Canada Geese arrow south
from the mountains to the sound -
how I'd ride the back of a strong gander
to a warm land for winter,
leave bare-backed trees
and rotting leaves behind.
They rake the sky the wrong way,
stroke the cat backwards. Make them
turn around, bring them into spring.
A trumpet noodles jazzy with the cappucino steamer,
interrupts the rumble of a warm cafe.
Five women write, and another across the room,
three of us left-handed, southpaws
hungering for summer.
Today there's some sun, insipid,
blue sky bleached and frayed.
And an arch of geese
determined to be gone.
Author notes
posted because I promised, to cv
Rip away.
Comments
1 - 20 of 20
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There is so much motion in this poem ...
that I read: Saturday Moving Southward!
I forgot I need glasses at twilight, for twilight is such a special kind of blind ...
There is nothing about this poem which I did not enjoy. The line: They rake the sky the wrong way is simply a stunner. It reminded me of our bestest of best writer's Petra Müller, who once wrote: the leaves comb the wind.
Thank you for the joy of reading you.
Love
Myra
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Somewhere I think you said there was no such thing as Canadian Geese
In my ever obsession with Delmore, I share with you this Lou Reed song:
The image of the poets in the breeze
Canadian geese are flying above the trees
A mist is hanging gently on the lake
My house is very beautiful at night
My friend and teacher occupies a spare room
Hes dead, at peace at last the wandering jew
Other friends had put stones on his grave
He was the first great man that I had ever met
Sylvia and I got out our ouija board
To dial a spirit, across the room it soared
We were happy and amazed at what we saw
Blazing stood the proud and regal name delmore
Delmore, I missed all your funny ways
I missed your jokes and the brilliant things you said
My dedalus to your bloom, was such a perfect wit
And to find you in my house makes things perfect
I really got a lucky life
My writing, my motorcycle and my wife
And to top it all off a spirit of pure poetry
Is living in this stone and wood house with me
The image of the poets in the breeze
Canadian geese are flying above the trees
A mist is hanging gently on the lake
Our house is very beautiful at night
Our house is very beautiful at night
Our house is very beautiful at night
Our house is very beautiful at night
I got a beautiful rejection from Boxcar Review today, personal and I'm feeling so glowing. LOL
Wake up!
Lisa
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Oh, and I see you'll be voting for Stephen Colbert. So will I.
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oh and i only bug you cause every poem must be written obviously but with out someone egging you on for the next
better poem -- why bother right?
( i was remembering when I was writing my very matter of factly bony ass pomers and you told me you missed the imagery, and how that thought has helped me grow toward the voice that includes both - matter of fact /imagery )
okay i'm really leaving now...bye
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Thank you for this great lyric!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canada_goose
So, we're both right. People here don't say "Canadian," but who's to argue with Lou Reed??
Ya know, I was thinking of responding again to you here, because of the lack of originality thing. Even though it's an obvious subject, the presence of the geese these days is SO big. On the drive to work each morning I see at least three formations, and they're down low. It's like they're getting in shape for the marathon to come. Thursday morning, I was crossing the Second Narrows Bridge, which is high and long, and a bunch of them flew right along beside me. Egads! Can't help but find their way into poems when they pull stunts like that, ya know?
Congrats on the rejection! Woo hoo!!!
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yesterday about a thousand starlings were in the oak tree out back making that giant racket they make before they go
does that happen where you are? it is a wonderment. probably show up somewhere in something i write but the poem probably won't be about them at all ..
i think yes, they show up, my contention is this feels only about that ephemeral thing and i'd rather see your imagery pointing to something deeper, i'm a pain in the ass.
love ya. off. i am.
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The trumpet noodle bit reads almost with the rhythm and blues of that Masefield- recalls
"Dirty British steamer with the salt-caked smoke stack
chugging through the channel in the mad March days"
"A trumpet noodles jazzy with the cappucino steamer,
interrupts the rumble of a warm cafe."
was it 'steamer or was it the rhythm or the tone of the sea wave cloud sky tiding it out that brought that to mind I wonder. Or even the reverse season thing. Anyway something did.
Geese or albatrosses/albatrossi I wonder.
And there is a picture/illustration that I recalled with you riding the back of the gander to the warm lands, but I couldn't find it, so have this one instead.
http://www.art-albums.com/images/paintings/goble/goble16_p.jpg
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'to ride the back of a strong gander
to a warm land for winter,
leave bare-backed trees
and rotting leaves behind.'
i have to say this part just stood out
above anything .... i loved it
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Not a very original poem subject this time of year is it,I've read several geese poems this week. .. but a great way to get the juices flowing again.. and full of all your natural, falling out of your fingers sounds.
okay.
