of “Last Letter” appears in The Man in Motion under the title “Letter.”)
56 NOVEMBER
And you my friend
tell me what you will
there are some things you will never hold
not even their innocent birth
or trembling growth
or color of life
or last breathing;
In the bright façade of June
you have said: Time has no end
the sun to command has stood still
and day and night are one
immortal light
like this summer
I think I know why
I hesitate as though I had never known
the beauty of which you speak
almost as if your voice could alter distance
conjure love
or call creation’s fire
which I cannot believe
When years have hollow eyes
I marvel I even remember the flight
the scene of desire removed
you think I dream what I write
but think what you will —
I have seen what winter can do.
(A slightly different version of “November” appears in The Man in Motion.)
57 ORIGINAL SIN
“And as life must always contemplate death.”
Now and again in a crowd
I’ll see that look in someone’s eye
that searching stare of endless pain
a desperate longing for the sky . . .
a tremor in the sun, a hurried cry —
“This is Blue Four bailing out!”
the convoluting sight, a silver streak
the searing flash, a rolling red-orange flame
but someone calls: “He’s clear! He’s clear!”
We see him floating free, momentarily safe
billowing white against the perfect blue
like an angel removed from evil—
God’s merciful arrangement?
the decision was never his
he is falling into the enemy’s hands
and the guilt of war goes with him —
He gathers in his chute, hopelessly alone
we circle one more time
but none of us can save him,
standing on the crest of his years
he waves his last goodbye —
Paul Williams . . . the loneliest man I ever saw.
(A slightly different version of “Original Sin” appears in The Man in Motion.)
58 RENDEZVOUS AT MT. FUJI
Vectored into eternity
the legend fell
as the Japanese morning
disappeared into the hills
we with the look of eagles
discovered ourselves skyward
taught beyond our will —
there in the advent of blood
we formed the incongruous ring
of our childhood days,
we were the smallest things
bare understandings
circling a stranger god —
again the old apprehension
turned on the honor point,
climbing, throttles forward
our endurance shuddered under the weight —
heading toward that unknown fastness
the sun lined our cry
with the last whisper of spring,
we were old at twenty-three —
it was a good day to die.
(A slightly different version of “Rendezvous at Mt. Fuji” appears in Between Wars.)
59 GOLD STAR MOTHER
Since time has made me generous
I would give one more medal for that war
to the woman who brought me back alive
or so she believed, and still believes
and it doesn’t really matter what I believe
that I was always more aware than she
of all those sons and mothers not so lucky —
but she was always more prepared than I
secure in her narrow theology
that God was on her side
which leaves me doubtful and surprised
as I was that day when she said benignly:
“I knew you were going to come back —
I prayed for you”
60 WINTER SOLSTICE
Today there is a brooding softness in the air
the snow’s first fall surrounds the hills
with heightened sound
a silhouette of memory fills the sky
lonely floating through the trees like tears
lovely when the heart is warm —
I sought the solace of the woods
to reminisce the summer’s lost awareness
wandering afar upon familiar ground
I searched the penetrating cold for meaning
breaking a simple path into the white unknown —
Another year and I have gown
according to my nature
the inner voice I hear is like
a bursting heated stone
the death I see is real
but I have chosen
there is a greater poem within me
waiting to be born —
As love is more beautiful than death
deeper and more compelling
I know that where I walk the crusted snow
will melt again into the mystery of life
transformed once more the earth will call
the genius of spring —
This year I feel will be unlike any other
today I heard a snowbird sing.
61 AFTER THE STORM
The time was then as now, in April
memory washed, the midnight theme
running down still perceptive sands
the rain in water verse of dark wind hot and wet
called to human cry, a faraway loneliness
moon strands covering the clouds like imploring hands
searching belief, then fatal emptiness
halving my age without consent
broke on the frozen silence
the isle of the beginning
where I was born again at twenty-three
fully aware of a too vast promise
a disbelief
Out of the chaos, inhuman cries
moans from a field hospital
scent of battle night and sand
and violent land volcanic, hot
a crater pulsing red, through dark depression
of Shrapnel in a man, his age halved
unaware of his small boy’s cry
that found its voice in pain:
“Father I’m scare —stay with me.”
And when I touched him
the storm struck fire
rolled on waves like thunder guns in crisis
and still I touched him wholly afraid
to feel his hand believing in my power
and still I touched him
and because I was the stronger
spoke as his father
moved his head up from the water
and closed the wound,
and he slept peacefully, too peacefully
I breathed cautiously willing the next heartbeat
then felt the failure
heard the hurried blood
saw the red pool on the sand
moon strands covering a face of disbelief
then waxy stillness fell upon the sky
like blinding grief, condemning life and dream
dropped the white-bled hand
reached down and touched my own
and felt nothing . . . emptiness . . .
Then I awakened
fully alert to strangeness
past forced to present
remembering the storm beside the lake
the scent of April night and sand
the sleep-out on the shore
and from faraway and close, and closer then
again a small boy’s cry:
“Father I’m scared — stay with me.”
And when I touched him
the storm struck fire
burst through terror dream and shadow
moon strands lighting the sky with understanding:
that love had saved him
and still I touched him
to feel his hand believing in my power
and because I was the stronger
withheld the brutal blow
and spoke as God and Father
resurrection the April dead.
62 BENEDICTION
Then in the evening when the sun comes down
slowly and silently
to relax quietly in the earth’s enchantment
and watch the moon-mist sound
and the night protects you
and the flower-wind blesses you
and the stars grow big around you
and the song of the whippoorwill
calls to the dawn —
Only such beauty
stills my insecurity from too much happiness
your arms around me strong and warm
to assure me that life is real and eternal
that love has survived
that truly we are children of God
and to sleep now on the meadowed lespedesia*
in peace that passeth all understanding.
*Alternate spelling for lespedeza capitata.
Publication Status of The Eye of the Beholder
As with Between Wars and The Man in Motion, finding copies of Mr. Sedam’s The Eye of the Beholder may prove challenging. Currently on Amazon, there are two copies available: 1 used, priced $19.75 and 1 collectible, priced $18.75, and again by checking back from time to time, you may find others become available.
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