Darling Lake
To be between these cracking brick walls
that catch every wail and child's moan
With cinder dust trapped in the dawn light
and outside my cramped room, a woman,
her skin chalky and creased with anger
at me and who else
banging her tiny fist and shouting my full name
"Marc Angelo", that I haven't heard since I was six.
I had an idea of a quiet place
far removed
where I could read Anna Karenna, finally, or if not,
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintance, again,
and things I had only heard about or seen on TV,
white pebbled sand, trees, an ocean greater than I could imagine.
At Darling Lake, town of 65, in Nova Scotia, Canada,
I lay down on a styrofoam bed for days
and didn't move, didn't make a sound.
trickling river, smells of beech and pine.
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5 comments:
This is great! I would have done the poetry thing but I didn't have the guts. This poem feels to me like Stephen Dunn's work. The flow (I don't know a better word) is not the same exactly, but the mood, the matter of fact tone combined with images; his stuff, from what I've seen, is pretty linear. Dunn likes to tell a story. But this seems to fit well with the theme of the nonlinear imagination, fragments, flux, that we talked about in class. It seems dreamy and slightly worldweary at once. Maybe it's not worldweary, but that the world can be wearying. a touch of gray
early one morning the sun was shining, I was laying in bed,
wondering if she changed at all,
if her hair was still red.
her folks, they said our lives together sure was gonna be rough,
they never did like mama's homemaid dress, papa's bankbook wasn't big enough.
and I was standin' on the side of the road, rain fallin' on my shoes,
heading out for the east coast, lord knows I've paid some dues gettin through
tangled up in blue
this is a really great poem. i also think the way that you actually read it in class added even more to it. i keep hearing it that way when i read it now.
don't really have anything scholarly to say, just wanted to dish out props.
I want to dish out props too! Marc, I really loved this poem. I agree with Ben that the way you read it really added to the piece. I think you pretty much had me though, at the title. Darling Lake. I keep thinking about the old version of The Parent Trap, when they take Vicki camping. Even though I (obviously) didn't like the idea of being pushed out into the lake while I was sleeping, I thought the place itself was so beautiful, and quiet. A place where, for a little bit, you could just be.
Anyway, multiple snaps for you, sir.
(Also, ps, your comments on my blog showed up, I just wasn't online to approve them. Something about wordpress.)
Huzzah my brother. Great work! I love your writing style. You always surprise me with the images you create and the books/shows/cultural items you reference. I have no idea where it all comes from but I love the way it ends up on the page/blog.
Dave
Ditto to all of the above.
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