Dust. Flies. The sour smell of exhaust.
Muskmelons sliced open in the street.
Pools of green shade in hidden courtyards.
Blood-stained flagstones.
How does this butterfly missing half a wing
still fly so well?
A sound too deep for human hearing
makes the towers sway for a few seconds
before returning to their heat-struck shimmer.
Car alarms start up all over the city.
The butterfly doesn’t miss
a drunken beat.
Love this one, Dave. Evocative and grimy.
Thanks, Pica. It didn’t start out being a poem about a butterfly (or drunken wisdom, or whatever), but I’m reasonably pleased with how it turned out.
Wow. Nice stuff, Dave. I particularly enjoyed “A sound too deep for human hearing / makes the towers sway for a few seconds”
Jason
Thanks, Jason! And congratulations on your own recent successes — the partnership with All About Jazz. Exciting stuff.
Your poetry has hints of Merwin, my personal favorite. His “End of Summer” comes to mind:
High above us a chain of white buckets
full of old light going home
now even the things that we do
reach us after long journeys
and we have changed
Your blog is a hidden treasure – I look forward to browsing your archives.
All the Best!
Hi Jessica – Thanks for stopping by. Merwin may well be an influence, not only through his own poetry, which I’ve spent a lot of time with, but also through his translations — for example of Jean Follain, which I happen to have at my elbow at the moment (The Transparence of the World).
I’m not trying to keep Via Neg hidden, honest! I’m just really bad at self-promotion. I’d much rather learn to be content with a few, attentive readers than to have to promote myself.
Dave,
this is amazing. Am I right that it is about Iraq, at least somewhat?
Somewhat, I guess, yeah. Thanks.