Still Water Prose Poems

Copyright @ 1989 by Arthur Garfunkel
ISBN 0-525-24795-5
Used by persmission of Author - All Rights Reserved


    Here on the other side of 1983, I begin to let the
year roll backward. Erosion becomes crystalliza-
tion. That which eroded (which thrust into exist-
ence) becomes sudden destruction. And a death
played forward is rebirth in reverse.

    But most to the point of '83, to synergy from
entropy—To trace the perfect circle, you must walk
a narrow line, you must check tangential forces and
repress the spiral instinct for the center. Ever observ-
ing the Master's fixed radius, forsaking the chord
for the bow, till you go nuts, and you spring to the
rest of your life, thinking—wheels are for wagons
and wings are for flight!

Now what does all this look like backward:

    A free wide ranging peregrine will leave the sky
to alight on the wheel of a Jaguar. The vantage point
from the left rear wheel to the driver (an old friend of
the hitchhiking bird) leaves a lot to be desired in case
something need be said. Sure enough, there's mis-
alignment in the vehicle. By the millionth revolu-
tion on the axle's eccentricity, the wheel itself is
bent, the metal burning.
But heart like a wheel will go back to the cool-
ing contemplation of the circle.

    January, 1983: with tremulous cords, with my
own latest highest evolvement of a life of devotion to
beauty, with a comprehending glance into the deep
of an unfilled well, I mounted the circumference of
his disc.

New York CityMarch 1984