Sometimes, while watering, I sip from the jar
Same morning dew, a Gatorade ad without
the dye and boast, but beaded
as Braille. If I were gentler, perhaps,
in the early morning hours, I could read the world
by touch, droplets forming self-same
name upon each petal and leaf.
Before there were pigeons
up here, it was gulls, crows
and their limited dances.
Once one clutched a
dead-to-the-world cable that
was tied to the grid and with the force
of a black, feathered tugboat flew due west
dragging the world like a wind.
The cable is gone now.
The building will be gone soon.
I’m told the inside is festering
from a hot tub in the back room.
If I stare at the air there, I swear it bubbles
effervescent, backlit against the forest green.
Water’s perfect memory.
In the distance a ferry horn.
The chatter of a sea on the eagle’s wings.
If I could do it all again, I’d bury the power lines. However, then I never would have written a handful of poems…
And today’s poem! I guess an eyesore is only an eyesore if you let it be.
I recently watched the 1949 film The Third Man, which was filmed in Vienna immediately after World War II. The movie centers on the post-war control of the city, divided into four sectors, each controlled by one of the Allied powers: the United States, Great Britain, France, and the Soviet Union. The most striking thing about the film is the astounding beauty of the architecture and interior right next to a heaping eyesore of war-torn rubble. That and the shadows, which you know I’m fairly obsessed with.
This week, D reminded me of an incredible section in this Between the Covers conversation with Robert Macfarlane, where Robert spoke of water’s memory.
I needed another word for “brag” in the first stanza of this and consulted a thesaurus (which is rare), finding, to my delight, the word “fanfaronnade”. It’s from the mid-17th century: from French fanfaronnade, from fanfaron ‘braggart’, from fanfare. Unfortunately, it was much too similar in sound and pattern to the word Gatorade to fit the spot. What are the odds?
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Lastly, you can pick up a copy of my new book Kestrel and other songs here.