First stanza:
Canada Geese arrow south
from the mountains to the sound -
how I'd ride the back of a strong gander
to a warm land for winter,
leave bare-backed trees
and rotting leaves behind.
They rake the sky the wrong way,
stroke the cat backwards. Make them
turn around, bring them into spring
A different look:
From the mountains to the sound
Canada Geese arrow south -
to ride the back of a strong gander
to a warm land for winter,
leave bare-backed trees
and rotting leaves behind.
They rake the sky the wrong way,
make them turn around, bring them
into spring.
IMHO:
I prefer the second line first - provides a more swooping of the reader into the poem -- rather than that sort of flat statement that opens it now. Additionally, removing I there -- invites us into the dream. And the cat thing is just out of place - cats are there are on the ground and we are flying.
Second Stanza:
A trumpet noodles jazzy with the cappucino steamer,
interrupts the rumble of a warm cafe.
Five women write, and another across the room,
three of us left-handed, southpaws
hungering for summer.
Trumpet noodles? I don't really like that. Reminds me of something Ed would use to be filthy.
A trumpet jazzy -- enough.
three of us left-handed, southpaws
why the repeat? just southpaws.
Third:
Today there's some sun, insipid,
blue sky bleached and frayed.
And an arch of geese
determined to be gone.
I'd get rid of insipid and save it for another poem.
leeched might be better than bleached -- cause leched has that draining out of color meaning .. if that is what you are going for?
I'd like more as to why we are running from winter .. to give this a bit more weight. Additionally, I think you could do something more dramatic to the line breaks to make the poem more unique.
Great to see you back. Thanks for keeping your promise, happy to able to find a Zara to rip.
xo
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Yay! a cv rip! Thank you for taking this more seriously than I take it myself. It fits into my Bland collection, I think, but I rather like the last line, if I say so myself. Your crits are bang on, though "noodle" is pretty standard description for meandering improvisation - surprised people don't know that one, I thought it was too cliche to include, but I was too lazy to remove or replace it. Point is, I posted. No pride.
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Exactly ..
I dunno a friend of mine always says that she big -wigged with a Poet named Bell who told her group "no good poems with out not so good ones"
I sorta always remind myself of that.. now. -
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Now come play scrabble, damn you!
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Oh, and she didn't big-wig, she paid good money to take a class of his. She didn't "work with" him, LOL!
Her wig is decidedly small and gives her a headache.
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Actually, he said "bad poems". He wasn't afraid to call a poem a bad poem.
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I love your first stanza...the geese heading south is a true marker winter is coming...and, yes, I too would love to hitch a ride
My son is a lefty. I remember a couple years ago teaching him to tie his shoe laces...I had to teach myself how to tie my shoes left-handed, so he could learn.
Enjoyed this!
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Lefty!
You know, the write is wonderful, full of sounds and images ..all very familiar to me.. and I love the 'bring them into spring' part.. something about that just takes me .... but what captured me was the 'lefty' bit..
I've tried a few times to bring being left handed into a write and of course never succeeded..
There are so many 'bad' things associated with being a southpaw that it simply begs to be written... well for me at least.. ( some things are just like that )
Glad you kept your promise as this was a treat to read..
Poem
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I'm glad you kept your promise. It captures the paradox of fall, the colorful season but often grey and melancholy as it forcasts winter.
Your geese are in my pond btw.
So don't worry about them
and remember Lefty, winter is THE time to write!
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I think you may have mentioned this in passing yesterday? If not, it fits the convo of sitting laughing with poets to me I LOVE the trumpet noodling. That image is brilliant!
I'll come back with a shredding knife, too early yet
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I'd love to be a part of that writing group too..
there's something about birds in poetry, that lend themselves to such strong imagery and metaphor
i think we'd all like, (well some of us would) love to fly anywhere different other than where we are, for the bloody winter. or longer..
this piece- i love
thank you for posting again, Gina is right.. more often pleae Mrs Busy Teacher
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personally,i think you should make this promise at least once a week! ... its probably this second glass (coupled with the gander and a trumpet noodling) but i am getting a wonderful throwback to fairy tales ...
5 in one cafe are writing ? ... wow ... you keep good company ... (i am jealous) ...
i love that last stanza ... dont wait again to promise, just do it ... >>> Gina
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