Dragonfly's Poetry & Prolixity: Poet

Monday, September 7, 2015

Poet - By Keith Waldrop

A Charm of Hummingbirds at one of my feeders...

A favorite poem I collaged onto a composition book journal.

Two of my Blythe dolls.

POET

By Keith Waldrop

The wind dying, I find a city deserted, except for crowds of

people moving and standing.

Those standing resemble stories, like stones, coal from the

death of plants, bricks in the shape of teeth.

I begin now to write down all the places I have not been—

starting with the most distant.

I build houses that I will not inhabit.

4 comments:

Kelly said...: A "charm". I didn't know that term for hummingbirds and I love it!

I also love those two quotes at the top, especially the first.

Summer is refusing to relinquish its grip around here... We've had a few "teaser" days, but we're so hot, humid, and DRY still. Our pond is suffering.; September 7, 2015 at 11:25 AM
Marion said...: Kelly, isn't that perfect??? I was watching the Hummingbirds swarming all last week and it hit me: "What is a group of Hummingbirds called? A flock or what?" I was so impressed that it's a 'charm'. Sorry you're all dried up there in Razorback country. We've had just enough afternoon showers to keep the grass growing. Ha!!! xo; September 7, 2015 at 3:08 PM
erin said...: holyheck! not ONLY that is called a charm (although that is pretty cool) but that there IS a charm! i have only ever seen one at a time. but oh! one is a multitude in itself. i think i might just have a seizure to see so many!

waldrop's poem... oh! i feel in a trance. what alchemy.)); September 9, 2015 at 9:34 PM
Marion said...: I know, Erin. I take them for granted, my little Charmers. Oh, the wonder we see, but don't see! Seeing them afresh through your eyes reopened my own eyes. What a gift! Thank you! xo; September 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM

I Love Lorrie Moore!!

“You’re not a poetess, I hope,” said the English geologist next to her. “We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us.”

“Really.” After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

“Yes. She kept referring to insects as ‘God’s typos’ and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line ‘the hairy kiwi of his balls.’”

From: “Birds of America” by Lorrie Moore, page 266, ‘Terrific Mother’

Miranda July's Best Book:

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise." From: "No One Belongs Here More Than You Stories by Miranda July", Page 11

A Dreamy, Drug of a Book

"The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat night and day, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town." ~Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume", page 240