Valery Kourinsky

02.27.1999

"AND" FROM AFAR

 

Once upon a time there was my childhood,
there was granddad
that apricots used me to give as present,
and everything
that in the best newspapers was not named at least with a single word,
and my Herculanium of school
that now became that ancient,
and antic things
which are antiques already,
and waiting for
that is akin to long disease,
and running from bombs
through the old age of Europe war inferno,
and mum
that all my future world then had in her cupped hands,
and swallows
holding their tails like scissors for a page
of village evening there to cut
(oh! -- "partirono le rondine"!),
and from afar my dog,
the best amongst the total canine mob,
is fondling upon me up to the present,
and flood caused by the July rains in middle of beginning,
and cross on church of hope,
the ridiculed by strangers,
which alleged to know a reality,
and libraries read on the cross in night
full imagery from them,
and greatness of the time to be especially for us,
to be --it seemed -- the gate in our eternity
that would have to prohibit death forever,
and dreamed fairy-hoops
through which the basket-ball falls by itself,
and precious figments of the mind
that promises to save all little hot affronts
turned into trifle by adults,
and rough odorent boards of sketch constructed boldly,
and fumbling for a word to call the minor
minimised
to infinity (sometime it would be here entitled "detailhood"),
and too much "we" in "self",
and life as range of "ands",
and snail of time,
and lack of friends,
and many other lacks on every hand.

So was it there once upon a time.