Brad in Boulder. Photo by Tim Carpenter
I’m currently on the road with Brad Zellar and our fantastic tour manager Tim Carpenter in Colorado (follow us HERE). As usual with the Dispatch trips, there is little time for reading and writing. But following up on last week’s popsicle, I did bring along a copy of Denis Johnson’s collected poems, The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly. As we push onward in Colorado, this poem seems appropriate:
Passengers
by Denis Johnson
The world will burst like an intestine in the sun,
the dark turn to granite and the granite to a name,
but there will always be somebody riding the bus
through these intersections strewn with broken glass
among speechless women beating their little ones,
always a slow alphabet of rain
speaking of drifting and perishing to the air,
always these definite jails of light in the sky
at the wedding of this clarity and this storm
and a woman’s turning — her languid flight of hair
traveling through frame after frame of memory
where the past turns, its face sparking like emery,
to open its grace and incredible harm
over my life, and I will never die.
You, or I should say this poem and your current experience to relate it, has put me into an extraordinary fugue state. Thanks for the memory.