Azalea Outside Carnegie Branch
Old stone. And clusters of surly, delicate little trumpets
the exact pink of cooling flesh
are suddenly in bloom between the greasy wall
of the library and the spear-tips of an iron fence:
a space like a grave. And the figures inhabiting the sidewalk
in soiled windbreakers and illicit fannypacks, backs to it
as they transact with full and empty fists--it becomes
just one more thing they never notice, don't have time
to notice; one new thing in this place
that dirties itself faster than anyone can sweep it clean.
And those passing in a bus or car
who see the living pink against the darkened wall and note it
cannot help but mistake it for a sign of something more.
***
Jealous of everyone -- so prolific! I cannot hope to keep up with comments, but I aim to make at least a few this weekend.
5 comments:
I like this very much, Regan.
This: "surly, delicate little trumpets/the exact pink of cooling flesh"
And this: "the greasy wall"
And this: "with full and empty fists."
And this: "this place/ that dirties itself faster than anyone can sweep in clean"
You'll permit me some tinkering?
"And those passing in a bus or car/ who see the living pink against the darkened wall/ can't help but mistake it for something, somewhere else."
Thanks, Ariel!
I know that last line isn't quite right yet, but what I need from it is the idea that the azalea will be mistaken by outside eyes as a symbol of hope for that particular hopeless bit of the world... when it in fact is just an azalea.
Love this, Regan!
I`m cheering for this itty bitty flower growing where 'it's not supposed to be'. And, your choice of colour, flesh pink, makes it very interesting indeed... cool.
Regan
Hurray! Love the attention you pay to sound in this poem (as always). Fannypacks, backs, transact.
Particularly liked the image of "surly trumpets", "full and empty fists".
One thing that didn't sit well for me was the generalization "Just one more thing they never notice..."
Perhaps qualify or soften? I feel like some people might still notice the beauty, some might not have time for it, or some might tear a branch off for their hotel window.
Perhaps tweak that line a bit?
Something to think about.
Thanks for the post.
I hope you post again before the end Regan. I loved this poem.
"greasy wall of the library and the spear tips of an iron fence: a space like a grave."
I just like "living pink against darkened wall". You don't even have to tell me the last part of the sentence, that image has done it.
thanks for the beauty.
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