William Seaton's touch of Borges: "Perhaps I am a video game"

 

Perhaps I am a video game

and someone is playing me,

with a small lever

moving me deftly right and left.

“Perhaps,” I said to Patricia

“we are competitors,

well, not us, but our operators.”

Suddenly I felt I had lost

forty points and still the game

rolled inexorably on.

It would not be so bad, perhaps,

if I knew some being somewhere

was doing it all:

trying to avoid disease monsters

and self-flagellation

and ugly ego pits

and seeking on the other hand

to accumulate wisdom

and money and the taste

of fresh berries -- ah! --

and thrills and love-kisses

and the premium prize

a quiet lake in the mind.

 

 

From Planetary Motions by William Seaton

 

For more on the book: Planetary Motions: Seaton, William: 9798696999210: Amazon.com: Books

 

For more on William Seaton: William Seaton – GIANT STEPS PRESS

 

For more on his blog: Poetry on the Loose

An eye to Ganga Ma from William & Patricia Seaton

 

Mahashamsana

 

(Varanasi is sometimes called by this name

when regarded as the great cremation ground

for the corpse of the universe.  During nightly

services at the Dasaswemedh Ghat, worshippers

set tiny candles afloat.)

 

I walked the ghats with holy men and touts,

and monkeys eyeing every scrap of food.

The river Shiva loved flows by obscure

with corpses, chemicals, and shit.  The god

must grin at dissolution bright and fine

and welcome every shred of tender flesh,

though Mother Ganges hardly could care less,

indifferent, hosting pathogens and fish,

and bearing the brief flame of every wish.

(poem by Willian Seaton from Planetary Motions; photo by Patricia Seaton)

"Chichería" by William Seaton (from PLANETARY MOTIONS)

Photo by Patricia Seaton 

(it was election day in Peru and the peasants were in town from the hills to vote and have a few drinks)

Chichería

 

Red plastic bag like refuse marks the chichería,

its benches half the breadth of my behind.

This shed I think was built in just a day –

a few good kicks would turn it to debris,

and yet I think the place must serve up hope.

I’m seated with the rest to seek my share.

 

A chichería is an unlicensed establishment

selling the indigenous people’s homemade

beer, usually based in corn. 

"Place de l'Horloge, Avignon" by William Seaton

photo by Patricia Seaton

Place de l'Horloge, Avignon

Beneath the fourteenth century Gothic clock

where animated figures strike the hour

the double-decked old carousel turns round.

Its horses' riders grin and laugh and wave.

Some ride above the others, some below,

some sit on steeds and some on frogs and some

on swans or pigs or ornamented thrones.

And all around are lovely painted scenes

of heroes, quiet ponds and mountain heights

that -- were they not so fine -- could all be real.

The riders speed along and go nowhere.

(Their motion by itself is motive too.)

Each face betrays a soul absorbed in what

is happening just then. This must be wise.

But when the music stops -- it always is

too soon -- the children know the jig is up.

They then descend a few more minutes old.

They've passed the time and I’ve done nothing more.

William Seaton, from his forthcoming collection, Planetary Motions, Giant Steps Press