The mind will go
where it will even when sense
forbids so an unseen life unfolds
very far from anywhere else.
Scull tugging the indifferent stream
of a darkening river much as a child
will on mother’s apron strings
then in reflection the sanctuary green
isles rise. Softly held by reverence
only innocents know, tenderly
dredged along muddy shore
where the skiff uncertain rocked
on mussels, pebbles, and who can say
whose history lost to one long ago
flood. When at dusk the river ran whiskey
golden in our teens, before ferment
of cornmeal and sinew caught
our breaths in summer, once
when the waters were still clear
enough to gaze down to the bed.
Captive amid currents, stubborn hillocks
wait like memory, bar the channel. Shoals
divide these impartial waters and strand
reckless sailors under moonlit skies.
Months lost discovering
the lost in vaguely marshy points
always threatening dissolution in flood
months between estranged shores.
Sheltered where the wild blackberry grows
sweet and painful beside the wringer
washer, tangled shreds of forgotten laundry
stubbornly clinging to a disintegrating
basin. The scent of rust a first taste
of moonshine, strangely sweet
fire in the throat tinged with the dried
blood of lost causes, curling round
the clarity of snowy dogwood blooms,
the embrace of the wild honeysuckle.
Those little islands spoke in tangles
and shards, what was forgotten
and lost. There in the mire
among the sunning turtles, a child
embraced safety, delighted in frog song,
puzzled over shattered things.
Marooned in these still waters
of oral history can we escape
the sodden present
or shall we languish here
very far from anywhere else.
7 comments:
Well, PB, this is the type of poem that reminds me why, while i am not a poet, i bow down in admiration to you people. This may not be a very helpful comment, because i feel very out of my depth here, but i will do my best.
i was thrown off, at first, by the rythm of the poem because it has a very specific way to be read--usually i can read quickly and easily, but i had to pause between each word here and work it out. one i fell into it, though, it was incredibly melodic, and i really liked the way it sounded. also, sometimes poetry is lost on me because of the way i read, and i think that it isn't a bad thing to force people to slow down and read carefully...it makes me, at least, appreciate each word and each one of these images more, and isn't that really the point of reading poetry??
i was especially taken with two of the images--the one where you describe the old basin of forgotten laundry with the wild blackberry growing next to the washer. i thought that it seemed really organic--the basin rusting and the laundry rotting, alone and forgotten and reverting back to nature. i also liked the next verse, where you described the first taste of moonshine. the phrase "dried blood of lost causes" was probably my favorite part of the poem.
one part that bothered me a little was something, as usual, about the word usage. maybe this is something that you were actually going for, but in the verse about the laundry, you use the word 'shred'. then, two verses later, you use 'shards'. then, in the next verse you use 'shattered'. the 'shred' was used with 'tangles', and the 'shards' was also used with 'tangles'...somehow that threw me. were you tring to draw parallels here? maybe it would be too overt if you used both 'tangles' with the same word--either 'shred' or 'shard', but they seem too close to each other and to 'shattered', especially with how physically close they are to each other in the poem. but again, i'm not sure if you actually were going for that, like a play on the difference of the words or something. if so, feel free to ignore my babblings.
clear as mud? i thought so. but really excellent work here.
Hi LO, thanks very much for the comments as always. I know prose writers tend to feel out of their depth when discussing poetry but I don't know why. All poets are really doing is finding compressed ways to tell stories. Same idea just a different way of coming at it.
I thought your remarks were quite insightful actually. The thing about the rhythms was dead on for instance. I do want the reader to slow down and notice things. That's a common trick of mine actually, messing with rhythms that is. And when I'm not doing that I'm messing with the multiple uses of words and phrases. I'm a practical joker at heart and I think that's why I write poetry. :)
About shreds, shards, shattered thing: You were right to suspect a connection between these words and maybe I am relying too heavily on the reader playing a little word association with me. "Shreds" is a word I associate with paper and cloth but we also say that a person is in shreds or a relationship. All things that "tear". That word appears in a stanza that is talking about the speakers world or "now".
"Shards" is a word I associate with pottery and things archaeological thus the islands are "speaking" in shards (broken ancient things) and tangles (mixing the images of wild vegetation, a child's hair, things that are hard to follow or mysterious).
"Shattered" applies to both the state of the little islands, the lives of those who had to abandon the area, the life of the speaker, and the here and now. I meant to draw the past and present closer together here. The fact that it is a child who's puzzling over the shattered things is also not insignificant. :) Of course I'm not going to unravel the whole thing for you, what fun would that be?
Anyway, your comments have shown me that I'm very much headed where I wanted to go with this. Much obliged!
I knew I forgot something, I always do!
Hearts and minds can be shattered; families, futures and dreams can be shattered; and the river is a mirror that can also be shattered. Think about that. :D
It could be shortened, I think. Maybe there is no need for the first stanza and I am a little bit puzzled with the sentence structure at times, it seems like it complicates things too much. Instead of wording a sentence a little bit simpler you have have seemed to have complicated it.
there's some lovely imagery though such as:
'of cornmeal and sinew caught
our breaths in summer'
and 'mother’s apron strings' which reflects on the love of the mother such as 'pulling on the heart strings'.
Thanks for this ;)
Thanks for commenting, Tiger. I know you're not a fan of long poems. :)
I do think the first stanza is important if for no other reason it sets up what follows. It's the reader's way into the poem that I more or less require of any poem. I know you're also into abstract work so of course this a point we disagree upon.
Now this bit:
Scull tugging the indifferent stream
of a darkening river much as a child
will on mother’s apron strings
then in reflection the sanctuary green
isles rise. Softly held by reverence
only innocents know, tenderly
dredged along muddy shore
where the skiff uncertain rocked
on mussels, pebbles, and who can say
whose history lost to one long ago
flood.
You were speaking about sentence structure and I thought this bit would be a good example of what I'm up to. As usual, you shouldn't assume anything with my stuff. Yes, I deliberately left the connection between apron strings and heart strings but not to suggest love. The whole lot is mixed up with: "the darkening river", "a child's will" and being "dredged along muddy shore" and on and on.
There are hints about overly controlling parents but also about a government flooding an entire valley in its own interest, the people be hanged. So really it's a poem about too much authority, cruelty even, and where it sends some of us for refuge. Is the comment longer than the poem now? LOL Could be. Jesus, I am wordy!
Absolutely lovely. Good portrayal of the childlike playfulness. I love the way children think and respond.
Thanks, Josephine. That would make two of us.
Actually, I know I literally have a little kid that hangs out in my brain and tells me what to write sometimes.
You might like this one too:
http://hungrywriterspoetry.blogspot.com/2006/12/divertimento-longing.html
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