Cover Page 1 PAUL CAMERON BROWNWhispers Copyright © 1977 by Paul Cameron BrownAll rights reserved ***************************************************************Cover Page 2 Paul Cameron Brown was born in London, England in 1948. Moving to Canada, he grew up in Kingston beforeattending high school in the southern community of Chatham. He spent five years at University of WesternOntario in London with summers interspersed betweenwork and travel. The early seventies saw trips to Europe, the West and Mexico. Currently teaching high school in Brampton, his poemshave appeared in Quarry, Nebula, Boreal, NorthernJourney, Stuffed Crocodile, Tightrope, as well asa number of anthologies in the U. S. "... One can instantly sense the private and resonant landscapein the delicate nature... Exciting water colour, a true painter of words. "Joe Rosenblatt ***************************************************************ISBN: 0-88823-002-8 Published byThree Trees PressP. O. Box 70, Postal Station "V"Toronto M6R 3A4Canada PAUL CAMERON BROWNWhispers ***************************************************************FOREWORD Paul Brown has a carborundum eye for the mostextreme poetic minutia at a time when most of theyounger poets indulge in introspective rhetoric, dullingthat faint minority of poem tasters. However, inBrown's case one can instantly sense the private andresonant landscape in the delicate - nature andanthro-pomorphic poems, radiant creations - exciting watercolour, a true painter of words. The Three Trees Press should be congratulated fortheir poetic efforts in publishing Whispers, a splendidVolume. Joe Rosenblatt ***************************************************************CONTENTS RAIN FILM 9 UNDULATE, MY TONGUE10 RAIN FILM11 ISLES AND RIVULETS12 SEAWARD13 MALINGERING14 VOYAGE15 CHRYSALIS16 THE BELLS17 THE WORLD OF DYING LOVE WHISPERS 19 DARKENING GREEN20 WHISPERS21 TRESPASS22 FOREST SPITTLE23 SEAGULLS24 LA DOUCE MER25 GOURDS26 RESIGNATION27 THE BREATH OF CANDLES28 GREEN EYE SHIELDS29 INVESTITURE30 THE SPOKEN WORD TESTIMONY 32 SMEARS33 TESTIMONY34 FORTRESS SNOW35 CIENFUEGOS36 DEVASTATION37 BEE AN APPLE38 EMPTINESS39 CLAWS40 MOON DARK WORLD41 THE ELYSIAN FIELDS42 BARBARY WHITE THE BURNING 44 PENCIL SKETCHES45 EMPTY WARRIORS46 THE KEEPER OF THE JEWEL47 ROWING WITH CRAYONS48 COLLUSIONS49 GOSSAMER THREADS50 A FACE51 THE BURNING THE GATHERING OF DEAD WOOD 53 GREEN ANGELLIGHTS54 EYES INSIDE55 THE HYDASPES56 SLEIGH BELLS57 ORIFICE58 PECULIAR MORNING59 W H E R E60 THE TREASURE SHIPS62 HANNIBAL63 THE GATHERING OF DEAD WOOD ***************************************************************UNDULATE, MY TONGUE My tongue undulates, a wave to shore, knocks a vigorous reef, then slides to sea once more. The coral pink horizon of the mouth, cavernous shores, my tongue laps pier white teethin servitude like an oar. Heavy drifting, bobbing as a buoy, the tongue sinks slowly down beforesurprising salivagoing ashore. 9***************************************************************RAIN FILM On the night of the rains, water was oozing out fromthe sky's swollen stitches, a rash developed acrossthe meaning of the heavens. The wooden floors of my attic placestrove for a deeper tone, a hoarse callinggrew louder as I pacedtrying to see rain. I followed the gravity of the treasure huntwhere each bounce meant a slapacross a table top of tension, where the window basted winter black rainand silence paid another call. I am as much as this water flower, rain. I am as impressionable as the city that stops for rain. And I lack the same substance that dooms water to bea soft pillow feather; excepting this, I may still shatter this thing, March routine existenceby dabbling in destruction. 10***************************************************************ISLES AND RIVULETS On your brow, the steppes of Asiaare fetched by deep set eyesA colouring distict with mysteryperceives the Polos greeting the Great Khan, the golden isle of Ciphangu, the sultry east. I revel in the mysteryof my warm, wet flower. A pollen bee laden with honeysquirms, embraces with me, in the abrupt opening of our jar, serrated edge of the known world. The air, buoyed and elastic with pleasure, belongs to me. Tawny, pale rose, your oriental skinpeels backthe tiny veils separating our cultures. I peer in to find Confucianlilac, towers of silence, opal pheasants. Harmony strains all dogmas. Rain darts penetrate the gathering pools. The tiny plastic cupmy life, inseparable from your hand. 11***************************************************************SEAWARD Whirl of patterned images, deep seascape paintinghovering, rustle, chokecherrygrown indark pigmentedstunted cove - animalgrowl of pilotless sea, metallic twinkle of sunbright, stealingbitter whiteall bird liferockward;traces skimmingthe intrusionof pebbly shore, autumnal night. 