Flight

In the end was the beginning
As the light crept forward
Before there were monsters and demons and gods and angels
Then the cleft slipped and sang to shine
There were stories said the captive light
Of jackdaws and skylarks of mice and bluebottles
And the tide came in to tell millions more
As yes battled no with no hopes of compromise
Sliding pools storied in clam shells
Waiting for the tide
Yearning for far away places
Ripped in the retch of today
The light blinked and a story retained
Love wove in gravel returning to sand
And cyclic wandering lives
Footsteps melt away in tide
Driftwood turns to tell shadows
Trusting stories wave repeat
And there is gone
Some legion some metaphor some unknown
That dares to slice deep, to penetrate
That darkest of coal, spun, lit into light
Reaching beyond beginnings
Spits of sand spilling their ways
Turning leaping stop to go
Shapes probe mysteries words into spaces
Silent and deepening
Land slips touching another
Then a bottle a letter a hope
Open to flight

Denis Streeter   12/25/15

Mr. Blank and Nerves

One of my favorite children's writers, outside Joan Aiken, William Mayne, and L.M. Boston is  Canadian writer Brian Doyle.  There's an odd tall tale humor to his writing that's deeply effective.  Set in 1948 Ottawa, listen to how he creates Mr. Blank and the dog Nerves:

     Mr. Blank hated Nerves.  He hated to come home from work after a
tiring day and as soon as he walked in the door have Nerves there, imi-
tating him.
     "Why can't I have a normal dog?" Mr. Blank would say to Mrs.
Blank.  "I hate this dog.  Look at him.  He's making fun of me.  Nerves!  Be
yourself!  Develop a personality of your own!  Leave me out of it!"
      And Nerves would glare right back at him, doing a perfect imitation
of him.
     Then Mr. Blank would sit down with the paper in his chair and let
out a big sigh and Nerves would get on the other chair and sigh too.  A
rat's sigh.
     And after a while Mr. Blank would look up over his paper and say,
"I hate you, Nerves."
     And Nerves would show him his little teeth.
     And sometimes when Mr. Blank would try to kiss Mrs. Blank or
cuddle up to her while she was making the supper, Nerves would be right
there with them with his front paws around Mr. Blank's leg, kissing Mr.
Blank's pants with his ratty little tongue. 
     And then maybe Mr. Blank, just so that he could relax and eat his
supper in peace, would put Nerves outside.  Then he'd sit down and start
to eat and he'd lift up his fork with the spaghetti hanging from it and
the fork would stop right about at his open mouth because he'd sud-
denly see Nerves, outside, staring at him through the window, licking
his rodenty little chops and nodding his head as if he were saying,
"Good eh?  Is it good?  Is it?  Is it good?  Go ahead.  Eat it.  It's good!  Is
it good?"
     "I hate that dog," Mr. Blank would say, "I want to take it to the
Humane Society and have it executed."
     "Oh, don't by silly dear," Mrs. Blank would say, "It's only a little dog."
     Nerves was almost like a mirror.

Brian Doyle, The Low Life:  Five Great Tales from Up and Down the River - Easy Avenue (1988), page 190.

For a great collection of tales, get The Low Life.

The River at Greene Knowe

This is the third book in the English children's classic Green Knowe series written by L.M. Boston with wonderful illustrations by her son Peter Boston.  These books are possibly the most imaginative series of children's books to come out of England.  And the Green Knowe estate is real.  I'm going to visit it in October.  It's near Cambridge.

A favorite quote from The River at Greene Knowe

"What do you imagine worms would sound like?"
"Like wind through a keyhole."

page 63, The River at Green Knowe, L.M. Boston, page 63

Try reading The Children of Greene Knowe first. 

the heart to wonder why

he turned on the light and the dark disappeared
to be transformed into something different
he didn't know what
some sort of flash, perhaps a recognition
the cells in his body couldn't process
but it was real emotion
like the body was playing between rules
there would never be a rule book
not for this
light and dark a transform
sliding between notes and moods
symphonies that measure our soul
that heartbeat beyond control
fueling fear and love
tearing cathartic release
plying our invisible distance
unknown but free to explore
fear of love the heart must
take care there might be a knife
shadow stepped beyond reach
your shadow plunges forward
light on a tether and I wonder
it's not either or but sometimes
I'm trying to get closer to you
but I don't know and can't explain
you just have to be there
and sometime maybe
I will have the words to tell you
and you will have the heart to wonder why

denis streeter   9/6/15

Here's the thing

It's like a puzzle
All the words are interchangeable
"Chasing spoon with a butter knife"
     could just as well be
"Floating bone in a dog fish barn"
Some nice images same syllables
But they live in another dimension
Words slip in and out of themselves
Lines drop and rearrange
It's still the same
I'm plagiarizing myself
Words rehearse by feel
Filling the flow then disappear
Ride out on a trite
Some reappear only in edited reverse
"With a butter knife chasing spoon"
"In a dog fish barn floating bone"
None of it makes sense
I really don't know what to do
It's part of the game, this puzzle
I guess I'm trying to figure myself
In this deep dish template
What was metaphor don't work
Lies in obscurity
I take my breathing utensils and let them air
Wander my smorgasbord eating indigestion
Oh but there's my template
I can digest again
But I digress
The longing that's real
Where's the food?
It's like a puzzle

Denis Streeter   6/7/15

The Wind in the Willows

My father read this book aloud to me when I was nine.  I never read it on my own until now.  In this passage, Rat and Mole search down river at dawn for the lost child otter.  It make me cry every time...and captures its poetic spirit:

     "Then a change began slowly to declare itself.  The horizon became clearer, field and tree came more into sight, and somehow with a different look;  the mystery began to drop away from them.  A bird piped suddenly, and was still;  and a light breeze sprang up and set the reeds and bulrushes rustling.  Rat, who was in the stern of the boat, while Mole sculled, sat up suddenly and listened with a passionate intentness.  Mole, who with gentle stroke was just keeping the boat moving while he scanned the banks with care, looked at him with curiosity.
     'It's gone!' sighed the Rat, sinking back in his seat again.  'So beautiful and strange and new!  Since it was to end so soon, I almost wish I had never heard it.  For it has roused a longing in me that is pain, and nothing seems worth while but just to hear that sound once more and go on listening for ever.  No!  There it is again!' he cried, alert once more.  Entranced, he was silent for a long space, spellbound.
     'Now it passed on and I begin to lose it,' he said presently.  'O, Mole! the beauty of it! The merry bubble and joy, the thin, clear, happy call of the distant piping!  Such music I never dreamed of, and the call in it is stronger even than the music is sweet!  Row on, Mole, row!  For the music and the call must be for us.'" (page 123-4)

Read this classic again. 
Find your new favorite passage.

Janqetty

One of my customers used the word jankety.  I loved the sound but had no idea of the meaning.  I told her I'd use that word in a poem.  The internet dictionary say it means something like confused or messed up.  I prefer spelling with a q, like junque.  The pseudo-French spelling lends a certain dignity to this rummage of words. 

Many a night
I dreamt of scotch tape floating
And fountain pens in the sun
In their tic tock times
With the fish tales long
Lost in the forest of sea
When the mermaids sing
Long in the slippers wake
Let the letters slip
And the drafters daft
Watching shores realign
Seen through salmon song
Teething in prime
Circles eddy drifting in space
Pitchers popping perfect blind
Moonshine in line
Janqetty.

Denis Streeter  6/6/15