Readings from Satori
Sarah Gronostalski is building this website anew. We’re adding old work and some new. I came across this wonderful review of Satori by Eleanor Parker Sapia and had to share it. Here are the last two paragraphs. Follow the link https://bit.ly/2HM0bga for the full piece:
Youthful lust, raw living, the building of America, and Death Waits, “Death waits at the corner/an old woman for the light…” and from Honey Word of Jesus Christ, “…One Sunday, I grew Old. One Sunday I learned of the Man in Me…”.
Once you catch your breath after reading the last line, you will return to page one to savor the haunting rhythm of Jack Remick’s life and the men and women who taught him what he knows. I highly recommend Satori, poems!
Quartet of Strange Poems
Did they ever, in silent caress twined
Under golden boughs, fuse their flesh
In gnashed tooth rapture, swift fingers
Running over ecstatic chill until
Delight ab-rupted from the ripening
Sweet-laden and ravishing up-swept succulence?
Not knowing flesh-feast or fruit-hunger
Could they have felt the storm in the abyss?
Nor infected with time-rush known the sea
Surges white beyond sirenic shoals?
With meaning mind we crack code
Written by wind-pen into the nascent soul.
Thrust from the lactant warm rich breast,
Weaned by force, by wrath out-hurled he,
Free-willed, tender innocent imaged ingrained
The deltic Rose in thorned realm till arose
A rod, prod wild wand of bacchic writhing
From which the world even yet is not recouped.
Wanton wandering ends in birth-cleft swallowed.
And she, voluptuous, high gorged naked angel,
Not knowing why her draping tresses blame-formed
Set fires to burn hope-faint lighting the abyss
Where we read frenzied runes
Written upon neoliths, soul-slate.
Life-cleft agape she breaks open as sea cycles
Back the flood of alkaline from which two
Build the wailing homunculus perpetual.
Her tender thighs splayed glisten while
Swimming her slick sweetness yet unvisioned
Spills the pity-map, diploid Duplicate,
Time-tallow to be crisped by rites, rituals
Anguished object of that seraphic rhapsodic
Delphic moment divine between eternal seek
And meek meat grilled on unending coals.
Ever will the reading mind puzzle out hieroglyphs
Etched on threnodic stones set in our bone?
As end, we, end-food, are a banquet eaten.
We are the feast where body soul ends fasting
Drinks Only Sun bright, fed into the birth-maw
Ignoring how heart becomes rapture becomes earth.
Collecting toll as final frost freezes
The portals of our katagogic mind,
Princes of Darkness erase
With black cloth sweeping across
The promise written everlasting…
Saint Teresa in Ecstasy
Memory of Wood
In Memory of MC Escher