well, i'm home at last! actually, i'm about 8 hours from home, but i'm in a portion of the united states that is similar to home, and it's closer to my real home both in sense and sensibility than abilene, tx, where i've been living for the past 2 years. i'm in wisconsin, and it's lovely. if you haven't ever seen wisconsin, you must! especially in the fall.
anyway, in commemoration of finding myself back where land, weather, and people's accents are familiar, i have decided to post a poem about home. it's very nostalgic, new, and it has no title yet.
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stalks of wild oats
crash
in waves
on the wood
as rains
bring weight
to fields
unheeded
drunk
in midsummer
the grass
hangs in the wet
and shaking out
its odor
from my umbrella
i watch it
washing
my legs
and steal
oaty memories
crushed in my hands
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2 comments:
For some reason, the word I want to use to describe this poem is "fragrant." Is that weird?
I've been waiting for you to update so your last post wouldn't have three comments from me! And you even included an umbrella in this poem, which makes it infinitely more fantastic than it would be otherwise. :-)
I have no doubt you would appreciate Oxford, Paris, and Spain more than I...I haven't found what I'm looking for here, whatever it is, but I think you and your penchant for Hemingway and Joyce would fit in nicely. Enjoy being home!
What you wrote on my blog about the most recent post...you know that's the way I feel about your poetry, of course. This is a nice little creative ego-inflating community we have here, isn't it? :-)
I've been reading bits and pieces of "Travels with Charley" in Oxford. It's perfect. I love the way he describes his boat in the very beginning when the hurricane comes: "we could hear her hull crying against the oaken piles." Wow!
WRITE SOME MORE. THE MASSES DEMAND IT. I hope you're loving Wisconsin and having a Master's!
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