Aby Kaupang
Within the Chambered Nautilus
sensuous & deep divine
{which I did not even turn my mind to}
& physical—
{this angle has surprised me!}
more than the hand of god, Rodin
& eliciting impulsive cursives & fume
my God! what package of speechless
clarity of vision—
such physique the pain & abstract of living erotic
we three spent two hours & you
leaning towards mysticism
clearly
{but Rivera sd. “is he ill? is he very
sensual?}
I had no physical thought—never have.
Others get from them
{sd. Ellie Faure would go wild over these}
what they will bring
to them—evidently they do!
the stark beauty a lens can so exactly render
subject & matter
count so little in the ultimate reaction
two negatives of kelp in the morning
a chaos of convulsions
yrs. later in “photographic history”
I “capture” they say these finest understandings
& expression
I find—
the greatest joy in finding things composed
not my personal arrangement
but All Ready. Natured.
even the rocks have lace-like delicacy
house of blue eggshell beyond
house of blue shell beyond the wall upward rise of chapel beams house of air light speckled un-reached height of nest next ness-ness house of solution
fluttering of solidarity house of my youth becoming the youth of my child house of grain and sandstone flame house innumerable doors I acquiesce house of our grandfathers reborn house of the forward face
house of space house of fern falling blush of delineated beasts
house of expansion house of moat house of becoming of sword in the sand and the sword in the line and the sword over my head replaced by ladders and feathers and soft soft coos
they sing to me
house of black rivers of sleep’s sleep in the underground caves of my body house of real acres fantabulous dalmatians and toads in real gardens I can feed them I can feed you
real daughter real son real husband in fantastic foothills of being expounded house expansive self of your body real nest real robins of wakefulness mindfulness real fingers with wings in white-space in poems vibratory voices singeing toasting the multipheries
house of sand and soil rock and sandandstone rain and aloe for the heart of thee house of arbor and airlight house of long legged neighborly dogs dripped in gold light and gold fur
house of the gold egg hatching house unknown rising lofty my light and my lovely my dozen winged you my make house
BIO
ABY KAUPANG, author of Little “g” God Grows Tired of Me (SpringGun Press, 2013), Absence is Such a Transparent House (Tebot Bach, 2011) and Scenic Fences | Houses Innumerable (Scantily Clad Press, 2008), has had poems appear in FENCE, La Petite Zine, Dusie, Verse, Denver Quarterly, The Laurel Review, Parthenon West, PANK, Aufgabe, 14 Hills, Interim, Caketrain, & others. She holds master’s degrees in both Creative Writing and Occupational Therapy from Colorado State University. She lives in Fort Collins with the poet, Matthew Cooperman, and their two children. More information can be found at www.abykaupang.com