OASIS Journal 2005 (IMAGO Press) in Tucson, Arizon has accepted "Half a Hundred" for publication. The journal will be out in October.
I had to scrunch some lines together to fit their one-page-per-poem requirements, but the words are the same and the changes are minor to me.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Notes for Ariel
Ariel - I’m sure I’ll see some of these again to critique in more detail, so for now I’ll just give you my fave poems, lines and details – plenty to select!
Fave poems:
The Humboldt Squid
The ninth day of May [is this about your uncle?]
The twelfth day of May - (part 1)
The Writers’ Retreat: Arnes, MB. - fantastic details
Assiniboine Forest, May 15, 2005. - whole thing great but why last 2 lines?
The eighteenth day of May - Still one of my favourites not just of MayDay but of All (Ariel) Time
The twenty-first day of May - This is powerful – don’t remember reading it in May
The twentieth day of May
Renovation poem #3: uncareful graves - Creepy domisticity!
The twenty-fifth day of May - Heh – would like to see this expanded.
The thirtieth poem
------------
Other great moments:
The first day of May
In Don's Deli the midafternoon light settles
over the stack of crockery plates with crumbs
and blots of butter platters with fork-scarred films of yolk
mugs empty grating against saucers against the gulp-swallow
of the coffeemaker in the corner the percolating of coffee
already burnt
the slow coast of a police car under the careening snowflakes
It is a day of small protests
Saturday night disappointments
as we return to breakfasts refills and the injustice of snow
--------------
The third day in May
if we represent a threat and the bunny has been bronzed
by its caution but the girls are free to recline on their marble
pedestals in their pigtails and perky tits: an old man’s fantasy
as much as the busts of men in power only their heads and shoulders
only their heads and shoulders are an old man’s fantasy
and we walkers could touch the old men the girls in ways they never
would have permitted in life
the same way we know the people in the idling van
in the parking lot pumping exhaust into the air as the trees
pump oxygen will come no further
--------------
The fourth day of May
Fishing for the tail-end of a beautiful fall afternoon
Gudmund had his trusty rod in one hand and his sweating
beer in the other was thinking butter dill the crackle of the fry pan
when he got another bite and felt the arc of protest in his rod
against the heavy thing that lurked below
Fishing for compliments for just the right line
Gudy panicked; he’d be the first to admit that she was dainty
only four-foot-four but despite her corkscrewing suckers
each with its own row of pearly teeth her three hearts of gold
and her big eyes he’d thought it through
he wasn’t ready for this kind of commitment, see?
and there’s always other fish in the sea
And maybe it was because he was better with a nailgun
than a rod better with power tools than power politics
that he got a faceful of ink enough to fill any poet's poison pen
but he didn’t need anyone to tell him that he should fling
his doomed darling to the deck open the hatch
and kick her breathless wide-eyed
into the hold
--------------
The fifth day of May
upper right central upper right lateral
upper left central upper left lateral
gold-leafing the morning
timed by the swerving cars only a few feet away
none of them none of us
ever sure where to turn
--------------
Renovation poem #1: after spring thaw
Eggshell & bricky bits
in the tarry
shingle grit,
glass,
& set
grey curls
of pigeon shit
between my house & his
--------------
Renovation poem #2: the ground floor
See how the line is overlaid
by outstretched wings hinged
to a spine laid bare follow the line
of leg up into spine the fine fletching
of wing see how the long feathers
are still intact
black
and how little that matters now
On top of the bones there are butts
smoked down so that all that is left
is tar resin and reason
and the threads of a broken jar
some domestic thing
to be opened and put away
Lie down
Feel the long muscles
in your legs relax your spine
sag as the small of your back
touches down to the ground
see how the long beamsof the building
the lines of shadow
are intact
black
and how little this matters now
--------------
The fourteenth day of May
its soupy sidewalks
cracking under the repeated
demands: freeze!
thaw!
mixed-up lilies
who should be dug up: divide!
conquer!
--------------
Assiniboine Forest, May 16, 2005.
but it seems
I must satisfy myself
with what there is
--------------
Assiniboine Park Zoo, Enclosure #41
In the dark the white-tailed deer
tuck their tails under the long lines
of haunch and hip of shadow
and roadside sound
and settle out in the open
while the American bison as boxy as bales
of straw intact bales of hay broken
sleep at the edge of the chain-link
barbed-wire enclosure
the curving line of dark
--------------
The Writers Retreat: Arnes, MB (part the second)
curves of swarming fish
and the sinuous surprise of them is wide
and delicate
as what was shadow now shows
fin ripple
and muscle
through sun-shot water
as I stand ankle-deep
twenty paces out
from the rock-pickers after the perfect
piece of clear quartz
and the purple moth that has
settled
on the cocooned balls
the larval curves
of my shed socks
--------------
Renovation poem #4: foundation
Walking home there are the teenage girls
in hajibs trying to persuade
each other
to swing
the sandbox grit
in the air their heels
grinding on the leaf-littered
ground
but each of them
thinking of being airborne
of pointing their heels
up
Fave poems:
The Humboldt Squid
The ninth day of May [is this about your uncle?]
