Getting one in under the wire for We Write Poems, where they are asking writers to look at ten poems they’ve written, find repeating words/phrases, and write to one that emotionally resonates. I ended up doing a Wordle out of ten random poems, finding the most frequently used ones, several of which made it into the poem: but water seems to be a common theme. I think of myself more as an air person from a zodiacal point of view or whatever, but there is something to be said for the changeable dualities of water. Strong but weak, powerful but diffident, this way but that way. A lot of city images crop up in my work too, so that was the genesis of the poem. (Also, I love the word meander. One of my favorites.) It’s kind of a rambling piece, so I hope it has some slight effect; like water, I don’t expect it to linger.
Once more with the shameless pitching: I’m still looking for submissions to the Refinery if you’d like me to discuss your poem. And I’m 99% sure I’m going to AWP in Boston next weekend; is anyone else? (I’m only on the fence because of cost-effectiveness; I have to miss the first half of the conference. Past attendees like Donna: is it worth it?)
Meander
A palmist taps my knuckles, saying like a river:
carrying everything too long. I want to say, but,
doesn’t a river eventually come to the sea—
my five minutes are up. She jangles her head,
summons the next victim, and I escape
into the fierce outdoor light. White city, now
I’m thinking you grip my ankles too hard,
catch on my sleeves. It’s true that I feel heavy:
a body of water is shifting every drop of itself
any moment. When I squeezed my hand
to canyon the lifeline, water began to pool
in the crooks. The palmist sighed her pity.
I cut west on 23rd as the city floods with noise:
half-heard stories swirling round my chest,
cab horns up to my neck. I see the Hudson
lamenting by. And there’s feedback ringing
in my ears; when I reach the brim, I almost
tumble in, that blue-brown ribbon calling its kin
pretending at legs. Water wears weight.
But at least a river changes its shape from time
to time. Palms suddenly deepen, crease left
and right. I’ll believe renewal when I can pour
myself through my hands, stoop knee-deep
in the harbor shedding my weight. Then
I could stand straight. I could fire all my nerves,
be liquid, let cheap advice flash on the waves
like whalespit the moment before it’s lost.
Bruce Lee admonished his students to “be like water” when he taught Jeet Kune Do. You’d think it would be natural to become more like the element that makes up at least 80% of our body, but we lean more towards the nature of being solid. The treads that tie this poem together — the city and water — are natural and unmistakeable, and I really like how you personified the city noises as a river through which one might wade.
-Nicole
http://ravenswingpoetry.com/2013/02/26/the-difference-between-ravens-and-crows/