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B.Z. Niditch




Paz is passing by

his voice remembers

when city streets

would welcome words

of civility

your thoughts

a repast of taste

with the intimate

reprimanded recurrences

and sentences

of your stranded past

you speak and sing to me

over names that slept

a thousand days

in rose blossoming

over deserts

of thirst of watering holes

from Mexico's sounds

ascending in the dawn

even now

his gated shadows are here

enough reported

and said by your cortege.






At the Berlin Jewish museum

a poet writing turns toward me

embracing signs of history

and art from California

from your yellow studio

at those days R.B.Kitaj once

traced back in Berkeley

in drawn paints on screen

of wet silhouettes

remembering his tribute

to Creeley and Duncan

who visit you, Kitaj

in London, 1977

with unrelenting brushstrokes

from outdoor cafes of lovers.





(1882- 1941)


In your living room

of entrance, entr'acte

and departure

from crystal goblets

you drink and draw in

from blinds and awnings

of a fallen crossword abyss

in your answered mind

visiting from a metamorphosis

of a quest on boulevards

overlooking the sea

flowers found on roads

you pick up rose petals

near the fountain water

wrapped in quiet silences

a crisp tongue rolled

over the lawn mower

by London green

at dawn's walk of the dog

moving to leaves on fire

an astonished figure in the sun

waving only to the wind

with a post -war cut story

pasted from the vessels

of your outlook opens

at an optimistic notebook

her crystal pocketbook

in her hands

remembering how art

enters and leaves our world

as a well known influence

from your own image

of renewed language

from square toed critics

who have gone before you

with their own petulance

love, prejudice or parlance.







You crashed against

the careful landscapes

in an avalanche of paint

as a tenant of breathless

wall art

scents of a kindled hand

knowing your signature

will not remain suspended

in water shed reputations

along the Hudson

from a raining downpour 

of hypnotic spellbound drawings,

in a lightness of a viaduct

of being connected

as we came to visit you

from California's entrance

here we depart

Omaha all aboard

with John Denver

even Lord Baltimore's here

get up kid, he tells me

in my blue beret

take off your Gogol overcoat

Big Apple, next stop

your urban read

is ready for first announcing

in its buzz

we are on call,

let's visit the museum.






We waved as grackles rose

on Cambridge Common

standing near the Charles River

a young poet on the corner

near the news stand

by the first rays of the sun

his alto sax blown near

the bicycle racks

waiting under every limb

of a hundred years of Evergreen

holding Virgil as a guide

by the law faculty

at a Mass. Avenue sighting

needing your company

as you returned from Brazil

refreshed and vetted

I'm palpitating by a hornets nest

fro an allergic reaction

after attending religious session

on meditation

you show her a new poem

and abracadabra,

the dead wind of December

becomes alive.

Knot Magazine

B.Z Niditch is a poet, playwright, and fiction writer.
His work is widely published in journals and magazines throughout the world, including: Columbia: A Magazine of Poetry and Art; The Literary Review; Denver Quarterly; Hawaii Review; Le Guepard (France); Kadmos (France); Prism International; Jejune (Czech Republic); Leopold Bloom (Hungary); Antioch Review; and Prairie Schooner, among others. His newest poetry collection, "Everything, Everywhere," will be available from Penhead Press in September.

He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts.

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