I AM poem, after Amergin

I am listless in the fog that turns green 

as if it were liquid dripping off from the trees. 

I am the pungent breath of hot summer.
I am whispering in the shadows, 

telling everyone’s story to the wind. 

I am bright, green and tender in spring. 

Animals come to my green fingers, 

after a long winter, soft white birds 

binds me towards their mouths.

I am a roaring inferno, an explosion under fire. 

I am the feathers of gray doves, 

drifting and settling on the earth. 

I am dark, the dark comfort of soil, 

which regenerates new growth.

I am the tears of sorrow

pressed into the deep bosom of the earth. 

I am the liquid sun, frozen sun, 

the eyes of tigers, of shadows, 

and bees hide within me.

I am amber worn around the neck of a woman.
I nestle in the darkness, thick dust settles 

until I can no longer see. 

6/85

Susan Kennedy Workshop, Mark West School

this seems like a new poem…

I am the cleaner of artist brushes, 

I am varnish, I am turpentine. 

I am amber resin. I am pine, 

I am forests kneeling before the fire.

6/85

Susan Kennedy Workshop, Mark West School

This was notes from a workshop on Amergin that Susan Kennedy taught at my school, it was either May 84 or June 85. I have a whole bunch of other poems and fragments from June 85, so I’m not sure what year this was written—but they were all written in the same purple ink. This was buried deep in my teaching notes. untranscribed, though all the other ones were in my journal. So it was a surprise to find it. (This is why I have to go through every single piece of paper in my teaching journals). I had money from my CAC grant to bring in guest artists, and both Susan and Mike Tuggle were my guest artist for the year. —MH added 2/24