Archive for June 2013

Still Life

June 16, 2013

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Still Life

I’m drawn to fresh road kill
as life stilled –so, I tell myself.
All those beautiful bits–the shimmer normally hidden
by slither, the rich stranding
of too-fast fur, the swath of scarlet
that fly-by only flashes,
laid out flat,
unresistant to swish of air, much less
perusal, each detail more delineated than in a Dürer,
a tableau.

But on that tar or gravel,
there’s death stilled too – and I confess here that it draws
with even greater force–the de-sparked
luster–fellow-feeling flattening me who stands above,
as the double helix that we share openly snares us–
clumsy me/adaptive them–
yet none of us animals that can survive
the push of metal, the susurration
of age, the mighty bustle of decay–
all our wondrous bodies faced some time
with a road we cannot get cross.

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Here’s sort of a draft poem for dVerse Poets Pub’s Poetics prompt on finding beauty
in odd places, hosted by Fred/Hobgoblin of Poetical Psyche.  I am also posting for With Real Toads (Open Link). 

Since Seeing the Bear

June 15, 2013

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Click on pic if cant see the music!

So Cool! In Country!

June 15, 2013

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A bear! So cool! A little terrifying! But mainly cool. Thinking of poems and novels but hard to think of posting anything that can compare with the natural beauty around me in upstate NY. (Or the drama!)

If you cannot see any photo in full, just click on it.

Rondelet – Cityscape

June 14, 2013

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Rondelet – Cityscape

As I walked out,
grey mixed, matched, met me on that street.
As I walked out
in the flashes glass cast about,
its squares of pane and shield replete
with blocked black–oh, grey felt fresh, sweet
as I walked out.

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The above is a draft sort-of rondelet written for Tony Maude’s prompt on dVerse Poets Pub – it is a 7 line form with a repeated refrain. AbAabbA. The refrain line is important, obviously. I took mine from W.H. Auden (As I Walked Out One Evening), though approached it a bit differently.  (This, by the way, is my 1600th post.  I am not sure whether to be embarrassed or proud – or simply tired!)  Thanks to all who’ve given me the encouragement and support to continue.  k.

Lonely Song

June 12, 2013

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Lonely Song

The lonely list to a wayward song,
rocking still as it drones on,
its croon sway-swooning mid-cry, mid-moan,
a scaling slide from wane to bone.

Some break this with a wheedling song,
it pleads, don’t leave me here alone,
it sighs and groans but betrays their case,
importunate need scaring off all grace.

The learnéd lonely let go at last,
hold solitude locked close and fast,
shrink when passers-by come near
(turn up the TV not to hear.)

But some stay always neophytes,
unskilled at solipsistic rites.
These lost somehow can’t learn by heart
the lyrics that make lonesomeness an art.

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Here’s a poem, belatedly, for dVerse Poets Pub Hundredth Open Link Night. One is never lonely at the pub! Check it out and congrats to Brian Miller and Claudia Schoenfeld who are the masterminds of the site.

Also, sorry the above photo is so melodramatic! I took a few of these pics, and was a bit rushed in choosing.

Final apology – I don’t think learned has an accent, but did want to emphasize the -ed.

Final final apology – am uploading from a mobile device. The pic may not show completely on an older browser. Just click on it, if you want to see full pic. Thanks!

Webbed Stalker?

June 9, 2013

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Tiered Inside

June 8, 2013

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Tiered Inside

My true self will read all of Proust someday.
Its eye on the ball, it will glass-slipper its way
past every stroke of twelve. It will delve deep
into great ideas, its genetic alleles still
maintaining a Nietzche
in what’s-right-now hip.

Oh, that true self–
that would-be me if I would only be it–
that shit.

But then there’s that other bit–
it’s not a self, so much as a space,
a tier infesting the chest
like the stateless thirteenth floor
of a building too fearful to count–
a sob story–not a tale, but the level where quashed sadness
convenes, recording minutes in blobby diligence, but not
reading Proust,
looking through the glass darkly rather than snookering
into its fine shaped shoe.

This bit does not understand
either Nietzche or the hip, but it does get
that life is a blip–
even the life of the true self, even the life
of the would-be true self, even the life
of whatever self finally just lets be.

This bit grips hard when the selves
loosen, tells them who’s boss.

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Here’s a draft poem for dVerse Poets Pub’s prompt on Entwin(n)ed Poetics, about twins, opposites, divided selves.  Do check it out.  (Also, sometimes photos do not show completely on older browers- if it looks weirdly truncated, just click on it.) 

Why Some Write (Cut-up Homage to W.S.)

June 6, 2013

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Why Some Write (“Cut-Up” Homage to W.S. – the voice in English-speakers’
heads when we do write)

If the way to death is not lighted
by recorded fury, a syllable of strut, the brief stage
of fools told, this last candle of sound,
then life’s but time told
by a shadow, a to-morrow
that frets all yesterdays, and to-morrow,
full of dusty nothing, and
to-morrow, poor hour, a day-to-day that creeps
an idiot’s pace, a player
at walking, a petty tale of out, out.

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Here’s a poem for a very cool dVerse Poets Pubd prompt by Charles Miller that challenges one to use techniques developed both by the Dadaists and the Beats – that is cut-up poetry, mixing and matching words from other texts.

I confess to not being hugely comfortable with cut-up poetry – I’m very big on narrative and direct meaning–so I decided that if I did this exercise I was going to give myself a head start by using some very good words. In this case, I took Macbeth’s soliloquy –“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” from Act V, Scene V of Macbeth. I’ve tried to use all/most of the words – I may have a few more “a” and less “upons”. Being a woman, I also substituted “a” for “his” at one point.

It’s a fun, if challenging, exercise. For me, what was especially interesting in this, was how close the meaning has stayed to good old Shakespeare’s – even though I did try to mix the words up a bit. At any rate, I urge you to try the exercise and check out the other poets at dVerse.

Nocturnal in Be

June 6, 2013

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Nocturnal in Be

Knock-knocked/tick-tocked
self-mocked/self-socked–
Who’s there?

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Here’s a little query in the night for Kerry O’Connor’s prompt for With Real Toads to write a nocturne. I think the prompt was aiming for something more lyrically musical, inspired maybe by Chopin, probably my favorite composer. I could not come up with something more lyrical! But I was reminded by Kerry’s prompt of a story told by Artur Rubinstein, a great Chopin pianist, of how once as a young man, when hounded by creditors and disappointment, he tried to hang himself from a hotel bathroom shower (either rod or shower head) by his bathrobe belt. Even though I suspect that both showers and bathrobes were far more sturdy back then (I believe this was in 1908), the whole apparatus collapsed, leaving Rubinstein (i) alive), (ii) ruefully amused that he was even a failure at suicide; and (iii) with a renewed and seemingly vibrant commitment to life. (This is a memory of the story heard during my childhood when Rubinstein used to actually be on talkshows! I think I have the details right, but I’m sorry if they are a little fuzzy.)

Finally, my story has nothing to do with this story. But I couldn’t help thinking of it because of my attachment to Rubinstein’s performance’s of Chopin’s nocturnes. I urge you to listen to one.

Bad Side of Spring Thaw

June 5, 2013

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Poor polar bears have fewer places farther in between as arctic ice floes melt.

I am posting this drawing, which you will notice has no elephants, from iPhone. If there are not TWO polar bears in it, you may need to click on the drawing. Thanks.