"Gradual Psalms" and "Poems on These Days" by Jorge Sánchez
"the thin soup of the fog / of the world"
Gradual Psalms
The songs of ascents take us only so far: two long strides and then a step up to see the staircase continues much further up the mountain. No matter. We are all pilgrims here. Some come for the vistas, some come for the food. Some come to give money at the various shrines along the way. Crisp water drunk from a blue tin cup.
Poems on These Days
In honor of Gerald Stern, in his millionth year, I am recovering the trees, the dramatis personae of my youth: poinciana, Delonix regia, its silent song of May I haven’t heard in years; white anthurium, thriving on poison; bottle- brush and Brazilian pepper, villains of spring and fall. There are others, of course: the mangroves, their alchemy turning water to earth, dancing motionless with their necklaces of crabs. I could go on at length, ad nauseam, unending, rehearsing a private vocabulary of clicks and hand signals. The first persons to speak looked at the thin soup of the fog of the world, reached in, and with their hands took hold of something, pulled it out, and said: This, this a stone, again and said, This a tree, This a star, This the sea, This I, This two, This five, This who, This three. The first persons to speak were just like me.
