Poetry Wake
Sherrie Lee
This time today, tonight
New poems
Construct those moments
that have me live as I can live only
through you through me
I hear but cannot see
cannot feel except the autumn air
brisk as sharp lungs - heavy breaths labor
to be the repeating drama
to recreate this evening's memories
Perhaps in a songbird's call
alert from a branch the notes fall
interrupted by a wave of arms
the music continues in a return of calm
the story has been told
this new day this same story
reminiscence repeating reminiscence
The new experience is the voice
the sound the slur of tongue rolling
through teeth then lips pause and release
an intentional whisper meant for one room
one place in privacy or for politeness
or for protection the breeze can seem elusive
though felt again burning the lungs
there is no secret
It becomes a part of poetry
though hidden as is the nature
though present as is the nature
a day becomes today
and a new day when read all over
all over the hope is all over
once again to be
reread
as if yesterday could be tomorrow
It becomes another person's poetry
like a wand that baton a relay
copy? copy?
and maybe the story will not die
maybe the story was you yesterday
altered by time and changes of death
and that is rebirth
but if there are no more listeners
that bird doesn't care because he is a songbird
meant to sing like leaves change
during a golden autumn day
to the echoes in a cave
Until leaves flutter like a bird's feathers
Until the leaves float yet sink to the bottom
of an ocean of treasures
When tourists gather the colors and press them
in a book that is the story, your poem preserved
dry and fragile and cared for between the pages
of an atlas that dispays your city that displays your self
that is altered by the care of only the reader
the listener me
then feathers can whistle
your turn.
Sherrie Lee
Dennis M. Hammes
Mouthful of feathers. Too many...
--
>^,,^<
It is better to break ground and head into the wind
than to break wind and head into the ground.
http://t-independent.com/scrawlmark-press/
Sherrie Lee
poet. He suggested I cut it in half. Believe it or not, I did cut
back. It's this way on purpose not to beat the reader into submission
nor to insult by driving home the poems must go on idea. There're
little layers of imitation going on. Can you see a famous poet in
there?
If feathers detract I might reconsider. Thank you again.
Sherrie Lee
On Fri, 26 Oct 2001 13:27:31 GMT, "Dennis M. Hammes"
<scraw...@arvig.net> wrote:
renay
"Dennis M. Hammes" <scraw...@arvig.net> wrote in message
news:3BD965AE...@arvig.net...
> Mouthful of feathers. Too many...
*****I only give a few minutes to rap recently and
then only when I can find the few. today all I see is
you saying nothing much constructive over and over
and over. you do not get points for posts per day.
Renay
Stuart Leichter
Sherrie,
Is this some sort of breakthrough? I wonder how you felt
during the composing and after. I wonder because I don't recall
seeing long, sustained poetry from you. Only brief shots. Or
when you've stretched out, it's been only through exposition.
I read Dennis's fly-by crit and your reply. I forget if it was Dennis who
repeated here some time ago that poetry and all worthwihle art is finally
about itself and its making; I think he said that, or paraphrased what
deconstructionists have been saying. It seems you and he were talking
about your poem as performance. I think it succeeds where he finds
problems. Besides, the inchoate genius of our twenties flattens later and
more, though it can be summoned still, and made indestinguishable,
remember? (Practice, practice, put your faith in that.)
There's an effective dissolving of--is it ego, persona, artist? Like so
much lyric, confessional, and diaristic writing, yours begins with "Your",
either a true second-person direct address, a modernistic (Prufrockian)
euphemism for "I", or a third-party generalized personal pronoun. The
introduction of "I" and "me" soon enough establishes the poem's conflict
and seems to solidify the voice even if not clarifying yet. But unlike
lyric, confession, or diarism, the poem moves into another place away from
the personal, and it lingers there for most of its middle and central
section. It will be another four stanzas before the poem mentions "you"
again, and it waits until finishing before returning to "me". So, feathers
are not what they appear to be. A bluejay's feathers have no blue pigment,
though we are not fooled either (nor is the ocean blue). What I hear in
the middle section is maybe what Keats thought he heard in that
nightingale and what maybe he saw in autumn, finally what is ineffable
about the artistic essence, what it comes from and what it becomes, and
that stillness between, which is the work itself. Me, I'm always excited
and grateful when I can be led and shown the creative process, when I see
a work that reveals itself and that part of the artist at work. Did you
know that leaves don't turn to red or yellow or brown, but that their
green ceases and what's left is then revealed, and that it has to do with
sugar? (Sorry, no http link to offer).
Excellent poetry, SL.
Stuart
--
Stuart Leichter
shamima khan
[snip]
> a work that reveals itself and that part of the artist at work. Did you
> know that leaves don't turn to red or yellow or brown, but that their
> green ceases and what's left is then revealed, and that it has to do with
> sugar? (Sorry, no http link to offer).
no, i didn't.
thank you, wow.
--
Shamima
Sherrie Lee
whether they be formed within brackets or be subliminally constructive
(either on my part or yours) help boost me to write, practice, write.
There's a little of you in my poem, for sure (I say for sure). I hear
how much fun it is to paint a fence, what good a job I'm doing and I
arf to it.
I feel like Wilbur. I blush. I wish that what is left is then
revealed, but gosh, I hope it's not the cold that's doing it. I feel
warmth. That either makes the poem red, yellow, or more likely still a
little green like new depending on how it's viewed.
Thanks for the excellent, SL. You aint half bad. Keats? You just said
that so I'd go run and check him out again. He hadn't been on my mind
that I know of. Now, after review, I think I'll puff the feathers more
(turn signal for Dennis, perhaps). There is room for improvement.
Here's a book end thanks.
E pluribus unum. That's the poetry. My ambition is to perform it this
Monday, but I'm scared. There'll be a lot of U. Lit. people there.
I'll have to remember that some of them are sitting there in their
underwears like one of my former mentors used to tell me when I'd give
people too much credit. It ought to be sweet that way as long as
they've washed. Yes, I'll have washed too. Today's Saturday.
Prob'ly a simple thanks would do, but it's morning and one gets
carried away. Thanks again for reading and exercising what you're
good at. You're a pro who reminds me of a former art teacher of mine.
He had maybe thirty students' works to analyze where he appeared to
make each one unique and positive sounding while at the same time
offering ideas. I was the so-called minimalist who gave a clear idea
of the central focus. There was room in my project for additional
statements.
Sherrie Lee
slei...@nb.net (Stuart Leichter) wrote in message news:<sleichte-261...@7.k.arbros.nb.net>...