Poems At Port Trakl Part One Poem by Daniel Brick
Poems At Port Trakl Part One
DAILY WINE
For early morning there's always
Sangria, what's left over from yesterday.
the fruits all dissolved, imparting
an even sweetness to the tall glass.
At noon, I will drink four medium-sized glasses
of Zinfandel, as I watch the sun shine through
the bottle, yellow filtering red,
a hybrid color suggesting wholeness, repose.
'Another glass, please.' In late afternoon,
after walking along the shoreline, and
watching land and sea exchange places,
again and again, in the trembling air,
I will share conversation and Tawny Port
with whatever friend lounges in the bar.
We drink strong black coffee in between
bottles of wine to keep us focused on
whatever topic we choose... to stave off
the boredom of continuous intoxication.
Suddenly, darkness contains me! I must have
dozed off. For how long? No matter: it is surely
time for Burgundy.The rest of the night belongs
to Burgundy. It will squelch whatever stuff
floats up from within and swims before my idle eyes.
TWO RESOLUTIONS
FIRST
I have made a resolution, my friend,
wrote it on the back of this shipping schedule.
And I want you to witness it. 'I, an ancient
citizen of Port Trakl, swear to write only
the truth, from this hour forward. No more
rhapsodies and praise-songs, no more Love Epics
addressed to absent women, no more honeyed words
packed into fat lines of verse. All this
I abjure from this hour forth.' Well,
we know what to expect next: I will sink
into a corner of a warehouse somewhere
in Port Trakl. If you find me in a couple of days,
ask me how I feel about the NEW ME....
SECOND
'Stop talking nonsense, sailor.
Do as you will, just don't blame us at Port Trakl.'
IN VINO VERITAS
Hasn't every drunkard spoken those words,
lodged in his overheated brain?
What does it really mean? That whatever
my intoxicated voice says is true?
That no lie can slip past my lips
as long as stupor crushes my mind?
Does it mean I am only a puppet,
dangling from the chord of Fate?
Or am I a displaced puppet master,
capable of doing great things?
Let me think... No, first I will
sample the shipment of new wines
from faraway Hungary. After that....
Comments Part II: So this is a poem about a mythical place written by an American poet, that was inspired by another poem about a mythical place (same name) written by a Mapuche/South American poet (in Spanish, translated to English) about a mythical place (Port Trakl) , that was originally inspired by the works (Verfall? Written in German?) of an Austrian poet, George Trakl, who was considered a modernist, impressionist, poet. Like trying to take a core sample from Pluto, understanding the layers of complexity forming the foundations of each set of poems is mind blowing to say the least! As I was trying to distill all of this (as I was helping my son with his geometry homework) , my son quickly glanced at my book of poems and notes and asked me what I was doing. After I quickly explained, mentioning Trakl had committed suicide, He looked at me and said, mom, Port Trakl is a metaphor for George Trakl's brain, a filter, through which Huenon's poetry comes forth.....
see my comment on the second poem [''Poems At Port Trakl Part Two''] page
I read part 2 first and knew I had to read this as well. What can I tell you that you don't already know? You are a very gifted writer and reading your work is a pleasure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 7:06:44 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A wonderful poem sir.. I loved the first part.. The lines IN VINO VERITAS Hasn't every drunkard spoken those words, lodged in his overheated brain? What does it really mean? That whatever my intoxicated voice says is true? That no lie can slip past my lips as long as stupor crushes my mind? Does it mean I am only a puppet, dangling from the chord of Fate? Or am I a displaced puppet master, capable of doing great things? - - are extremely beautiful... And thank you Fabrizio, my friend, for suggesting me this poem..