Hi Gary,
I really like this. It tells me things neatly.
And I forget it's a poem - it begins to feel like it's really happening as I
read. I like that authenticity!
I like the details, too. (Should it be "cheeks" (plural?) blue and raw?
I find I'm sometimes taken by surprise by the part:
"Cone, seed, nut, fruit, root.
>Oak, ivy, apple, holly, pine.
>
>Spring's rich earth
>absorbs winter."
and I wonder if those 4 lines may be too much... (Because they're saying
such over-riding, almost generalised, distanced, things whereas the rest of
the poem is tightening the focus down to specific particulars.) I guess
you're mentioning other trees to resonate with the mimosa, but could it be
just one or two particular - unbroken, healthy - trees? Just a thought.
Thanks for the read!
Bob
>From: Gary B <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Slash Burn rewritten
>Date: Thu, 5 Sep 2002 13:52:41 -0700
>
>(The mimosa part shortened and other changes to tighten. Thomas?)
>
>The Sizzle of Sour Smoke
>
>Smoke still
>smolders on Snow Peak.
>
>South and east,
>dust devils roil across scratched fields,
>North, hedgerows turn.
>
>Under the porch,
>a skinny boy,
>knees scrapped,
>cheek blue and raw,
>clutches a half-starved pup,
>and listens to chickens scratch the muddy yard,
>cars come and go,
>dogs corral a newborn calf,
>howl and yelp as pellets find their mark,
>the bull tests fencing,
>swayback horses in the far pasture crowd the back gate,
>slaps,
>curses,
>screen door slams,
>car starts,
>the heavy trod of boots,
>an ass settles into the porch rocker,
>bottles open,
>muffled sobs.
>
>Under porch and rocker,
>children sleep.
>
>*
>
>A broken mimosa limb touches the ground.
>Hidden by briar,
>nettle,
>morning glory,
>it settles into the wet earth.
>
>Cone, seed, nut, fruit, root.
>Oak, ivy, apple, holly, pine.
>
>Spring's rich earth
>absorbs winter.
>
>In Vegas, they don't give odds
>as to which will
>die or survive.
>
>My money is on the mimosa.
>
>*
>
>West, wild geese raise the morning
>on their way
>to evening.
>
>On Snow peak,
>firefighters
>begin their fifth day of mop-up,
>a small fire,
>less than forty-seven acres.
>
>A cougar sniffs the air
>and moves her kits towards Tom Rock.
>
>*
>
>West, an old man smells sour smoke
>and dreams of wet porches,
>chickens,
>and broken bottles,
>
>black bears
>and dead chipmunks,
>
>unable
>to return
>home,
>again.
>
>
>
>
>
>Aug Chuck and Centrum at: http://gardawg.homestead.com/gardawg.html
>
>*New* Wild/Eliot Hyperpoem at: http://wildhyper.homestead.com/front.html
>
>Poets for Peace. ˇPoemas sí, balas no!
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