{"id":98,"date":"2019-03-28T20:20:34","date_gmt":"2019-03-28T20:20:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/finkfinale.com.cp-ht-11.webhostbox.net\/myron\/?page_id=98"},"modified":"2022-03-11T09:19:40","modified_gmt":"2022-03-11T09:19:40","slug":"poetry-myronfink","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/finkfinale.com\/myron\/poetry-myronfink\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry – Myron Fink"},"content":{"rendered":"

Poetry – Myron Fink (PDF)<\/a><\/p>\n

\n

Rocks shine like scaly fish
\nBraced against the flow,
\nMountain mahogany, juniper
\nWatch, wait expectantly,
\nYawning stone sea lions
\nSun half-buried in sand.<\/p>\n

I lower my weight of years
\nTo coyote-eye level
\nFeel the hard cold press up
\nA hand crawls out to stroke a stone.<\/p>\n

Who is this foreigner?
\nSeeking asylum?
\nWhat does he want?<\/p>\n

“To be, without want,\u201d I heard him whisper.
\n\u201cTo be, among friends,
\nWelcome.\u201d<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, February 1993<\/p>\n

\n

In the Spring, tiny, tender shoots
\nOf fresh shy leaves
\nPress into window pane.
\nWaiting to be held?<\/p>\n

In their Spring, thousands
\nOf bewildered German Jewish children
\nSaid goodbye to family.
\n\u201cWrite every day!\u201d
\n\u201cWe\u2019ll see you soon!\u201d
\n\u201cBe brave. I love you!\u201d
\nIn England, they were scattered like seeds,
\nLetters came, stopped coming.
\nSilence, emptiness, only
\nThe arms of death.<\/p>\n

In my Spring
\nChaotic winds
\nTore out my patch of ground,
\nBlew me away.
\nNo-one called my precious name,
\nNo arms for a darling boy,
\nNot even the arms of death.<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, April 1991<\/p>\n

\n

An Old Story<\/strong><\/p>\n

I nuzzle in your
\nNeck, we cuddle, exchange kisses.
\nSex enters winking.<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, September 1988<\/p>\n

\n

Workers<\/strong><\/p>\n

Me Myron, you bee
\nI pick tomatoes, you sip
\nSweet flower nectar.<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, September 1988<\/p>\n

\n

Daily Life<\/strong><\/p>\n

Morning. The dark drug lifts and I am
\nHere again, feeling the slack,
\nBefore the tension closes in.<\/p>\n

Like my morning lemon drink,
\nI\u2019m set on automatic. Later
\nI will wind up my legs and set them moving
\nIn the city park.<\/p>\n

Between the tapes that play me
\nI am free to feel, to dream, lounge
\nOn my king-size bed, write poetry,
\nListen to music, be.<\/p>\n

Evenings, I retreat, surrender
\nTo TV, make-believe and reality,
\nTo addiction, especially chocolate.<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, undated<\/p>\n

\n

whoopsy dipsy make mine fish
\nmake mine wholly delish
\nin a world so swishy swish
\nthings are only what we wish<\/p>\n

maybe some will get the cash
\nsteal it smoke it make a stash
\nmornings we take out the trash
\nalways something makes the mash<\/p>\n

still too soon for April fools
\nnot too late to save the schools
\ndon\u2019t ask me to change the rules
\noff it man let\u2019s not be mules<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, March 1994<\/p>\n

\n

Paul<\/strong><\/p>\n

A distant train torch
\nAnd you were here
\nBlack bearded, soft voiced, taller
\nA world in your pack.<\/p>\n

Home with Mook and Dooge:
\nThree weeks of yummy dinners,
\nTalk of doings, comings, goings.
\nJobs – a closet for you to clean, records to tape;
\nTV watching, readings for Dad.
\nHow you stirred our settled soup\u2026<\/p>\n

Evenings, knee to knee
\nWe reminisced, remembered.
\nYou read from your diaries,
\nWe lit with words our family tree.
\nWhen I spoke of aging, Death
\nPurred like kittens on our laps.
\nYou said you would care for us
\nIn old age. We all wept.<\/p>\n

This home you left, so sunk
\nIn habit, is yours also
\nThough bit by bit we clean you out!
\nWe never left you at the train
\nWe never will.<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, January 1993<\/p>\n

\n

Hands<\/strong><\/p>\n

Sitting at the kitchen table, his small
\nhand in mine, I felt his little life,
\nhis trust. I showed him the back of mine:
\nscaly skin, the protruding veins
\nthat spoke of years of use.
\nWe stared at my hand, he in wonder and I
\nin fear of death\u2019s signs and warnings.<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, April 1994<\/p>\n

\n

Ez\u2019s Shoe<\/strong><\/p>\n

Each time I get my coat
\nFrom the hall closet
\nI see a small shoe
\nAnd I ask:
\nWhere is the other shoe, Ez?<\/p>\n

Did you lose it near the tree
\nWhere you made your mighty stream,
\nBronze boy of three
\nArching a rainbow?<\/p>\n

Or did you, generous heart,
\nGive it to a shoe fairy,
\nThe one I heard you talk to
\nThat day in the park?<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, January 1993<\/p>\n

\n

Watershed Park<\/strong><\/p>\n

Passive Cedars with elephant feet
\nWaiting for another day, another
\nWorld. My days are numbered too.
\nDespair not. We have each other.<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, December 1988<\/p>\n

\n

Self-Portrait<\/strong><\/p>\n

1
\nI\u2019m in charge here! I direct
\nA story that eludes me.
\nAlways right, always wrong,
\nHow can this be?<\/p>\n

Relentless, the heart beats,
\nTimed to running sand.
\nAware, unaware, I am ever
\nProdded toward the plank.<\/p>\n

Poet by decision, I listen,
\nAllow, playfully record
\nImages, world dissolved
\nIn distant music.<\/p>\n

My goal, to catch the magic
\nIn my self, the net.
\nOh yes! I will
\nHave it yet.<\/p>\n

2
\nI am Discovery! I sail
\nWith the wind, expect surprises,
\nLive with not knowing. My compass:
\nTo acknowledge, feel the hurt.
\nMy shore: Aliveness and self.
\nMy anchor: To heal before I die.<\/p>\n

~ Myron Fink, undated<\/p>\n

\n

A Father\u2019s Visit<\/strong><\/p>\n

I say to Anji \u201cI am the fire
\nThat lit your star.\u201d
\nI kiss her eyes and we cry.
\nThe best scene in our play
\nIs this opening line.
\nLater we will tell stories
\nAnd get busy unpacking
\nLetting the magic glue between us
\nCrust over.<\/p>\n

\u2014 Myron Fink, 1993?<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Poetry – Myron Fink (PDF) Rocks shine like scaly fish Braced against the flow, Mountain mahogany, juniper Watch, wait expectantly, Yawning stone sea lions Sun half-buried in sand. I lower my weight of years To coyote-eye level Feel the hard cold press up A hand crawls out to stroke a stone. Who is this foreigner? … <\/p>\n

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