12***************************************************************MALINGERING Malingering, increase driftof censureinfrared blotted one. No noise, justthe splashing of the seaendless, shrillbirdsgaping a wayinto the night's chill. 13 ***************************************************************VOYAGE The mystique of the sea, where waves act as snares, hang boughs over wetblackness wherever windsdie driven ashore. Melancholy vastness-its pleasurethe dim lights swallowedin glutton happinessthe further I searchthe sea. 14***************************************************************CHRYSALIS Fury of chrysalis, or crepuscular caterpillar's roosting nest, Fidgeting cocoon dry in annoyance and the reptile caressOf empty sound. See it near the trestle, Above broad November leaves, Before winter's closing eye. Comatose pupa, infringingIn dormancy well primed, And charged with actionIts focus, brittle reality, Distant life unaware around even itself. Waiting, the syringe filled ecstasy isBarest of autistic treasureSatiate, 'til spilled andMolten over toughened silken hide, The outer dormitoryHustles to rejoinCompost springControlling a tidy, energy world. 15***************************************************************THE BELLS The dangling of bells... Amid faint tingling, the inspirational nature of their liesbetween each peal. Classical repertoire, then dryness. Heavy swelter, the green oreiron casting of the golden bellclangs into the night. Its dash against dry stonea special brand of hideousness. Naked madness, the jangle of the noisetorn from the throat of night, tucked between the rage of sightless villagers;their torn memberstoys of plasticwedged obscene within the dash of withered bells. 16***************************************************************THE WORLD OF DYING LOVE The long finger of blackness is holding its head for us. Dingy bue is its shade, comatose in movement, hazarding a slow swiftness, it inches toward us. Relief comes fitfully. The dragon alone, an upstartcrowned with drunken spending, has horse colours as ribbons with his eyes. It cradles a breast of trembling bone. Misercorde, Misercorde. I dreamt I saw skeletal slacknessdangling;the poverty of touch is a casketwith love in rumbling sockets. Craziness is the passion of the engulfed, dribbling pleasantly. Presentations extended beyond and into themselves. Slackness schemes with invalid awarenessin a brothel of hope. 17***************************************************************Part IIWHISPERS DARKENING GREEN My mind, rarely with me alone, parts with energy, the floor boards scuffedand landing beams justroosts big enough for pigeonson leave from fieldsdarker for their grain. 19***************************************************************WHISPERS Suppose and this is just supposing, though it is a supposition of the highest order, I were to die tomorrow A roar denoting silence?At work, if tradition is the dictate, something eulogistic would find itself being said. I am more calm. I perceive their layers more shrilly. Past the lipserviceand shocked surprise, whispers, rumours andthe grapevine would bruitaround a different legacy. And the open bier?An embrassassment. What more could be left unsaid?20***************************************************************TRESPASS I would imaginethe eyelids fail, fall closed, shut, as icicles siton porch doorswhere old nails rust. 21***************************************************************FOREST SPITTLE The preciseness of that little moment, bowler eyes in hot, top rayseffervescent throughspongy forest gloom, the wet of the happyunreconciled with the dry outside. 22***************************************************************SEAGULLSI see many thoughts from a window. Seagulls in the fashion of summerand leaves as they quit the year. Sense impressions, if they are this, are only imagesof what we refuse to follow. 23***************************************************************LA DOUCE MER Too greedy hormonal levels, savouring drives and swooned walrus tusksbehind the deep bellyof tireless sea, propel ocean crateslooser for their waterthan bloodto devour cavernous shores, swilling miniature inlandsweet water seas thatfather Champlain calleddouce mer lakes;dubbing there a blow for courage. 24***************************************************************GOURDSA cemetery overgrownsuch that each tombstone is a pauper funguscrowded, dark with leaves, or hollow gourds hideous, in a forest sleep. 