Flat and Round

by Larry Eigner

Genres: Poetry

Chapbook

First published January 1, 1980

Reviews

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Close up 

I lie across the bed with my matched feet 
 w e l i v e i n t h e g r e a t w - o r l d 
the ceiling above my eyes just like my toes 
It looks like I'm dying but I can't see, what goes on 

In the front room a television is playing 
The old movies, like we went down the corner as kids 
Only these are the grade A's, the classes with affairs 
 [ and bibs 
In the drawing-room they are saying something as the 
 [ scene opens 
A repetition It's just like the first night 
I don't know what's hit me, I saw the trails before 
 [ sunset, I can't actually tell the placement of stars 
 while the beaches of my childhood may still be white 




the black pants 
 black dog 
 walk off 

 plane black this time 
 over the empty lawn 

 a space clear a 
 moment of no rain



SPRING NIGHT

spring 12 o'clock 
by a chain 

it is not dark 

the moon 
and lack of some cloud

or it is 
 but the air is pervasive 
 weeds hem and advance 
 of whatever kind 
 the crickets drop 
 undriven from 
 the field, line 
 of the roads, the back 
 yards 
 not having come 

 the cats 
 with their conscionless tongues



FOR THE LONG SEASON 

five pigeons on the rim of the barrels 
 they are tin and so rattle 

 and it takes two seconds to get 
 on the other side of the street 

 and there is the air 

 sound does not travel 
 for it can't be seen 

 I hear them from far away 
 the birds outline the world 

 the pigeons walk in the air
 as we swim 
 while the leaves are blown

O creatures

 critters, we 
 are the world in the sky 

 the cats make themselves narrow 
 going through 



 Association 

 Thought 
 against death
 variety 
 death no-one can lead 
 death 
 the stars bloom, a current 
 dream, where it is night mostly 

 but there is no death, for they were never living 

 they burn 

 the points 
 like death 




in the morning 
 bird tail 
 below the gutter 
 and another one 
under a high cloud 

 glass reflects branches 
 the air they ride 
 how much neighborhood 

 leaves caught me 
 sounding like rain 

 the tree on the walk 
 bread borne
 to it 
 and next to the yard 
 mountainous over the fence 



Pure. 

on the 60 mile highway 
The sign, Falling stones 

from a five-yard cliff 
Why shouldn't we get there 
blinded to sure speed 

 the rotary canyons 
 inscribed bare speed 

 the countryside 

one blade of grass 
 isn't enough 

 and burned-over stars! 
 the wind at the sea 
 building, the railroads
 tension 
 on a quiet Friday, smoke 
 the blot hills 
 interest to the blind 
 like the random fires banks



Last day on earth 
 for a while at least 
 fingers 
 bamboo 

 a plane goes over 
 my eyes 

 a shadow lost 
 darkness space 
 not night, the day 
 24 hours 

 flight the tandem 
 with these usual people 
 all this time is alone 
 I feel the tilt 

 I am far above the graves 

 the distances down out of sight 

 a look at the sky 
 a view of the weather so many 
 trees where the island ends 
 below the cloud



more palpable than the moon 
 the rock takes 
 its element 

 the sea comes up 

 shape comes motion 

 it reflects the light 
 absorbed at the same time 

 the intervening air 
 settled by clouds 
 islands of mists



 Up in the air
 give me
 air 
 flying-machine like a bed 
 reportedly 
 a rough landing 
 in the sands 

 eagles 
 though with meat hanging above 
 a ragged team 

 birds will sit 
 on a plane's tail 

 propellors independent 
 the speed 

 hot smoke 

 then the open
 air 
 wide "philosophers, officials, students and loiterers"
 le Champ de Mars where
 it was raining "a 
 new-born baby?" hour

[[Guy Murchie, afterwards 'bounced
 Song of the Sky, upon a field.' prodded
 1954]] hissed out its
 dangerous smell the 
 evil corpse dragged off 

 the fabric along the ground 

 sky from flat to round what 
 cleared weather 

 sunshine to remember snow and the moon 

 a balloon with a picture
 on it 
 this was a success 
 swift nearly as idea 
 people considering travel 
 so a week later 
 'a sheep, cock and duck' 
 in fancy stripes 
 'honor' of being the ... 
 nearly went to criminals 
 and it seemed safe enough 
 or 
 cautiously they 
 experiment , Pilatre et 
 le marqt1is, November
 ...
 27 miles 
 end of the year 
 oop the shirt life, Louis 
 you who 
 never went up 
 like the Shah's 4-poster 
 to come down in the desert 
 or across the Channel 
 into the wood 
 compass, barometer, anchors, flags, 
 apples, life jackets, small windmill, 
 bottle of brandy, pamphlets
 oars ballast 
 even tossed his pants 
 overboard 
 the last dangerous minute 
 after relieving self 
 the windy man 
 not much having worked 
 12 miles beyond the coast 
 the car 
 in the Calais Museum 
 albatross sleep high 
 athletes, the birds 
 where the snow flies



streets, streets 
 the map, the picture 
 the field there cross 
 out 
 the way high 
 low, what 
 straight is 
 the sea reaches 
 wind 
 you tum, elsewhere 
 down 
 from now 
 me on



Imagination heavy with 
 worn power 

 the wind tugging 
 leaves 

 from the florist's shop 

 some silence distanced 



complicated lighting, more 
 glass 
 wires borne off a hill 

 now I need a hole in the head 

 branch 
 against chimney 

 whatever time bears 
 smoke 

 enough rain 
 a roof dumps 
 into the sea 

 more clouds adrift 

 gauge of reason 



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