Guest poem sent in by David Highland
(Poem #1243) Behold And came forth like Venus from an ocean of heat waves, morning in his pockets and the buckets in his hands he emerged from the grey shed, tobacco and wind pursed together in song from his tight lips he gathered the day and went out to cast wheat before swine. And in his mind he sang songs and thought thoughts, images of day and heat, wind and sweat, dreams of silver and visions of green earth twisting the cups of his mind he crossed his fence of wire, the south Utah steppes bending the air into corners of the sky he entered the yard to feed his swine. And his pigs, they come. |
Sashidhar Dandamudi's comments on the Tony Hoagland poem (Poem #1236, 'Self-Improvement') made me think of David Lee. It was when I first read Lee's collection, 'Porcine Canticles', that I realized there is no subject that poetry can't treat with beauty and dignity (and hilarity). I hadn't thought about 'Behold' in a long time, but I enjoyed being reminded and thumbing through Lee's collection again. david [Martin adds] There is something about this poem - images like "morning in his pockets", lines like "And his pigs, they come" - that I can only describe as magnificent. The seamless superposition and blending of the real and the imagined evokes images worthy of some of the better fantasy novels. The cadence of the words, too, is nigh flawless; I was reminded in places of Patricia McKillip, which (for those of you unfamiliar with her work) is high praise indeed. [Links] There's a biography here: [broken link] http://www.unomaha.edu/~wla/DavidLee.html
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