After the paintings of Gonzalo Endara Crow
Why is it in our country trains roll across the trackless sky?
Why are the hills puce and mauve? Why do the trees
bring forth bouquets of fairy-floss pink?
Green spheres, like apples filled with helium, float upward
through the blue air. The hillsides
are dotted with square houses, and below in the valley
a town collects itself round a circle of dust.
There people gather, reaching out
to touch balloons before they ascend,
departing the world and its cares. In the street
blue maize lies gigantic like an abandoned harvest,
and the blue horse, defiant as nature,
stands its ground amid the ceremony of pilgrims.
We do not know where we go or why, but our dreams
are whole worlds. On the hilltops, enormous candles burn,
attracting moths, which in their turn attract the hungry birds.
Above each flame, birds and moths flutter like confetti,
a festival of life and death. It’s like that in our country.
Even in darkness, there is some light, some hope,
mysterious pleasures.
—
Jeff Klooger’s poetry has been published in Australian and international online and print journals. Recently his work has appeared in The Liberal, Words-Myth, Eureka Street, Full Of Crow and Text. His other interests are music and philosophy. His first book, on the ideas of the Greek-French philosopher Cornelius Castoriadis, was published in 2009.
