Poetry |

“New Year’s Eve Madrigal,” “Baroque Madrigal,” Breughelian Madrigal,” “Great-Horned Owls Madrigal,” “Vulnerable Madrigal”

New Year’s Eve Madrigal

 

The trough between this evening window

& horizon’s falling, sleet-smeared show

 

is the stretch between the old year on spindle pins

& whatever’s coming, passing as the new, as “in.”

 

From here, it’s all a gothic, dishabille heap

of horsehair loveseat wire, creep

 

of bamboo, kudzu, in which the crickets

no longer weep too little, too late, decrying debts, debts.

 

Unrest always.  And my mouth’s too small

to tell what’s beaten from the rug, the caul.

 

I used to use the word.  Said “pleasure trumps pain,”

&c.  No longer. But I’m good at punctuation.

 

Which this is:  the year’s last, or almost last, syllable.

For which I hope my love for love is always liable.

 

 *       *       *       *       *

 

Baroque Madrigal

 

Prone to ornament —

crooked teeth, skin-tag, dented

 

collarbone, a long, heavy sheet

with nothing underneath —

 

I believe possession’s somewhat

for to hold, flaming clot

 

of any day, so close, so, so so —

above horizon’s proof, old

 

magnetic sill.  Prone to hide,

the soul selects, debrides.

 

The soul escapes.  In closets,

bushes, beneath a desk.

 

Small & folded am I always, then.

Baroque-ish.  Strangely unbroken.

 

 *       *       *       *       *

 

Breughelian Madrigal

 

Winter, The Birdtrap, Pieter Brueghel II

 

A matter of low countries —

ice-stunned canals, dusk-cheeky

 

planks scalloped with steaming bowls,

skates, a scape theatrical & claustrophobic —

 

multifarious concoction on view

but private too, woman with hiked wool

 

skirt peeing in snow, old shed door

propped up, rigged with trick stick to trip & floor

 

unwitting doves:   scant meat, true.

Wicker bones.  Steep rooftop snoods,

 

black trees, vista latticed, un-baited,

single black crow bearing the weight

 

of thought, pre-modern, anachronistic

& so already slaughtered, I know myself in it.

 

 *       *       *       *       *

 

Great-Horned Owls Madrigal

 

Over winter’s pit, orchestral tune-up

of settle & unrest, un-tuxedoed,

comes her dactylic whooooo, ooo, ooo,

occult, unorthodox, muezzin hiccup

 

whose source I’m always searching out

inside a camoflaged theater, gray scrim

tangle, kudzu, ivy opera cloaks, pines,

a mistletoe-gibbeted dead oak.

 

High up, she’s there!  sturdy as a contract,

ruthless satellite, cat’s ears, head swiveling.

From eave above my window, in answer,

another winged span swoops, alights upon her back.

 

As in a mirror, two bodies make one

new thing.  Silence then.  Blenched, unharrowing.

 

 *       *       *       *       *

 

Vulnerable Madrigal

 

Susceptible, pre-disposed, lies

the new year.  Aloft, a day moon,

half a cracked egg against Titian blue,

uncompromising yet untrue

 

to all but itself.  What I do,

watching sky, is what words do to what

we’re liable to do, love.

They diminish.  Mistake.

 

In a sudden liquid blink, dusk.

No claim here, or anyplace

but the jumble two bodies make.

Listen:  verge of syllables.  Nerves.

 

Earth’s uneasy pew.  Footsoles

lips press, anew.  Close as cloud floes.

Contributor
Lisa Russ Spaar

Lisa Russ Spaar’s latest collection is Madrigalia: New & Selected Poems (Persea Books, 2021). Her new novel is Paradise Close (Persea, 2022). She is the editor of the anthology More Truly and More Strange: 100 Contemporary Self-Portrait Poems (2020, Persea). Lisa is a professor in the creative writing program at The University of Virginia, and a contributing editor of On the Seawall.

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