—Eavan Boland
I go down step by step.
The house is quiet, full of trapped heat and sleep.
In the kitchen everything is still.
Nothing is distinct; there is no moon to speak of.
I could be undone every single day by
paradox or what they call in the countryside
blackthorn winter,
when hailstones come with the first apple blossom.
I turn a switch and the garden grows.
A whole summer's work in one instant!
I press my face to the glass. I can see
shadows of lilac, of fuchsia; a dark likeness of blackcurrant:
little clients of suddenness, how sullen they are at
the margins of the light.
They need no rain, they have no roots.
I reach out a hand; they are gone.
When I was a child a snapdragon was
held an inch from my face. Look, a voice said, this
is the color of your hair. And there it was, my head,
a pliant jewel in the hands of someone else.
_______________________
Tonight (3/17), celebrate St. Pat's Day by driving up Hwy. 50 and taking the El Dorado Hills exit for the Our House Defines Art poetry reading at 7 p.m. Featured readers are soon-to-be Rattlechapper Irene Lipshin, plus Homer Christensen and Wendy Patrice Williams, followed by an open mic. There is no charge. Our House Defines Art Gallery & Framing is located at 4510 Post St. in El Dorado Hills Town Center (next to Ralph's). It's a lovely gallery and a wonderful setting for a reading. Check it out!
Snake Pal, Rattlesnake Review columnist-in-residence and Rattlechapper (Living With Myth) Taylor Graham is one of the spearheads behind the Our House readings. She lives in the wee town of Somerset, over there in south El Dorado County. Coincidentally, The Sacramento Bee Metro section today has an article about the Pioneer Union School District's 28th Annual Festival of Oral Interpretation, wherein 4th-8th graders from the district gathered last Wednesday in Somerset to recite poetry, either their own or others', and receive a rating (it's not a contest), a certificate and a lapel pin. The Snake heartily applauds such attention to poetry for the little ones! It must be in the Somerset water...
THE SATYR'S HEART
—Brigit Pegeen Kelly
Now I rest my head on the satyr's carved chest,
The hollow where the heart would have been, if sandstone
Had a heart, if a headless goat man could have a heart.
His neck rises to a dull point, points upward
To something long gone, elusive, and at his feet
The small flowers swarm, earnest and sweet, a clamor
Of white, a clamor of blue, and black the sweating soil
They breed in...If I sit without moving, how quickly
Things change, birds turning tricks in the trees,
Colorless birds and those with color, the wind fingering
The twigs, and the furred creatures doing whatever
Furred creatures do. So, and so. There is the smell of fruit
And the smell of wet coins. There is the sound of a bird
Crying, and the sound of water that does not move...
If I pick the dead iris? If I wave it above me
Like a flag, a blazoned flag? My fanfare? Little fare
With which I buy my way, making things brave?
No, that is not it. Uncovering what is brave. The way
Now I bend over and with my foot turn up a stone,
And there they are: the armies of pale creatures who
Without cease or doubt sew the sweet sad earth.
_____________________________
LEDA AND THE SWAN
—William Butler Yeats
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)