Snap?rebecca -that more like a full length film Italian wedding soup sounds
appealing!!
Cheers p
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and
poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Rebecca Seiferle
Sent: 02 March 2006 05:08
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: *** SPAM *** Re: snapshot corrected
Foo, the lines are still broken, but never mind, just
figure the one or two word lines are orphans,
best,
R
--- Rebecca Seiferle <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Sorry, but the lines broke short, and since it's
> long
> anyway, here's the correction.
>
> Best,
>
> Rebecca
>
>
>
> war everywhere, war viral in the veins, the ganglia
> gang,
> for whether it's the Toyota from Maine
> going 60 down 20, the two-lane that must be the main
> street for every mill town all the way to Canada,
> that nearly clips me off at the knees when I run
> across to the post office, or the minivan pulling
> out
> of the Spring
> Company (and why do people like to drive those
> things
> which waddle and surge like wheeled-bathtubs, slow
> as houseboats churning their engines to get their
> pontoons
> somewhere!) into the gap between clotted cars,
> though
> the driver's forgotten that traffic travels in the
> other
> direction too, and so has to screech for a halt
> when it's a city bus going through, her mouth
> yells shit! at the bus, her cab fills
> with other expletives, and I, reading her lips,
> wonder
> how many
> die, cursing, like this, as the pedestrians take
> their
> courage
> in their hands and dart out,
> many wobbly, arthritic, cane tapping (so many
> permanently injured in the birthplace of the
> industrial
> revolution) or drunken steps
> like the guy inspired at the local bar to go for
> broke
> and cross to the gas station for lotto tickets. Most
> have their ears glued to the news, every cochlea
> glued to a cel, another voice directing them like
> divine or demonic intervention, their steering
> mechanisms
> making a haze of blunderbuss oblivion
> surrounding every head with the halo of certainty
> over what matters--once drivers drove blind
> into the sun, as if it were an eternal destination,
> (like that man impaled on his own steering wheel
> when he rear-ended a runaway truck carrying
> watermelons,
> their green rinds split open, too, all over the
> highway)
> now everyone's in conference calls, business
> meetings, pagers,
> newspapers on the dash, always listening to
> a transmitted voice so she or he don't feel alone
> the here and now, here and now where
> they're counting on us, even me, atom among other
> atoms,
> to be awake, to stop in time, to take care of them
> as they attend to elsewhere. And we do, most
> of the time, we do, even the old vet
> with the faded support-our-troops ribbon stickered
> on his trunk who's going 15 at a crawl and brakes
> hard,
> because he's spotted some younger (well, most
> of them are, comparatively) woman and though
> she won't be crossing the street or even reach the
> curb
> for another minute or two, he's got to take
> chivalry's
> abrupt stop, be the one who throws down
> his gears to let her cross the street. Expecting as
> much
> from the warning of his wobbling wobble, I brake
> and hope the row of two ton dominoes behind me
> is awake enough to notice, to keep
> from cascading in a six car fender
> bender,richocheting
> all the way back to the impending
> 5:10 where some, to save time, have stopped on the
> tracks,
> and so we make room for each other's random
> bumpings, bumped, bumpkins halted at random like
> electrons
> steering along our particular orbits along a common
> electrical path, and hoping not to collide on get
> stuck
> in some other driver's sticky threaded karma pit,
> and I wonder if that's what she meant, Nina Simone
> singing "human kindness is overflowing, and I think
> it's going to rain," in that voice-oh, that voice,
> such a surge bowl of low moan and honey light
> makes a bee humming of even these end-of-the-day-
> worst -hour-for-it, errands, as if my circuituous
> paths were a minor liminal of chaos theory, so many
> years
> and no wrecks, so many speeds and no tickets,
> and knowing it's mostly luck, and perhaps that's
> what they all count on-jumping out from between
> two cars to jaywalk 5 lanes of rush hour traffic-or
> the luck or the sharpness and dullness
> of others, surely, someone will pay attention
> to me! each atom thinks, as if
> we were all atoms, constellating out of some
> maternal
> bed that held us in our hands, imagine, as if the
> universe
> were mama, or as if we had murky eyes sharp for
> unseen
> movement, and me too, what else is it that shrewd
> slow down, for no reason, flying at 80 on the
> motorcycle
> at night just as I approached the crest of a small
> hill,
> just long enough, just soon enough, before the mule
> deer
> jumped out of the sagebrush into the middle of the
> asphalt,
> time enough to stop and wonder, before veering away,
> dumb luck, the same sort of luck of dodging bullets,
> and hoping that nothing happens, that today
> one doesn't see the man who sits in the grass and
> watches
> the blood spread like a strange ivy through the
> fabric
> of his shirt, the woman threaded with blood
> wandering
> dazed down the medium, o terrible vision when
> I was five, and always war everywhere, always
> war still, viral in the ganglia, and the nerves,
> and still I'm rushing, always rushing home,
> as if love were waiting with its words that might
> make me cry, surge with tenderness, a sugar
> volt melting, and say that it's over, the war
> everywhere, always war still, viral in the ganglia
> and the nerves in a world where Alice's Family
> Dining
> has pitched a sign on the corner we must all corner
> by--
> Italian wedding soup
> (very popular here), $8.95 a quart today only--
> yeah right, as fresh as last week--
> oh my wiseacre voiceover that knows love's just
> Alice's chalk screeching on slate, a good woman,
> torn as she is, if there ever were an 'Alice', torn
> between
> leftovers for altruistic soup kitchens and trying to
> make
> the sale of the day in "Clock City," the birthplace
> of the industrial revolution.
>
> Rebecca Seiferle
> 11:57 March 1, 2006, Waltham MA
>
>
>
>
>
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