“I’m no exception, please call my name…”

Some messengers are ambivalent about their own calling. This one perches 175 feet up, high above the birdwatcher, just below Medusa, and weirdly close to angels.


Rilke from his rampart: Beauty’s naught
But terror’s dawn.
Then why do mirk-mites wrought
From strofe and stub, Creation’s afterthought,
Squat seraph-like on spits above the earth:
To herald terror’s end, or stress the birth

Of idle envoys? Will my gaze reverse
The pattern, roughly swat the form aright,
Or only skew the catachresis worse
For pious poets? Dismal in whose sight
We loom in low, like pests, and while you write
Like angels on a book-shelf in Berlin

We stand and wait for nothing to begin.

(For all the entries in this series, hit the “looking up” tab, or read the gargoyle FAQ.)

One thought on ““I’m no exception, please call my name…”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s