Tim Lilburn: To the River



Her body and a low sunThere is the colour of horror over the snowI went under theearth and the rivergave me a rag a leg bone to holdWe looked into one another sface Don t say I m hereI am feverish with grassA dark in things in wild rosea stalk a line coming out of the mouth andcurving is weight privacy sleepa cache of fatthe seeable thing sucks on turns to andlives withThe bull of the weather moves from here to therethe purple and the bulgein the heft of moving unfallen snowThe complete moon is still therewhen I carry a poplar trunk out of the bushto cut it by the roadAn inhaled wind moves in things uietflickers there receiving a spread of weightThe dark tower and at its topan almost buried light in cold treesThe river is a man who s just ducked into a doorwaywho s changed his name and lives in the crawlspaceThe river has worn through itself and is turning up its handsA man and a dog come across it late in the afternoonat a stump bank near Bohemian waxwings in a cottonwood incrouched sunIce plinks and wangs some thinkinggoing on in a room in the castle of the river ice s private arwhale moan other side moan of the iceUnder the ice the long hair of what is not thereLow in the dogwood s throatunder dead leaves the river has its name tied up in some clothThe river is widowedThe rabbit island willows and Periphyseon and The Divine Names are the same thing Seeing the willows their forehead light. Hat riverscape which remains rich with a sense of the strangeness inside the familiarity of willow geese river ice coyote snowberry It is not just the satisfaction of aesthetic accomplishment which gives the book its compulsive nergy but the persistence of the seeker’s desire.

I m a sucker for innovative nature poetry At times uiet and contemplative At others brutal and charged Just the way the natural world should be portrayed Lilburn makes the river into a landscape of a well loved body And he s from Saskatchewan How many poets are from Saskatchewan Reading this book of Canadian outdoor nature poems made me realize just how much I love cities Rivers mountains plains clouds animals flowers Please give me poems about skylines and buildings and roads crumbling infrastructure stores schools churches parks cars trucks buses bikes tc Don t get me wrong the poems in this book are uite clever but to this city soul not all that compelling Two weeks of thirty five below and the fat sway of the river is jammed four feet down but on the creek between hills behind beaver dams ice slumps under snowshoes and there are no deer tracksFire thrums and lounges godly in the stoveBig lynx prints behind the hut heavythatch of the Milky Way coyotes the red of the willowsis poorDeer coats are poplar ashGreen ice of the river where ahoof has scratched snow crustUnder the wedge of lightyou know nothingYou ll sing the inside of the snowberryA cold with scales heaves up the valley the dark flower of the cold ignites the darkflower in the hump of fat things carryThere is waitingYou will lay you cheek against the float of the grassThere is winter in her body there are grains of winter in. To the River is a beautifully crafted gathering of poems Turning and returning to the banks of the South Saskatchewan River it is a compelling meditation conducted in the presence of a particular landscape With great metaphorical muscle the poems move towards the inhabitants of

You walk into the thicket of the book and are poor Willow showing red mild week in Januarya red that drops its Sleepless (Bird of Stone, eyeswhen you look at itLate light grass thin and a bone starshimmy of fox tracks beside the black stumbleof water along the river s snow ice ledgeThe willow has gone into the small room of its rednesswhere there is no book the new coldlowers a perfect rope to climb into ashWay into the burly water you could hear somethingThe woman has looked a pelican descent into me her weight and her slope her weight and slope into meYou go into the bush and the bush shrugsThe woman has tipped into me the far cornerof herye I ll build a fire where I am and wait Slow World pg 4 8 The river sits in the blood chairThe dolphin plain stumbles out a breathing barely given off light the intelligence of a block of saltThe river sits in the blood chairits desire lifting and coming back down to it in its own arly December smokeDull stub of receiving light on the plain going toward crumpledsnow hills then toward the red gold mountainsThe river is the unlit fatNeither ascending nor descending it doesn t careIt is the flat part of looking where the breath is venA large cooling animalThe river sits in the blood chairits desire lifting and coming back down in its winter smokeAn animal standing out therecooling from the distances smoke of allthat it has done comingfrom it dead green around it Dark Song pg 41. For what ludes ven our strongest acts of language Contemplative and spare spiritual and sensual To the River is a poetry of praise a love poem to the arth a prayer and a journal of interior practice It is a collection written by a poet moving into the full stretch of his power.

Epub Ebook To the River Ð Tim Lilburn – cafe1919.org

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Tim Lilburn is the author of six books of poetry including the Governor Generals Award winning collection Kill Site He is also the author of a book of essays Living in the World as if It Were Home and the editor of two anthologies Thinking and Singing and Poetry and Knowing