25***************************************************************RESIGNATION Petals that fall into a woodland poolare servers at a banquet. Each one dresses for the occasionlike an employee with regrets, that leaves the house in a somber moodthe morning after his resignation. 26***************************************************************THE BREATH OF CANDLES The breath of candles, hot and murky, on the still air. Giant factories wave wandsin luxury;contaminate roving commuter bandsbrown, from dirt knitted through white bread hair. 27***************************************************************GREEN EYE SHIELDS I have stars drying in my eyes. Heavy seas, in wind. They have sealed me from the heavydragging sockets, otherwise my green eye shields. I have scars all over my eyes, to bear the horrible imaginingsthat try to come through. The horror of being alive. The crusty scenes that pry into treesglide down, touch me, a glitter of awful gold steals me, in its triumph of glow. 28***************************************************************INVESTITURE Our nights have cruel eyesAnd have cast us about too thinly, Fallen upon us, Divested the attention of the wind. Night comes to develop us, Will polish our minds withA precision lasting 'til daybreak. Its damp coolness peaks with wretched effect. Autumnal decayWhereby the slow process of vegetationDispleases the nostril, Is but a preamble to greater violenceLeading tepid legislation in an orchestraToward greater effect. The thin harmony of our livesPositions no alarms wherebyWe might use them. The fabric mixture of existence, nothing but investiture, Props to heighten necessary lies, Strains at extinction, The volcanic instrument life itself. Goals are these same vehiclesTo operate weak desires. Frustration defeats a goalThat will not fit. 29***************************************************************THE SPOKEN WORDI touch yourface - where strands of whispery hairdangle your thoughtful gaze through mine. Clutching, all the words not saidlie pale and brokenbeneath forgery lies. Eyes, our facial minnows, the mirrorimages, flash too brightlyout of the shallows, out of their stony commitmentstowards believingwe cannot agree. 30***************************************************************Part IIITESTIMONY SMEARS A snowy morningunfoldingI smear my eyesthe crimson detailsfrom my life. 32***************************************************************TESTIMONY When snow falls, there livesthe shrill cries thatleaves are not alone. Each flake, a mute testimonynot a leaf falls beforesurgery prunes the individual tree. Cold November afterbrown and white conspire, the forest leaves a bleeding crust, scar tissue from natural wars. 33***************************************************************FORTRESS SNOW The embankment lies as heavyedges on our lives. The shadows of the rock, piled drifts huge monotony's ledge, accumulations by the side of the treewear thin visages;the breath of summer eclipsed. Snow reigns supreme;teeters about the rimof the city's existence. Pettiness of man's realm - prettyfoliage of the transient, wrappings upon our livesbrittle near the storm. The reply of the eternal, fire on stoneblazons realitythe peaked remainsof snow streaked sun. Immensity governs us;clarity of the temporalfire set by the staccatoof man's rhythm. 34***************************************************************CIENFUEGOS The white pin wheel of heat turns up the grasses' edge. Some dried plant stalks shrivel, then melt openly into layers of fire. It is end - time for the community's Christmas trees. Something akin to burnt offerings, reluctant souls orhedging captives kept aliveghoulishly for some cannibal's feast;this festival of crackling. They have served their purpose, now. Bound, no faggots need be applied. Contumely, the quiet desperation darkensthe child's face. The headlights rain down on Christmas' debris. A hundred little fires as cigarette warningsdaub the night air. The forest of smoke, canyon of the torch, where black marauders poke the nostril. 35***************************************************************DEVASTATION Little red berries arethe crop of this stump tree. They are the prize stubblewhere little growth is come. A transplant of hair aftera serious illnessor after fire ravagesthe body's wildernessis that first sip of broth taken. Little by little, they bring cautioushope that more willstumble into other pocket crevices, the bits of life amidst the spores of stillness. 