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I didn't know why I thought of him when I read your poem either, Martin, until Robin associated it with Brecht and _Three Penny Opera_--Bobby Darin's biggest hit was "Mack the Knife." (Spoooky, huh?) Candice P.S. Tacked a little poem on below yours. It's very recent and probably no good at all, but the mood meets the duskiness of Harriet's poem and the dark shed in yours--even if mine can't say, when it comes to morning. > I'm quite lost, Candice ~ Bobby Darin? I vaguely remember him, but I don't > get the connection. Please explain, I love these musical sidelights. By the > way : the Emmy Lou Harris disc _Red Dirt Girl_ is great, thanks for the tip, > I especially like "Bang the Drum Slowly". I actually prefer the sound to the > _Wrecking Ball_, though that's more sophisticated: this has more feeling to > me. > If _Chide_ is your work, Robin, why not give us a sample (and tell us more > about it)? I think it's great when people share their work with the others ~ > Erminia is very generous there, Dominic too. I personally also don't mind > getting slated for a poem someone doesn't like, why not? It's all give & > take. > The following poem was a response to a poem Harriet Zinnes wrote for > _Snapshots_, a sort of reverse deconstruction. I think she won't mind my > including her original once more, as it has been on the list already. > Lacking very much direct inspiration, I find I come up with things > responding to others' work, to which I am very grateful. Please criticize > it. > > Harriet Zinnes : _Même L'amour_ > The steps have vanished in the dark. > Stairs end. > The glimmer of a light only a reflection > like the noise of steps long gone. > > It is morning now. > The rooster begins his anthem. > One leaf falls from the tree. > One bird (where is his mate?) > is quiet on the branch. > > Do not seek for water. > The pond has dried up. > I hear the barking of a dog. > Fantasy, of course. > > M.J.Walker > _Barking_ > L o v e i s a m e m e > of course in fantasy, > it dogs me here, > completely barking. > Drying up at the pond > the water's searching > for the branch, quiet, > where its mate, one bird, > falls from the tree and leaves. > An anthem is beginning to roost > anew: it's morning. > Long gone the steps, the noise- > like reflection of only a slight glimmer > ending with the stairs, in the dark > shed, their vanity > past it. > > August, 2001 Tenebrisquet too dark to cook the meat's burnt a shade along the color line dun to char the air just prior to abrasion wafts night in the throat smoked in its tracks Candice Ward September 2001