My Brother Knows Nabokov*
When with close listening
we draw meaning
from disarticulation
his constricted life expands
and rolls along in curves and cuts
as alluvial streams trace through
the silting out
of memories and plans,
of Bond movies watched on DVD,
the nightly news of ’76, his two flights west
and Alice Cooper lyrics.
Broken twigs and latticed leaves tumble loose
pressured by his very certain reveries
of hard-edged, dark, unbounded efficacy.
Today: His guilty premonition
of the oil train explosion,
a smoldering conspiracy,
just across the border.
This tragedy rises, not
from a loss of meaning,
but in the raging
floods of consequence.
*Vladimir Nabokov wrote about parents caring for their schizophrenic son and “Referential mania” where he
“imagines that everything happening around him is a veiled reference to his personality and
existence…. Clouds in the staring sky transmit to each other, by means of slow signs, incredibly
detailed information regarding him. His in-most thoughts are discussed at nightfall, in manual
alphabet, by darkly gesticulating trees.”
V. Nabokov, Symbols and Signs, The New Yorker, May 15, 1948.
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