photo by Greg Chalpin
Francisco Alarcón writes: I am enclosing a poem titled "A Shadow's Fate." It's a painful poem I wrote many years ago:
A SHADOW’S FATE
—Francisco X. Alarcón
tough
being a shadow
always
trailing
someone else's
footsteps
not being
able to scream
or cry
when suddenly
stamped on
what a faceless
fate
being sprawled
in the middle
of the day
speechless
on a dirty
downtown
sidewalk
a shadow
always
attached to
someone else's
life
without
the freedom
to choose
whom
to follow
and love
_______________________
Francisco X. Alarcón, Chicano poet and educator, is the author of ten volumes of poetry, including From the Other Side of Night / Del otro lado de la noche: New and Selected Poems (University of Arizona Press 2002). His most recent book of bilingual poetry for children, titled Poems to Dream Together, was published by Lee & Low Books, New York in Spring 2005, and was awarded the 2006 Jane Addams Honor Book Award. He currently teaches at the University of California, Davis, where he directs the Spanish for Native Speakers Program. Thanks, Francisco, for responding to our shadow silliness.
For the rest of you, it's not too late! Send me your poetry about shadows before midnight on Monday, Feb. 13, and I'll send you a surprise poetry present. E-mail to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or snail to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. Jeanine Stevens writes: The first thing that always comes to mind re: shadows is Peter Pan (I think) who lost his, and didn't Wendy have to sew it back on? Ouch! Creepy! [Now there's a poetry trigger if I ever saw one....!]
And thanks, too, to Greg Chalpin for the historic photo of our sadly-passed historic Tower, this one on Watt. Ann Wehrman wrote a fitting tribute poem which we posted on Medusa a couple of weeks ago; watch for her "In Thanks for the Mighty Tower" in Rattlesnake Review #13, due out in March.
Here's another shadow poem, this one from Tom Goff:
LIGHT SHADOW*
—Tom Goff, Carmichael
Shadow is what I call the strangest light.
It pummels this white page, hits and stuns
the black words. So they stagger. They reel
until I, not they, are dizzy. Lighthouse
spins and spins of the wheeling lantern
meant for far-out-at-sea mariners, not for me
at the heaving heart of the inner sea, the one trying
to steady and stabilize the lines.
Is this holy writing? The words now sprout
heat shimmers, halos. Angel? I am sore afraid,
no, just a sore in my own frayed head. In this word
blender, the center does hold, but the rest falls apart.
Shade my eyes, somebody please. I need
your hat. Anybody got half a baseball cap?
Not these afterimages crowding the now thoughts
over the blank falls. White white white white
white white noise, Susie Asado. Susie Asado
is white shadow. Whiteout bats in shadow. Not
some damned sweet tea. Take away this paper.
Turn all the ons off. Leave me alone
with my own best blackest light.
*For all those who suffer from Irlen Syndrome,
or Scotopic Sensitivity Syndrome,
a visual perception problem which interferes
with words in black ink on white paper,
especially under fluorescent light. The syndrome
can make the words seem to lift, float, swirl,
reverse, or disappear, though the condition is
treatable with colored overlays or lenses.
I probably have the condition in mild degree.
_______________________
Thanks, Tom!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) 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.)
A SHADOW’S FATE
—Francisco X. Alarcón
tough
being a shadow
always
trailing
someone else's
footsteps
not being
able to scream
or cry
when suddenly
stamped on
what a faceless
fate
being sprawled
in the middle
of the day
speechless
on a dirty
downtown
sidewalk
a shadow
always
attached to
someone else's
life
without
the freedom
to choose
whom
to follow
and love
_______________________
Francisco X. Alarcón, Chicano poet and educator, is the author of ten volumes of poetry, including From the Other Side of Night / Del otro lado de la noche: New and Selected Poems (University of Arizona Press 2002). His most recent book of bilingual poetry for children, titled Poems to Dream Together, was published by Lee & Low Books, New York in Spring 2005, and was awarded the 2006 Jane Addams Honor Book Award. He currently teaches at the University of California, Davis, where he directs the Spanish for Native Speakers Program. Thanks, Francisco, for responding to our shadow silliness.
For the rest of you, it's not too late! Send me your poetry about shadows before midnight on Monday, Feb. 13, and I'll send you a surprise poetry present. E-mail to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or snail to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. Jeanine Stevens writes: The first thing that always comes to mind re: shadows is Peter Pan (I think) who lost his, and didn't Wendy have to sew it back on? Ouch! Creepy! [Now there's a poetry trigger if I ever saw one....!]
And thanks, too, to Greg Chalpin for the historic photo of our sadly-passed historic Tower, this one on Watt. Ann Wehrman wrote a fitting tribute poem which we posted on Medusa a couple of weeks ago; watch for her "In Thanks for the Mighty Tower" in Rattlesnake Review #13, due out in March.
Here's another shadow poem, this one from Tom Goff:
LIGHT SHADOW*
—Tom Goff, Carmichael
Shadow is what I call the strangest light.
It pummels this white page, hits and stuns
the black words. So they stagger. They reel
until I, not they, are dizzy. Lighthouse
spins and spins of the wheeling lantern
meant for far-out-at-sea mariners, not for me
at the heaving heart of the inner sea, the one trying
to steady and stabilize the lines.
Is this holy writing? The words now sprout
heat shimmers, halos. Angel? I am sore afraid,
no, just a sore in my own frayed head. In this word
blender, the center does hold, but the rest falls apart.
Shade my eyes, somebody please. I need
your hat. Anybody got half a baseball cap?
Not these afterimages crowding the now thoughts
over the blank falls. White white white white
white white noise, Susie Asado. Susie Asado
is white shadow. Whiteout bats in shadow. Not
some damned sweet tea. Take away this paper.
Turn all the ons off. Leave me alone
with my own best blackest light.
*For all those who suffer from Irlen Syndrome,
or Scotopic Sensitivity Syndrome,
a visual perception problem which interferes
with words in black ink on white paper,
especially under fluorescent light. The syndrome
can make the words seem to lift, float, swirl,
reverse, or disappear, though the condition is
treatable with colored overlays or lenses.
I probably have the condition in mild degree.
_______________________
Thanks, Tom!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) 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.)
