Poetry
As I am in Montana, some Richard Hugo...
10/10/07 05:20 Permalink
Degrees of
Gray in Philipsburg
- Richard Hugo
You might come here Sunday on a whim.
Say your life broke down. The last good kiss
you had was years ago. You walk these streets
laid out by the insane, past hotels
that didn't last, bars that did, the tortured try
of local drivers to accelerate their lives.
Only churches are kept up. The jail
turned 70 this year. The only prisoner
is always in, not knowing what he's done.
The principal supporting business now
is rage. Hatred of the various grays
the mountain sends, hatred of the mill,
The Silver Bill repeal, the best liked girls
who leave each year for Butte. One good
restaurant and bars can't wipe the boredom out.
The 1907 boom, eight going silver mines,
a dance floor built on springs--
all memory resolves itself in gaze,
in panoramic green you know the cattle eat
or two stacks high above the town,
two dead kilns, the huge mill in collapse
for fifty years that won't fall finally down.
Isn't this your life? That ancient kiss
still burning out your eyes? Isn't this defeat
so accurate, the church bell simply seems
a pure announcement: ring and no one comes?
Don't empty houses ring? Are magnesium
and scorn sufficient to support a town,
not just Philipsburg, but towns
of towering blondes, good jazz and booze
the world will never let you have
until the town you came from dies inside?
Say no to yourself. The old man, twenty
when the jail was built, still laughs
although his lips collapse. Someday soon,
he says, I'll go to sleep and not wake up.
You tell him no. You're talking to yourself.
The car that brought you here still runs.
The money you buy lunch with,
no matter where it's mined, is silver
and the girl who serves your food
is slender and her red hair lights the wall.
- Richard Hugo
You might come here Sunday on a whim.
Say your life broke down. The last good kiss
you had was years ago. You walk these streets
laid out by the insane, past hotels
that didn't last, bars that did, the tortured try
of local drivers to accelerate their lives.
Only churches are kept up. The jail
turned 70 this year. The only prisoner
is always in, not knowing what he's done.
The principal supporting business now
is rage. Hatred of the various grays
the mountain sends, hatred of the mill,
The Silver Bill repeal, the best liked girls
who leave each year for Butte. One good
restaurant and bars can't wipe the boredom out.
The 1907 boom, eight going silver mines,
a dance floor built on springs--
all memory resolves itself in gaze,
in panoramic green you know the cattle eat
or two stacks high above the town,
two dead kilns, the huge mill in collapse
for fifty years that won't fall finally down.
Isn't this your life? That ancient kiss
still burning out your eyes? Isn't this defeat
so accurate, the church bell simply seems
a pure announcement: ring and no one comes?
Don't empty houses ring? Are magnesium
and scorn sufficient to support a town,
not just Philipsburg, but towns
of towering blondes, good jazz and booze
the world will never let you have
until the town you came from dies inside?
Say no to yourself. The old man, twenty
when the jail was built, still laughs
although his lips collapse. Someday soon,
he says, I'll go to sleep and not wake up.
You tell him no. You're talking to yourself.
The car that brought you here still runs.
The money you buy lunch with,
no matter where it's mined, is silver
and the girl who serves your food
is slender and her red hair lights the wall.
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Star Trek Poem Titles...
26/07/07 04:25 Permalink
I thought
that it would be neat to keep track of the Star Trek
Poems on my blog, so you have some idea of how I'm
keeping myself busy based on poem titles. If that's
possible.
Remember, I draw these randomly from a cup. Perhaps soon, I'll be able to have some up in Recent Poems.
Yesterday is Tomorrow 7/23
Let That Be Your Last Battlefield 7/24
All Our Yesterdays 7/25
Catspaw 7/26
Remember, I draw these randomly from a cup. Perhaps soon, I'll be able to have some up in Recent Poems.
Yesterday is Tomorrow 7/23
Let That Be Your Last Battlefield 7/24
All Our Yesterdays 7/25
Catspaw 7/26
Boldly Going...
24/07/07 00:52 Permalink
The Dekalog
is finished - mostly. Everything is there that I
meant to put in there, all ten parts. Now, I've sent
it off to people whose opinions I trust to get some
editorial advice. These things can take a while, as
poets are usually terrible at giving back prompt
feedback. For right now, it's placed aside. However,
that's not to say that I'm without a project, I've
actually started one that I have wanted to start for
a very long time.
