[lit-ideas] Re: Inaugural Poetry
- From: David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Thu, 29 Jan 2009 12:42:49 -0800
It cheered Veronica, one measure of success.
I read it, thought, "I'm not in the right mood." Now I've read it
again, looking for a line I might like, trying to be charitable and
fair. A yes, whispering in the fields at harvest time? I can
imagine grain fields at harvest time. I can hear the "s" part. I
can't get the "ye." Maybe "whispered" would be better?
Why am I trying so hard? Because I spent some of yesterday revising
an overstuffed poem, stripping it down, aware of how easy it is to go
wrong. Here's the new result:
In the era of Empire people often died suddenly and young. Those who
remained behind stepped, hats off, black suits on, through London and
Civil Service Mandalay, past the Shanghai and Somewhere-or-Other
Bank, everywhere avoiding consternation with the clever application
of stiff upper lips.
Today, death catches us scratching. We stand before signs indicating
"toutes directions."
A fresh fall of snow outside lifts me from the living room, sets me
roaming about the house like a ghost in chains. I see that on our
larder shelves we have no sardines, or tins of peas. Did we ever?
Are they mere memories?
Terry Toedtemeier died, leaving behind his smile, his curiosity, his
puckish wit, his art.
We shared three passions: old Alfas, the Gorge, teaching.
Some day soon I shall go forward, like a rock in a flood.
David Ritchie
Portland, Oregon
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