national poetry month || host
TRANSCRIPT
University of Northern Iowa
HostAuthor(s): Ricardo Pau-LlosaSource: The North American Review, Vol. 289, No. 2, National Poetry Month (Mar. - Apr.,2004), p. 28Published by: University of Northern IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25127137 .
Accessed: 17/06/2014 15:55
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp
.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].
.
University of Northern Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The NorthAmerican Review.
http://www.jstor.org
This content downloaded from 91.229.248.104 on Tue, 17 Jun 2014 15:55:56 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
N A R
RICARDO PAU-LLOSA
Host
View to the east from the eleventh floor of
Club Nogal, Bogot?
Halfway to mountains
offset by beads of clouds in an oyster time
and blurred, then breaking into dark
hulks and jags?atop a ten-story
condo, the concave silver lace
of a satellite dish slants in Andean dusk.
Winking in the right failing light and staring north northwest, it gulps its rooftop whole to seize
signals it alone can seize.
Basin of blind codes whose bleats
lavish screens and chatter the waves,
it unveils as a fountain of baroque light
spilling tinsels on a terrace garden of geraniums and roses
across its street and two floors down.
In homage, nearby panes bronze
and taut linens grey, and between us
an avenue of tight cars welds
into a river of glinting shells.
To my right atop an office tower
a modest billboard proclaims the fairest film.
Dinner arrives and, amid
the measured talk of art and blood, I glimpse the pace of nightfall varnishing the disc. Who could resist equations
with sculpture or not hail the sequins moon
and water leave upon each other?
And why shrug the brethren monolith's
pointed stare at Rapa Nui? They too cocked
their monuments like ears,
and though moderns press the case for vision, it is listening that tugs their pumice lids.
The sun has quit our backs
and the far range pleats with headlights strung like corpuscles. The seep breaks
where trees or rooftops blink the flow as seen from this human mountain.
White gloves take and bring dishes and goblets, but I look out beyond the dulling rises
to where the city stops like a shore.
And there, past the last contour
of rock now melded into night, combat proves the race is habited in rage. The disc lifts like a chalice through shrouds
of myrrh, as if prayer were a rampart
and sacrifice a tongue we suddenly know.
We cannot see, nor can
the disc hear, turning away from the blighted chorus
to gather only what it must.
SUDIE NOSTRAND
I'm Coming Back
I'm coming back
from a birthday party
Grandma driving me
and I'm a child of five.
There's a line of trees
bordering the road
on both sides. I know I'll forget the party
and remember only these exquisite trees.
28 NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW March-April 2004
This content downloaded from 91.229.248.104 on Tue, 17 Jun 2014 15:55:56 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions