Marianne Ross' poem, Take It Down

Marianne Ross taking it down, 8-23-2017

Marianne doesn't write with us often, because she visits from out of town, but she did last Wednesday. The prompt was to write (for about 15 minutes) in response to the question, "What would you like to take down?"  So here below is Marianne's poem without any revision, just right off the table where she sat.  Nice work.

TAKE IT DOWN

That "invasive" flower
Take it down
That ivory tower
Take it down
That fiery sermon
Take it down
Those blinding lights
Take them down
Those futile fights
Take them down

All down to level ground

New Colossus, by Adrien Helm

New Colossus

                                    Adrien Helm                                            

Adrien Helm at right

I stride from blue Pacific to aqua Gulf

Forbidding, cruel massive

My flanks proclaim “Beware!”

To tawny, black and brown

“Stay there!”

I snake through airports long and slow

Steely and unsmiling

With wand and stamp

Eyes flashing, scanning

Scrutiny blaring!

My consuls, agents, are strict, careful, icy.

My processes, meticulous.

My numbers exacting

A machine of efficiency

Cold and uncaring.

Don’t come with your headscarf, your fez or sombrero.

Don’t blink or frown

At my bureaucrat’s English.

I don’t care if you are

Nana, Opa, or Amma.

I want you peachy and prosperous,

Compliant and Protestant

Speaking my language,

Looking vanilla like me.

I’m the protector of myth!

Fran's poem in eulogy as published in The Chronicle last week.

In Memory of Dorothy Cowles Lehnow (“Dot”): 1914-2017

Well into her Eighties, she still could

Invite me to canoe with her.

She would steer; that was understood.

Just another thing that Dorothy would

Accomplish firmly, deftly. No discussion or debate!

She seemed happiest when sitting

Surrounded by dozing dogs and knitting

Or crocheting. Her cats would visit, deigning

To check on her-- or their food dish—disdaining

A nap with those lazy dogs.

Dot herself was always occupied:

Reading, writing, hiking up the side

Of the road, picking berries or tracking scat.

Or calling in search of her fugitive cat.

One of the lessons I learned from Dot

(example, not precept, was the way she taught):

Companionable silence. Compared to chatter,

Being silent in the moment with a friend can matter

More than reminiscence. An old old-friend:

Though Dorothy is gone, fond memories won’t end.

                                            

                                                      Fran Blake Smith, a participant in the “Wednesday Poets”

Charles Simic, Visiting Poet

Charles Simic, Dolores Chamberlain

Sunday found some of our members at the Congregational Church in Brownington to hear Charles Simic read from his two most recent collections, The Lunatic and Scribbled in the Dark.  I think he read a new unpublished poem as well.

He read to a full house, even though we were far from any population center.  He was brave to come to such a small place but pleasantly surprised, perhaps, at the attendance.















And here's what Dolores wrote to read to us Wednesday night:

Poetry Reading

Attended a poetry reading in a crowded church on a cool day in August.
Noticed backs of heads, mostly covered in gray,
as I stare through Judy's hair (which by the way, is not gray).
Some heads bow down to follow along in their books as the poet recites,
not quite loud enough to hear.
A few tilt their heads and point the ear.
A chuckle can be heard or an occasional "aha."
His voice fades a bit as the mike is turned a little higher.
Coughs are stifled, air is drier.
A few questions put forth, he answers them all.
Then refreshments offered at Samuel Read Hall.
Crackers and cheese, water and wine; 
doesn't that sound just divine?
Most of our poetry group was gathered there when
Charles Simic brought his works to share.

a poem by Adrien in response to the prompt, "No More Visiting Poets."

Let the city speak for itself

In the thrum and patter

Of wheels over manholes,

And chatter out the open bars' doors,

The clatter of dishes

In the stainless waste sinks,

And the rise and fall

Of the sirens' wail --

We don't need no visiting poets!

We don't need no visiting poets

To show us the swish and glide

Of folks on the sidewalks,

Making ballet of walks to

Shop or to work,

To play or to home.

We see the rush of colors,

Hear the symphony of sound,

Catch a glimpse of our

Wonderful selves in the

Plate glass and neon graced

Puddles of yesterday's rain.

No, we don't need no 

Visiting poets to slam our

Noses into the stench

Of urine soaked alleys,

Overfull dumpsters,

Or the reeking bundle of clothes

In a doorway that holds a soul.

The city speaks and sings to us of

Poverty, injustice, beauty and wealth.

Today, in this moment, mind and senses aflame.

We don't need no visiting poets. 

                                                          by Adrien Helm

Adrien's poem, Waterfall.

Waterfall

You step beneath a crystalline spray,
A shiver records the temperature shift.
Warmth descends over shoulders, back
Bare flanks to calves, carried in rivulets
Streaming. Breathe and tip back your head
Feel the beat on closed lids and brow
The trickle into your ears, the sluice into
The hollows of your collar bone. Ah...
Supremely sweet heat releases the
Tightness of pent up care and fatigue
The road is forgotten, sleep beckons.
Think of your shared humanity,
How those stumbling into bright lights
From the cattle cars' reeking horrors
Would have calmly embraced the hope
Of what you experience now.

                                                                    By Adrien Helm

A waterfall poem by Mariel Hess

Mariel Hess wrote a waterfall poem in response to what we affectionately call our "homework."  This task was connected to our first meeting, in June, when

left to right:  Ellen Mass, Joanne Giannino, Mariel Hell, Adrien Helm

we saw Paterson, the film, ending with the scene in Paterson, New Jersey at the Great Falls.  Our waterfalls here and about are also nice, as is Mariel's poem for us.

WATERFALL

When I need to retreat from the world, to find calm or solitude

I imagine you, losing myself in your mesmerizing movement and soothing sound

I surrender to the paradox of your simultaneous coming and going

Your perpetual stationary movement gentles my body and soul

I note the light playing your keening, careening body with sparkles and dapples

I listen to your myriad competing voices telling stories - unintelligible,  enigmatic

You carry a wisdom that I cannot fathom;

I rest peacefully in the knowledge of not knowing.

- by Mariel Hess, 7/4/2017