I've always found the episode titles of the original series of Star Trek, fascinating, with so many of them making for great poem titles. (i.e. "For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky," "Let that Be Your Last Battlefield" and "In Truth Is There No Beauty.") So I printed them all out and cut them into pieces and put the titles into a bowl. Each day, I write a poem titled after the slip of paper I withdraw. The first attempt at a poem is entitled "Tomorrow is Yesterday." I thought that was a good first draw. I could have gotten, "I, Mudd."
I've always found the episode titles of the original series of Star Trek, fascinating, with so many of them making for great poem titles. (i.e. "For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky," "Let that Be Your Last Battlefield" and "In Truth Is There No Beauty.") So I printed them all out and cut them into pieces and put the titles into a bowl. Each day, I write a poem titled after the slip of paper I withdraw. The first attempt at a poem is entitled "Tomorrow is Yesterday." I thought that was a good first draw. I could have gotten, "I, Mudd."
Easy-Going...
10/06/07 18:36 Permalink
Nestled in
the mountains, it hasn't take me long to get happy
again. Yesterday, someone actually called me
easy-going.
It really was Poland. I'm working on a blog entry about it, but I need more time - and distance, to be fair.
It's such beautiful country here, I really want to get out and explore. There's a beautiful lake nearby and so many excellent roads and paths along the two local rivers. Not to mention the day trips that I can make to a list of places nearby that I would like to visit. I'll probably create a photo gallery soon, once I've gotten out more.
The thing is, given the serenity of my immediate surrounding and just how many of my needs are seen to here (I've been treated very well), I am motivated to do little besides work. All work and no play, though...I'll give it a week. Then, I'll see where I am and who might be up for journeying with me. Even though I got writing done in Cracow, there is comparison to how much I am doing here.
I entered the first half of Dekalog in the Boston Review's poetry prize. Not a thing for which I generally would have forked over the $20 entry fee, but I took a shot at it based on what I read about the judge and because of how much of a departure it is for me. Perhaps it will be strange enough for them. :) The second half of Dekalog is (well) under construction. I am working on a ballad (which might be posted soon), a corona of sonnets (ditto - at least some), and a sestina (not a chance) as part of the second half (but not all). Once, I had a teacher who lamented that, "metricians have it so easy." Um, nope. Not here. One of the problems with writing this thing, is maintaining a sense of continuity between the free verse and metered work. And, not being an experienced metrician, really challenging myself. However, I happen to love these problems.
I've also returned to my "Answering Ezekiel" poem. I always knew that I would - that it was part of a cycle - but, I also knew that I would need time, given how long it took to write just the one poem. I hear a song that Ezekiel's mother sings to him before putting him to bed. I'm trying to write that down.
It really was Poland. I'm working on a blog entry about it, but I need more time - and distance, to be fair.
It's such beautiful country here, I really want to get out and explore. There's a beautiful lake nearby and so many excellent roads and paths along the two local rivers. Not to mention the day trips that I can make to a list of places nearby that I would like to visit. I'll probably create a photo gallery soon, once I've gotten out more.
The thing is, given the serenity of my immediate surrounding and just how many of my needs are seen to here (I've been treated very well), I am motivated to do little besides work. All work and no play, though...I'll give it a week. Then, I'll see where I am and who might be up for journeying with me. Even though I got writing done in Cracow, there is comparison to how much I am doing here.
I entered the first half of Dekalog in the Boston Review's poetry prize. Not a thing for which I generally would have forked over the $20 entry fee, but I took a shot at it based on what I read about the judge and because of how much of a departure it is for me. Perhaps it will be strange enough for them. :) The second half of Dekalog is (well) under construction. I am working on a ballad (which might be posted soon), a corona of sonnets (ditto - at least some), and a sestina (not a chance) as part of the second half (but not all). Once, I had a teacher who lamented that, "metricians have it so easy." Um, nope. Not here. One of the problems with writing this thing, is maintaining a sense of continuity between the free verse and metered work. And, not being an experienced metrician, really challenging myself. However, I happen to love these problems.
I've also returned to my "Answering Ezekiel" poem. I always knew that I would - that it was part of a cycle - but, I also knew that I would need time, given how long it took to write just the one poem. I hear a song that Ezekiel's mother sings to him before putting him to bed. I'm trying to write that down.