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drawing of book 'The Word at World's End, by Francis Brabazon Book Review:
The Word
At World's End
francis brabazon
John F. Kennedy University Press 70 Pages 1.95



When Baba instructed Francis Brabazon to compose his poetry in "ghazals," He issued a most difficult command. The "ghazal" does not lend itself well to the English language. But Brabazon accepted His order with the grace of the poet and his work has proven equal to the challenge. His latest, The Word at World's End, is no exception. His rhymes are not contrived and his lines flow so naturally and effortlessly one must take care he is not lulled into a meditative trance.


(from "A Dream of Wet Pavements")



Singly the lionesses walk
gazelles' their eyes and doves' their talk;
nothing can hinder them nor balk
the slaughter of the game they stalk.
Upon the polished plain each goes
determinedly poised on her toes,
led by the gentle breeze that blows
the thread of scent hooked in her nose.
They walk aloof in rhythmed trance
as priestesses in a phallic dance —
the quarry is the jungle giants,
they do not leave success to chance.
They stalk the polished evening plains,
gazelles' their eyes, foxes' their brains,
their talk is like soft summer rains;
they swing their hips and lash their trains.
Decapitated close-up heads
sing arias from the watersheds
of roofs, torsos in chromium sleds
ride down the night of snowy beds
And high above the city square
stainless steel angels debonair
chant, All in war and love is fair —
humming for chorus the Lord's Prayer.




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