36***************************************************************BEE AN APPLEThe taste of an apple, the cringing of a beeas sun stops turninga ladle over their skins;the fire gold stainson apple's skin, the honey yellow, black bitsa hornet wrinkles in. 37***************************************************************EMPTINESS The threadbare uniformswe let stare at otherswe would refuse ourselves. The bare walls, misunderstanding, Support nothing, taut empty sounds. The inclusion of everythingexcludes nothingexcept why it was done. 38***************************************************************CLAWSUnfolding gazesthrow overthe little realitysurly door. The dumbclatterof ripplesshudder the better life. 39***************************************************************MOON DARK WORLD The treesare forming handsto cloak the skywith pillow whispers, until the soft equilibriumbehind laughing eyesdeparts down the moon dark world. 40***************************************************************THE ELYSIAN FIELDS The Elysian fieldsgained commensurate with abilityquiet and shimmering in the sun;varied realmsinverted islandsthe angry blessedones - thrice born withthe option to surviveon into flesh and blood form. The conveyer belt of soulscarrying the damaged onesfar into the night, spitting out the lukewarmwith plenty of latitudeto manoeuvrein between. Lavender and the dye from purple shellsin piercing shrieksextracting the enacted willof Nietzscheans before their time;fledglings in a worldill begotten andbarely within a choosing. 41***************************************************************BARBARY WHITE How death will steal, from life, to claim us all, Happy to wrap us in barbary white, By tapping ash tight fingers, the steel laws of fate, Will deaden our faces, wrapping our feelings from earthly sight. 42***************************************************************Part IVTHE BURNING PENCIL SKETCHES Staying home, I caught naughty elveswatering my piano, growling inside my head. Faucet dropsbeating out in harmony a drum tatooto the tune of a plugged drain, the careless postures of indifferenceretold lives lived on spindle shankscaught on the obligatoryinsipid trainof obliging a pantry fullof ones you love. 44***************************************************************EMPTY WARRIORS The jungle where the meow goes in, isa forest for hoodlums. Trucking up, the empty warriorsbreakfast on lost impatience, apricot fields away. Now see them speed away. Their lollipop cars drizzling in the sun. Their apathetic stares really cantaloupe harvests, left too long in the sun. 45***************************************************************THE KEEPER OF THE JEWEL The keeper of the jewel. I file it down, keep it smooth. I can be found any day, busy disguising thejaded and unproved. I follow forget-me-notsin a forest pool. I undo knotsin groves of shallow trees. I pretend unfit sores can sitalongside water smoothedpebbles in a sunlit stream. 46***************************************************************ROWING WITH CRAYONS I see children rowing with crayonsacross a park lagoon. They are sagging, they have just killed a blackbird playing: the lot of you, scribbling to school. Later on, I retrievedthe pieces of paper, ink covered, from a field. 47***************************************************************COLLUSION A surtax on the ecosystem;so many raindrops, mistsand bud breakingsrecord spring days, that the movement of sapfluids and other vitaljuices invlolves all life on a colossalscale; beyond puny human understandingwhy green shoots shed restrictionsat the parochial level. 48***************************************************************GOSSAMER THREADS I feel like cutting my finger, hiding upside downclinking a canteenshelling peas along the floor. From the focal point aboveanything could be. Light dripping uponforlorn gossamer spreadslike a balloon. Merely the vantage pointof a perspectivequietly threading. 49***************************************************************A FACE A face in the mist, with rain around, clings to bare leaves frowning. A face through the mist, convulsed, plays stationary, perching from twigs. A face, not knowing it, trust it is good. 50***************************************************************THE BURNING The sun is a burning magnet on the water. Durable, our boat is a sizable pretzel in the arms of the bay. Warmth with contortion, the clash of passionstug the funnelled swooned water. Greenery, that inlet of the ocean, lies precarious and submerged. Life, subsidized by water, is within its hope, bubbling in embers, froth drunk with sudshammered against the boat's edge. What is this, this skyhome of the transparent sun. Blue agony, burning up with delerium, the wet pastel illusion slides against our craniums. Crass, crass the movement of the wavesacross a low bow, excessively pleasant. All the moretroubled vistasblue with hegemony over earth, drowsiness dropping a plague of lapping edges;a strength pried from graves. This sea of ours sags, heaves in deepdisplacement, fulfills my liquid caress. 