literate  ~  canadian ~ global  ~ celebrating 5 years of insignificance

[Home] [Submissions] [Links] [Search & Archives]


Taking Shape

by Ed Carson

I

The idle days of autumn close. The planet tries to keep to itself.
It is a place where the thought of everything comes

back to caress the ferns. History lies on its back and dreams.
This is a place where nature has misplaced its urge

to compose itself. The leaves tremble with the shifting earth.
The cooling wind turns itself inside out.

We lie here beside the open window and wonder what
on earth can keep us from each other. Our sex is a shape

that finds itself taking the shape of the other. In coming
together there is no shape of things to keep in mind,

as if we knew the differences between this way or that.
First comes the hot invention of love, the silky stroke

of your bedclothes against me. Then, the ragged need to make
sense of our inarticulate breath, our cold sweat, our absent fears.

What takes shape around us is a rhetoric of words, an island
of knowing one silence, pressed up, hard, against another.

II

The long night closes. The tree’s broad branch reaches out
to shake itself free of an incomprehensible darkness.

The shape of things, taking shape, has no knowing motive
in mind. What it takes for one thing can soon

be another. Understand, then, this is one thing now,
and another tomorrow. This shape is no shape at all

but a target of time and the time it takes
its crimson leaves to reach out, to fill another description.

Minute by minute, the swelling of our lives, like the wind,
Moves across from one to another. We reach out to find

the argument we harbour keeps a dark space
between us, has become almost familiar,

though even now I dream, delaying perversely,
of reconciliation, dream you dream

of running my hand along the sheer nylon heat
of your thigh. A dark space, wholly surprising,

this darkness we listen in. Not to be denied, not to be
forgotten, we need to shake this darkness out.

III

When morning breaks, it does so like a tide
moving along a long, flat shore. It does so

with the pace and cadence of a thousand thousand
years of patience and practice, streaming in our window

to find our waking flesh. This might be the glory,
this might be the shape that has no shape at all.

This might be the wind of a wind
that knocks at our door and finds us waiting.

There is everything around us to give us pause.
There is everything around that brings us into

a long history of finding this shape of things.
When morning breaks, the night surrenders.

The clouds before the sun fill the thoughtful sky,
moving this way, moving that, breathing in, breathing out.

We are careful not to wake everything at once.
We are careful not to find more than one thing at a time.

IV

The water is cold. It needs tasting.
Then, reach out and wrap the water in your arms

and imagine its small pink mouth and tongue
circling your nipple, pulling it in, pulling it out

till you know you just can’t take it any more.
The water evades the shape you thought

it might be, fills the suck and glory of your love,
laps in a lick the passion beginning to fill you.

The water fills an empty space, admitting its
swelling shape to be whatever you might wish for.

The water has a hold on you that lifts and shakes
more than you might have adored its simply symmetry.

V

The shape of things to come is the very last of things
we think of, the last of a generation of thought

moving between us, inventing the time and place
of our love and laughter. Together we will summon

the part of the day, and the part of the night,
the part of the land, and the part of the water

where we have lain so gently in each other’s arms,
where we have dreamed so much, and said so little.

There is nothing left on this wide earth to explain.
There is nothing else for us to come home to.

E.J. Carson received his M.A. in English before joining General Publishing/Stoddart as an Editor in 1980. There he rose to the position of Publisher in the newly formed Stoddart Publishing line. Moving to Random House Canada in 1985 as VP Publishing, he began and developed over the next six years that company's very successful Canadian publishing list. He has edited and published many well known authors such as Carol Shields, Dennis Lee, Eli Mandel, Leon Rooke, David Suzuki, and John Ralston Saul, and launched several successful book series such as New Press Canadian Classics, Spectrum Poetry, and the Canadian Living Cookbooks. In 1991 he joined the newly formed HarperCollins Canada, eventually rising to the position of President. This was followed in 1999 when he joined Pearson Education Canada as President of its newly formed trade division, Pearson PTR Canada. Ed Carson has published one book of poetry, Scenes (Porcupine's Quill).

 

[Home] [Submissions] [Links] [Search & Archives]

The Danforth Review is produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. All content is copyright of the person who created it and cannot be copied, printed, or downloaded without the consent of that person. See the masthead on the submissions page for editorial information. All views expressed are those of the writer only. International submissions are encouraged. The Danforth Review is archived in the Library and Archives Canada. ISSN 1494-6114. 

[see TDR visitors by month]   

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts. Nous remercions de son soutien le Conseil des Arts du Canada.