{"id":45,"date":"2011-05-18T14:41:42","date_gmt":"2011-05-18T18:41:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/?page_id=45"},"modified":"2011-05-18T14:41:42","modified_gmt":"2011-05-18T18:41:42","slug":"levine","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/past-issues\/issue1\/levine\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry: Michael Levine"},"content":{"rendered":"

E-PIS-TROL-PHY<\/h2>\n

The horn kept her up, she said,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0“Hooting,” like it was whoring,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But I was fingering magic. The notes<\/p>\n

I leave out say more than what I play
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And, when I play them fast enough,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The logic emerges, up and down,<\/p>\n

The side-to-side brush of the archaeo-
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Logist dusting the Rosetta Stone before
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He realizes what he\u2019s touching, in E flat,<\/p>\n

In 4\/5-hard bop, \u00e0 la Max Roach, Kansas
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0City Style, and I bring the scales up
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And up until, to anyone else, they\u2019re<\/p>\n

Just trills wonking at the top register.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The mathematician sees equations, the musician
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Keys and modes, transposing proof<\/p>\n

Into “x” note, the note inside
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The note, in and out
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of Greek columns, each a structure<\/p>\n

That houses divinity as it builds and divides.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What is left out stands as a more permanent
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Structure. The notes I drop<\/p>\n

Give God a space to fill and grow into
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Until the music inhabits all the light
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the world and all the light in the world<\/p>\n

Cries out His name and He plays
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The world like I play this horn.<\/p>\n

Ignorance and Experience<\/h2>\n

Memory spins out, warps, wefts, looms. Threads fray,
\nTear and re-twine. I am born again and living
\nAgain in a night as I left it ten, fifteen years past.
\nTime\u2019s slurry chorus sings me awake<\/p>\n

To a knocking outside. It\u2019s January.
\nIt\u2019s three o\u2019clock in the morning and drunk
\nO\u2019Reilly\u2019s hammering the door like it\u2019s a roof.
\nI raise the window to tell him to fuck off.<\/p>\n

But it\u2019s not O\u2019Reilly. It\u2019s my friend\u2019s girlfriend.
\nShe\u2019s pounding on the door. She\u2019s scared.
\nI call her name. I walk down the stairs
\nTo let her in. The way she touches my hand<\/p>\n

Is every other time she\u2019s touched my hand,
\nOnly my friend\u2019s not there, not watching us now.
\nHer arms tighten around my neck. She tells me
\nJust how wasted she is, that she has the hiccups<\/p>\n

And wants me to surprise them out of her.
\nThe spool rolls. I\u2019m afraid of my friend.
\nI\u2019m afraid of getting hit in the face
\n(And he\u2019d do it, too), of fighting, if I could<\/p>\n

Call it that. I\u2019ve wanted her since I met her.
\nWhen she held my hand and how she showed me the crystal,
\nIt could have been a song, a movie, a line
\nIn a poem, but it\u2019s made tangible,<\/p>\n

Made rock in her hand, her other hand instructing
\nMy hand how to feel it. She hiccups again
\nAnd tells me to make them stop. I tell her to close
\nHer eyes and she closes them, her mouth open,<\/p>\n

Sighing, and as I step backward, my hands
\nApart and then clap-shot together, almost
\nA face slap, almost a gun kick. \u201cI\u2019m surprised,
\nAll right,\u201d she slowly says, and I know now again<\/p>\n

The moment\u2019s past. No matter how I pull on it,
\nIt\u2019s knotted in place and I\u2019ll never get it back.<\/p>\n

Pianissimo Fugue<\/h2>\n

A great calm settled
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The blizzard, once
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0An absence of calm.<\/p>\n

No color. In the windows
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And streetlights, darkness
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Held. Snow<\/p>\n

Fell like relief.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When it wouldn\u2019t stop
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Falling, I pulled on<\/p>\n

My boots and coat,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Stepped through the door
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into the calm. Snow fell.<\/p>\n

Cold fell. The wind,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Once risen over trees,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wires, and buildings,<\/p>\n

Had fallen, too. And left
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Behind, in its silence, only
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Snow\u2019s pianissimo fugue<\/p>\n

Falling upon snow. I wanted
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Something beautiful, descending
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Like a kiss to pull me<\/p>\n

Into it, out of silence
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And calm falling,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Falling like snow. I know<\/p>\n

I will die. I know I can
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Walk into the populated
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0World and glide through<\/p>\n

Unscathed. The snow falls
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Around me, the past,
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And I could live in it, but<\/p>\n

You could lift me from it.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I have scars on my legs
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where I have fallen. Scars<\/p>\n

On my fingers and chin.
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0You could lift me. I could
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Remake myself in the image<\/p>\n

Of snow. And leave
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the snow what is
\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Left of my skin.<\/p>\n

MICHAEL LEVINE teaches English at Gann Academy in Waltham, MA. He has received master’s degrees in Creative Writing from Washington University and Boston University and has poems appearing and forthcoming in Natural Bridge, North American Review, <\/em>and Poet Lore<\/em>.<\/p>\n

(c) copyright 2005, Michael Levine; author retains all rights. <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

E-PIS-TROL-PHY The horn kept her up, she said, \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0“Hooting,” like it was whoring, \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But I was fingering magic. The notes I leave out say more than what I play \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And, when I play them fast enough, \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The logic emerges, up and down, The side-to-side brush of the archaeo- \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Logist dusting the Rosetta Stone […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":8,"featured_media":0,"parent":24,"menu_order":6,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/45"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/8"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=45"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/45\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":46,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/45\/revisions\/46"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/24"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=45"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}