51***************************************************************Part VTHE GATHERING OF DEAD WOOD GREEN ANGELLIGHTS Green angel lightsstream from the willow tree, in direct symmetrical bearingthree birds are drawn to it. In gold, soft patchesof light overreachthe earth, shadows trace ridgesto surround each teak blown colour. With fakir lowliness, the throb of watertakes petals fromthe sun, shimmers its passing breathto a euphony sobbingin movement. 53***************************************************************EYES INSIDE There's cadencea real movementto the worldsthe gaze insidea flicker ofyour eyes. 54***************************************************************THE HYDASPES And I, cooing in my saddle, with lost time. His weapons and horses the finest. Beloved of God, engendered fiercelyfor the occasion - withpin stripes and a drinking vesselof the most expert silver. Pharaonic splendor, ingots of the heaviest goldborrowed sun bright yet so untarnishedthey hold up the morning sky. Two hands encase that handsomevolume - finest of imported leather andsaddle soap transparent to the eyeso that all might ring forthits belated vision;not be dreary earthed with brinebut terse, furtive inside the gathering glade. 55***************************************************************SLEIGH BELLS In fury, come the Heavens, the days, our horsebellsupon a crystal sleigh. Up slowly until, the horse carriage wetand coming up the eveningwalk pauses; then snowbefore a vanished world. 56***************************************************************ORIFICE To perforate in adumbration, as obviator, the sphincter muscleof intensity; then paintthe world in aperture, a picture of one's mind. 57***************************************************************PECULIAR MORNING As if every living thing lived, breathedits existenceexplained why water took the shapeof a container, studied sharpened awareness of cold, broke night spots onto a peculiar morning. 58***************************************************************WHERE A dark, shadow grey mothrests along the grim hue of brick, its spattered orange cream underwings scream a Halloween defianceto the bleariness of stone and city. And before each fold of its wings, there rests beyond all the pale fireand din of a thousand slow eyedempires, feeling the seetheof their existence spentin a fidgeting cauldronwhere mediocrity campswith her dangerous throne. 59***************************************************************THE TREASURE SHIPS Rich ornamental processionenough wealth to dazzle a Prester John, Sheba's queen, even the fawningburghers of Rothschild's domain. Reams of it, Park Avenues intorrents down a mountain side;Eldorados, the gardens of Babylon become shimmering in the sun;this vulgar display, this sheer ostentation. Such are the waters of the rich I now approach. Peach gold fabulous wealth. More men of substance herethan all the proverbial luxury since antiquity, - talents, ingots, ducats - barsso heavily encrusted with gemsthe very floor boards groanwith the largesse. Never a Buddha's toothPierpont scheme, crownor outstretched fingerdid circumnavigatemore treasurethan this eyeswelling aroundthat one treasure chest procured. Like a ship glutting the Spanish Main- my treasure ship -she vies with memy memoriesMidas' goldor Krupp's iron wealth securedall of which is a ransomparleying against the crowned heads of this world. 60, 61***************************************************************HANNIBAL When Hannibal mowed down Romanswith elephants, his skill, his artistry, had the effect of a painter's brush. He, scraping paint off an easel, would thrustempires down, trample Graeco - Romish influenceinto paint spattered dust. He neither was aware nor knew, the Alps and Sabine allies, Capua and other Latin tribeswould ruin his oath, cause Baal, the false god, to desert Punic prayers. 62***************************************************************THE GATHERING OF DEAD WOOD The gathering of dead wood - driven, pinched in faces betweenthe strain of Van Gogh's setting -had all the more realismhastening down that leaden street. Churning sockets, burdened with the duress of suffering, the street in vigorous winterraced like a bootblackup from the river. Hedged byblack stems called trees, rowsof withered houses and dim bread shopspropositioned rough headlightsalong a promenade of ice stalksand careening streetlamps. Fast in the cold, faces were juggernautsskating treacherouslyover the pond of that closed city. 63