The twelfth day of May - (part 1)
The Writers’ Retreat: Arnes, MB. - fantastic details
Assiniboine Forest, May 15, 2005. - whole thing great but why last 2 lines?
The eighteenth day of May - Still one of my favourites not just of MayDay but of All (Ariel) Time
The twenty-first day of May - This is powerful – don’t remember reading it in May
The twentieth day of May
Renovation poem #3: uncareful graves - Creepy domisticity!
The twenty-fifth day of May - Heh – would like to see this expanded.
The thirtieth poem
------------
Other great moments:
The first day of May
In Don's Deli the midafternoon light settles
over the stack of crockery plates with crumbs
and blots of butter platters with fork-scarred films of yolk
mugs empty grating against saucers against the gulp-swallow
of the coffeemaker in the corner the percolating of coffee
already burnt
the slow coast of a police car under the careening snowflakes
It is a day of small protests
Saturday night disappointments
as we return to breakfasts refills and the injustice of snow
--------------
The third day in May
if we represent a threat and the bunny has been bronzed
by its caution but the girls are free to recline on their marble
pedestals in their pigtails and perky tits: an old man’s fantasy
as much as the busts of men in power only their heads and shoulders
only their heads and shoulders are an old man’s fantasy
and we walkers could touch the old men the girls in ways they never
would have permitted in life
the same way we know the people in the idling van
in the parking lot pumping exhaust into the air as the trees
pump oxygen will come no further
--------------
The fourth day of May
Fishing for the tail-end of a beautiful fall afternoon
Gudmund had his trusty rod in one hand and his sweating
beer in the other was thinking butter dill the crackle of the fry pan
when he got another bite and felt the arc of protest in his rod
against the heavy thing that lurked below
Fishing for compliments for just the right line
Gudy panicked; he’d be the first to admit that she was dainty
only four-foot-four but despite her corkscrewing suckers
each with its own row of pearly teeth her three hearts of gold
and her big eyes he’d thought it through
he wasn’t ready for this kind of commitment, see?
and there’s always other fish in the sea
And maybe it was because he was better with a nailgun
than a rod better with power tools than power politics
that he got a faceful of ink enough to fill any poet's poison pen
but he didn’t need anyone to tell him that he should fling
his doomed darling to the deck open the hatch
and kick her breathless wide-eyed
into the hold
--------------
The fifth day of May
upper right central upper right lateral
upper left central upper left lateral
gold-leafing the morning
timed by the swerving cars only a few feet away
none of them none of us
ever sure where to turn
--------------
Renovation poem #1: after spring thaw
Eggshell & bricky bits
in the tarry
shingle grit,
glass,
& set
grey curls
of pigeon shit
between my house & his
--------------
Renovation poem #2: the ground floor
See how the line is overlaid
by outstretched wings hinged
to a spine laid bare follow the line
of leg up into spine the fine fletching
of wing see how the long feathers
are still intact
black
and how little that matters now
On top of the bones there are butts
smoked down so that all that is left
is tar resin and reason
and the threads of a broken jar
some domestic thing
to be opened and put away
Lie down
Feel the long muscles
in your legs relax your spine
sag as the small of your back
touches down to the ground
see how the long beamsof the building
the lines of shadow
are intact
black
and how little this matters now
--------------
The fourteenth day of May
its soupy sidewalks
cracking under the repeated
demands: freeze!
thaw!
mixed-up lilies
who should be dug up: divide!
conquer!
--------------
Assiniboine Forest, May 16, 2005.
but it seems
I must satisfy myself
with what there is
--------------
Assiniboine Park Zoo, Enclosure #41
In the dark the white-tailed deer
tuck their tails under the long lines
of haunch and hip of shadow
and roadside sound
and settle out in the open
while the American bison as boxy as bales
of straw intact bales of hay broken
sleep at the edge of the chain-link
barbed-wire enclosure
the curving line of dark
--------------
The Writers Retreat: Arnes, MB (part the second)
curves of swarming fish
and the sinuous surprise of them is wide
and delicate
as what was shadow now shows
fin ripple
and muscle
through sun-shot water
as I stand ankle-deep
twenty paces out
from the rock-pickers after the perfect
piece of clear quartz
and the purple moth that has
settled
on the cocooned balls
the larval curves
of my shed socks
--------------
Renovation poem #4: foundation
Walking home there are the teenage girls
in hajibs trying to persuade
each other
to swing
the sandbox grit
in the air their heels
grinding on the leaf-littered
ground
but each of them
thinking of being airborne
of pointing their heels
up
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