Tabernacle by Cid Corman, 1980


For Frank
Not the former
I waiter, etc - but
what the printers
did. But there are
finally some alternatives
in the offering.
In any event-
the poetry comes-
Much love

Nothing more
than this. And
this enough.

But no one-
short of death-
admits it.

Locked in ourselves
hopelessly and
dreaming of hope

So many sills
gaping. We die
until we die.

Not silent-
night insects-
being born

The bane of
and the point.

It could snow tonight.
If feels like it. You
have to listen close

to catch the sound of
that first flake. The new
nuance of silence.

Opening the door
onto the back porch
scaring a sparrow

away-feeling not
only a fool but
a gross intruder.

The first word
and the last
are to be

for we re-
main human.


  1. Claudia,

    thank you for these Corman verses: sweet,generous & insightful as the man must have been.

  2. Conrad,
    Yes, a true poet and most wonderful friend to Frank.



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