Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Duane Vorhees is an American poet in Thailand. He is the author of THE MANY LOVES OF DUANE VORHEES; HEAVEN; GIFT: GOD RUNS THROUGH ALL THESE ROOMS; MEMORIES ARE LINKED LIKE OASES; A CONSIDERABLE SHARE OF FELICITY: BETWEEN HOLOCAUSTS, and THE WOMB AND THE BRAIN. He has taught various subjects in the US, Korea, and Japan.
COCOON
I saw my externist today
and got my prescriptions filled
for a well-curated array
of armor auras and pills
to protect me against weathers
and germs. And also to blunt,
like a cuirass wrought of leather,
the intimacy of hugs
and the taste and touch of kisses.
In this invisible plate
I can discover what bliss is,
now that I’m inviolate.
A ROPE AND A PIPE
The sharpshooter’s father
learned to dance
when he married the ropemaker’s daughter.
“No saddle
instructs the horse to prance.
The lesson is always in the bridle.
Nothing is so efficient as a gun’s
violence,”
the marksman taught his son.
“The bullet
can establish your best environment,
find your foe and kill it.
Sing to me when I die
if you wish,
but know that music’s a waste of your time.
Don’t get drunk,
and put down that damn flute! Be like the fish,
who only dance when hooked.”
And the son followed his dad’s direction.
A trigger
captained his affections.
But his flute
and humble philosophy and liquor
led him to peace and truth.
THE SHIP
Oh, the mariner is like the moon;
perfect the once in the month
when my land concedes to your sea.
Our boat was, before, a forest,
leaves like sails, winds
like a petrel’s exhale.
Anchored by a stone that once
hugged earth, like mom and son.
And the sea, the sea. The basket
of stars upside-downed, so all
its flowers scatter everywhere
