Klee at Carthage Colour possesses me. I don’t have to pursue it. Paul Klee, Notebooks That April in the sea-lit town, under fractal skies, awakened to the sparkling syntax of the waves, he followed shadow down the narrow alleyways and climbed through olive-shouldered hillside groves to seek out new complexions for the mind to wander in, new towns where solids seemed to hang reflected in the shimmering air, as though he’d found – as wave collapsed in particle, and promptly fluidized as wave again – Creation in an older state than in that garden where our naming voices claimed their firm possession of the light. The Barbary sun enrobed him in its startling hues, and wove an unnamed music in his sight, and all at once, among these fragrant oleanders on the road, demanded he apply to light the quanta of a finer scale, the haunting microtones he’d heard in Persian song, the countless words for sand among the Bedouin, for ice among the Inuit. DB Jonas DB Jonas is an American poet living in the mountains of New Mexico. His collection, Tarantula Season and Other Poems, is available on Amazon. His second collection, Flight Risk, Poems and Translations, is forthcoming.
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November 2024
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