Norman Fischer

Poem (the bird)
 
Thought to write
In all seriousness finally
For once about
Something so now
About the bird comes
To mind in own voice writing it
That flew into house yesterday
Wren it was small brown fluttering
Bird frightened by window
Not knowing where it was or how or why
Appearing in disturbing circumstances
Tipsing off then down to bump
On windowsill then bop up not
Finding way out through glass
Toward light and familiar air
What’s glass to a wren?
In this there’s a moral lesson
Certainly or an epiphany something
To be suddenly seen directly, metaphorically
In the bird’s sincere and desperate
Efforts or maybe in the very sound
Of words used to elegantly or not
So elegantly describe sense of bird
Now trapped inside not knowing
It’s inside or how it got inside
Trying tipsing fluttering against glass
To escape with no possible
Sensible plan but hurling
Body back by trial and error
Mechanically or desperately or hopefully
Awaiting some result?
Or not even having a conception
Of result or change of state
But anyway foolishly endearingly
Whacking in thrusting body this way
And that inside a world
Means something endearing
Or anyhow useful or of interest
About human predicament
For all readers of poems
Are human deserve some
Mirror-like reflection of their condition
To make the reading of poem
Worthwhile but this is of no
Concern to this or any other wren
So we proceed from either end
To slowly stalk wren directing
Said wren toward open door
Which wren fails to notice flying past
Outstretched arms to further recesses of house
On floor near fireplace or further
Windowsill fluttering then
Crouched panting in corner not far from
Another open door through which
It flies to freedom then a happy
Ending for wren and poem if poem
Were to end here without an element
Of summing up a message a moral
Or anyway at least a satisfactory
Aesthetic thrum or murmur but no the poem
Drones on past the wren’s exit
Groping for some point some raison
D’etre without sensible plan but wagging
Of tongue on teeth till
Tongue’s sheer focuslessness force abate
And poem slides to its own dear
Ceaseless conclusion
 
 
Poem (natural history of ghosts)
 
Hamlet’s ghost or was
That Hamlet’s father’s
Ghost or when it comes
To ghosts how much
Does it signify
Which or whose ghost we
Are talking about?
 
Oh how my heart aches!
She’s saying to me
People are abstruse or opaque
After all is said and done
It’s hard even to tell
If there’s anyone or if
They’re there only so you
Know you’re not
Just some ghost
 
Is it so clear so solid
I mean my sense that
This day’s dawned that
I’m here seeing dawn’s yellow
Blush radiating over yonder
Hilltop that skin of the sea
Below where swimmers
Swim breaking it in
Dawn’s early light where
Ghosts so proudly hail
In the light when it is not night
So they can be seen
They are close then
Just as futility is close
To utility too close
For comfort!
 
And who can be comfortable
Being a ghost
Or being with a ghost but
The extremely old
Who see ghosts constantly
Whom once they knew as fleshly friends
Who are themselves as good
As ghosts they have as they
Say about them one foot
In the ghost-haunted place
The grave but their minds are quiet
If not disturbed by many
Troubled thoughts
Of a ghost-filled past
 
These are hand-written
Ghost words sky-words
Readers make in minds
Alive though all
Are worn with utility and
Futility and no longer signify
As they once did or
If they do must
Unravel the plot
Until we already know
Who the killer is
If not precisely when
The deed was done
 
A day’s worthwhile if
At its end one says
This was a day
And if not then what?
Landscape has features
That can be pointed to or
Explained somehow
Like everything else
But that won’t make it
Live ghosts don’t live
Forever either according to
The Rules for Ghosts they
Only last as long as
The jobs they’re sent to perform
 
Ghosts have many tasks
Angels just a single task
Angels have wings ghosts do not
Though both fly after a fashion
But neither angels nor ghosts have feet
To walk on dirt
According to the Last Judgment
Instructions the Cross
Divides hell from heaven
Rather neatly just as
Ghosts and angels are
Perfectly distinct
From one another
The damned are damned
And the dead may rest
In eternal peace possibly
But we the living
Persist with our many
Problems our dissatisfactions
Increasingly convincing
To our ghosts
 
 
 
Poem (the dog)
 
The diligent dog’s
Noble obedience
That makes him feel fine
To be thus dedicated
To master, his strength
In knowing whom to follow
Whose will shall be forever
Correct and to be heeded
Some things are more than life
To know to whom loyalty is paid
With all your beating heart
For whose bidding you’ll
Consume all your life’s power
To whom all intensity belongs
To serve even when you don’t
Comprehend to wait no
Matter how long here’s
What surpasses mere existing
Desire beyond self serving
The diligent noble dog
Knows what life demands
And gives it freely
With all his soul