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Graze

From: Colorado Review
Volume 40, Number 3, Fall/Winter 2013
pp. 123-125 | 10.1353/col.2013.0084

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

It is sad

I mistook in my own hand
The word capable for gamble
Kicking and testing the new
Raw earth how children do
The very ground along a creek
Kicking stones, percussing
With little sticks in both hands
Applying questions, scraping at
What meager surface makes itself
Available. A man on a stone
Sits on his heels observing,

With a hand he strikes his stone.
He could be anyone. The children
In pink and lavender, he could be
Mocking them, their violence,
He could be making a mark, a tally,
A piece of white across the stone, could be
His cigarette across the stone, opposite
Of lighting a match. Opposite of spark.
Quick fleck of spit received by water.

It is nothing

Thus call it a comfort, a curing,
A charcuterie—the pretty salty words—
Venereal, secret, syphilitic.
Government doctor loose
On a southern population testing
A sense of ground gathered to him
An audience—prison orphanage
Colony asylum—He cannot explain
The gifts he transmits, he says
They could not understand, that is,
Would not be capable. I would not

Be capable. He scratched each charge
Below the knee, inscribed it with
Disease. It cannot be said
They were given nothing, they were
Given sight, constant oversight.
The doctor’s wife made documents
With her camera, black and white,
As the pinks, lavenders made ground.
I could not make enough of looking,
I could not resist making a figure
Of the records, a swollen archives
Not my memory, yet infects
The ground I see, of my seeing.

It is sunny

Anger, making light of nothing really.
Oxeye Rosehip Raspberry Poplar
Cabbage Carrot Kale. The moony
Flowers I cannot name but came
To piss on looking up one night.
Who can tell the phosphenes
From true stars? Of its own accord

The sky began, of its own the sky
Began with me to light, at least
A lightening, scratched into a sense
Of galaxy, I could not be sure,
Does the sky of its own accord
Abrade itself, does the sky lift
At night. He said the mind is not
A shortcut and stopped.

It is evil

A pattern subtracted by water’s action,
Kicking and testing surface, ribbed
Capillaries, negative rooting, surface
And ground of sense, sensing, which
Is what, a perimeter otherwise perfect,
Cut. To appraise contrast. Glacier,
Glacier alone, glacier in its valley.
To accustom, to feel it familiar.
The glacier scratching

Its valley. The glacier letting milky water
Active between poplar, glinting, active
Leaves, each leaf gives dull light
Through this window, scoured,
In this light, scratched, each scratch
Appearing. Thready. Prismatic.

Nabil Kashyap  

Nabil Kashyap lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan. His poems and essays have appeared in Seneca Review, Versal, Actually People and elsewhere. "Graze" owes something to the John Cutler Papers recently released by the National Archives and to an extraordinary and very long lecture on Keats given in McCarthy, Alaska.

Copyright © 2013 Center for Literary Publishing
Project MUSE® - View Citation
Nabil Kashyap. "Graze." Colorado Review 1.3 (2013): 123-125. Project MUSE. Web. 11 Nov. 2013. <http://muse.jhu.edu/>.
Kashyap, N.(2013). Graze. Colorado Review 1(3), 123-125. Center for Literary Publishing. Retrieved November 11, 2013, from Project MUSE database.
Nabil Kashyap. "Graze." Colorado Review 1, no. 3 (2013): 123-125. http://muse.jhu.edu/ (accessed November 11, 2013).
TY - JOUR
T1 - Graze
A1 - Nabil Kashyap
JF - Colorado Review
VL - 1
IS - 3
SP - 123
EP - 125
PY - 2013
PB - Center for Literary Publishing
SN - 2325-730X
UR - http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/colorado_review/v040/40.3.kashyap.html
N1 - Volume 40, Number 3, Fall/Winter 2013
ER -

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