Sharon Dolin is the author of seven books of poetry, most recently Imperfect Present; a memoir entitled Hitchcock Blonde; and two books of translation, most recently Late to the House of Words: Selected Poems by Gemma, winner of Saturnalia Books Malinda A. Markham Translation Prize and finalist for the Griffin Poetry Prize. Dolin is Associate Editor of Barrow Street Press and teaches poetry workshops in New York City.
Please visit: https://sharondolin.com
Meditations on Cap Canaille
Cassis
Your name Canaille comes from Latin
Canalis mons, mountain of waters,
or better still: Cap naïo, Provençal
for the mountain that swims. If I climb
to your rocky summit, Grande Tête,
I would see the Golfe de Cassis where I swim,
the Calanques lined with boats, all the way
to Marseille harbor. Why do we travel?
Is it to gaze at a new mountain, dive into
unexplored waters? To flee the city
of compressed moments where we live
as though inside Time’s pressure cooker
that leaves us tender yet still raw,
thirsting for the new? Isn’t it because
Time opens itself up to offer us
the bliss of encountering ourselves
in this extended iridescent moment:
our senses once more enlivened
and blended as if we were still children
swilling through our skin and nose
and eyes this nacreous world.
Ode to the Aleppo Pine
White pine of Provence, Jerusalem
pine, growing out of the sides
of limestone cliffs of the Calanques
and bending toward the shore
outside my door, you need
little soil, thrive in plentiful sun,
sculpted by wind—easily burning
easily regrowing—the seeds
in your cones bearing wings.
Oh let me return as one of you
leaning toward the sea—
instead of pining for my
past life, yearning for whatever
new life awaits me.
Poetry in this post: © Sharon Dolin
Published with the permission of Sharon Dolin