Four Quaterns from Spinoza in Exile
|
by David Koehn
Quatern: Spinoza in Exile II if one god is without attributes, and the other is with in fi nite attributes Fibonacci — all the surged trills if one god is without attributes, fixed, there is a significant injury To the ear and the other is within a whale, a habit is an investigation if one god is without attributes a wail is within the other first alternation between G and A Fiotura is the sadness of Gaza if only one god is without attributes Quatern: Spinoza in Exile III Above the bluing river of the venous arch, Houtgracht canal reclines and seems to flow Into the big toe at the center of my sketch. The recorded sound of river carries a tune Even you can hear under your right ear, Above the bluing river of the venous arch, About walking, about feet, about bodies And bodies of bodies and aging antibodies. Golden carrot, fern leaf, dill weed, anise: What amalgam fractures the view? A bed Above the bluing river of the venous arch, After my death, I will not take last rites. Soaked in universal etymologies a crystal Of snow falls on the back of my hand Just north of a middle knuckle, its anticline Above the bluing river of the venous arch. Quatern: Spinoza in Exile IV I see you reaching down to pick up the stone, The loose cobble ready to be hurled. In this world of organized pattern and stone, Its glass and brick and its freemasons, The right-minded community so sure of themselves, I see you, reaching down to pick up the stone Once thrown that knows itself as knowing. White collar, white cuffs, pilgrim brimmed And walking, I love that Spinoza is walking. And reading, perhaps reading, Lao Tzu. I see you, reaching down to pick up the stone. At least in my mind, in Hirszenberg’s mind, Lao Tzu. Perhaps, “stop trying so hard.” When was it that I put in a bid for Hirszenberg’s 1906 sketch for his painting “Spinoza wyklêty?” I see you, reaching down to pick up the stone: The sketch, the dust of a ground lens shaped To shape the way consciousness might view Andromeda or amoebae, or breath within. I see you, reaching down to pick up the stone. Quatern: Spinoza in Exile V Here is my apologia word-for-word: First, da Costa’s doubt revealed me to me The neck of the pen is smooth, the surface Of the ink thorned, and the ring of the flower, The word for the word on the signet’s surface. Here is my apologia word-for-word: Not unlike a bajada’s fanning surface, The corners of Hendrik’s uneven eyes Would slightly wet as he looked at me When we drank our morning coffee. Here is my apologia word-for-word: The library’s favorite persona non grata Was a slim volume of dried flowers, mostly At least, the starch yellow of forgotten Clover, some yarrow, a thistle: Here is my apologia word-for-word. David Koehn's work has appeared in AQR, Carolina Quarterly, Kenyon Review, and elsewhere. SHARE - Issue: 1.8 / April 2026 |