Today we remember those who died in the 2001 terrorist attacks, and I’m sure everyone remembers where they were when it happened. I can tell you that I was at work in my little cubicle when a colleague of mine told me to go to a certain television station’s Web site, and I saw the planes crashing into the towers. I thought it was a joke, and then I saw the specks that were actually people jumping out of the building. Those images will haunt me for a long, long time. I often think about them when I pass skyscrapers.
Poetry, like images, can stay with you for many years if they strike a chord.
Welcome to the 62nd Virtual Circle!
Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.
Keep in mind what Molly Peacock’s books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don’t like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.
We’re going to take a look at a contemporary poem from native New Yorker, Jonathan Thirkield found in his book The Waker’s Corridor:
New York New York
A runnel forks at a patch of wild lilies.
As day drains the monochrome.
Shade from the mountains.
It is just me.
And him for the day.
A creek below that we can only hear.
A film goes up against the sky.
My son climbs on the roof.
Why all the dust, son?
So I can be your eyes.
So green even in the fall, everything abend.
What can you see up there?
I see you in the moss.
I see a bobtail rushing uphill.
And the stone?
No stone from here.
The leaves block it.
Come down now, you might slip.
I will never slip.
I will never slip.
I think he is dancing to it.
I am not worried.
The runnel forks at a patch of wild lilies.
The distance is a dance.
Soon the brown leaves will hold their edges in its water.
Soon we will all move.
Downhill, downstate, together.
One girl carries a housecat in her basket.
One keeps stopping to tie your shoes.
One keeps her skirt from dragging the earth along with her.
Come down.
I’m not going anywhere.
Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let’s have a great discussion…pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.
I’ve you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles. It’s never too late to join the discussion.
I’d have to read this a few more times to really get a feel for it, but I’m sensing a sort of heaviness to this poem. There’s nothing right off the bat to make you think that, but it’s the tone I got when I was reading it to myself. Not sure it that makes any sense; I’m still in a head fog. LOL
“I am not worried”
That line kind of sums up what it’s like to be a parent, for me. I tell myself I’m not worried. But I always am.