The soundscape of this poem is fantastic and fantastically original; kinestheticly perfect You can imbibe the scene, so clearly sketched and it reminds me mysteriously of both Gerard Manley Hopkins and Dylan Thomas. Utterly original. Visceral and striking.
OK, I don't like Hopkins, so take anything I say in that direction with a grain of salt, but this is better than Hopkins -- there is a kind of simplicity and lucidity that you don't get in Hopkins, and the sounds are perfection, without needing to draw attention to themselves. Thomas, yeah -- I hear that. "Fern Hill" -- but I like this even better than "Fern Hill," which I admit is a dumbass thing to say, but I do. This one makes "Fern Hill" seem a bit precious, overwrought. Don't get me wrong, I love "Fern Hill" though. I'd say this one is more like "Directive," by Robert Frost -- his greatest poem.
Wanted to say as well your poem made me feel kind of a longing for country scenes I saw in the 1970s when I traveled one summer through Iowa For rusty silos, covered bridges John Deere tractors abandoned in fields, raggedy farm houses with the grass grown up all around them, the ghosts of machinery. Your poem has an intense CRISPNESS to it and HEIGHTENNG of REALITY to an extra dimension and that is the way it reminded me of Hopkins. The lyricism is realism and the realism is lyricism (To combine both elements in poetry is quite rare I think) and the poem crackles with a you are there astonishing sensibility. It made me miss so many things. And it is so precisely etched on the living air. It is so well rooted and grounded and branching forever in Time.
Both your and Graham's reading of the poem as a living evocation of time and place makes me very happy, not only because of your generosity, but for this reason:
I, quite madly and as a younger person who understood very little about poetry, devoted myself (quite literally) to reading and understanding the work of Canadian poet and essayist Tim Lilburn. In the context of my practice of poetry - which sounds nothing like Lilburn's (thank goodness) - I consider myself a student of Lilburn first and foremost. What he does in his immediate and raw honesty of attention towards Place in his work, is what I aspire to, more in terms of the attentional practice than the specific music of his lines. Mine is a sort of dim but determined plodding over deeper footsteps.
Though Frost and Thomas are great inspirations of mine, and both fellow travellers of yore that I seek to learn from in my small way, it's actually Lilburn whose moves loom largest.
All that to to say, in short, that I recommend Tim's poetry to anyone who hasn't read it! Though it may provide discomfort to the more axiomatic reader (quite understandably).
Finally, let me say the reminiscences you shared above indeed reflect the a landscape that is a close cousin to the one described in my poem. A pleasure to hear them.
Apologies for the long comment! Hadn't planned to evangerant like that, but there we go. Cheers!
This poem is sweet honey and nostalgic car-rust and takes place on the Earth that you and I currently inhabit. I love it. I was kind of doing the burn-through-it-all post-lunch substack thing, and when I hit "iron body off the northern highway" and heard the sounds, i stopped, took a breath, and actually read the thing. and then re-read. it's lovely as hell, and is better than going to church.
The soundscape of this poem is fantastic and fantastically original; kinestheticly perfect You can imbibe the scene, so clearly sketched and it reminds me mysteriously of both Gerard Manley Hopkins and Dylan Thomas. Utterly original. Visceral and striking.
OK, I don't like Hopkins, so take anything I say in that direction with a grain of salt, but this is better than Hopkins -- there is a kind of simplicity and lucidity that you don't get in Hopkins, and the sounds are perfection, without needing to draw attention to themselves. Thomas, yeah -- I hear that. "Fern Hill" -- but I like this even better than "Fern Hill," which I admit is a dumbass thing to say, but I do. This one makes "Fern Hill" seem a bit precious, overwrought. Don't get me wrong, I love "Fern Hill" though. I'd say this one is more like "Directive," by Robert Frost -- his greatest poem.
OK, re-reading Bear Lake Encyclical and Directive against one another, give me Bear Lake, not even close.
Thank you for the kind words, Mary. I am a great admirer of Thomas, and your comments have spurred me to go read Hopkins!
That's wonderful!!
A poem I wrote just now (Saturday) inspired by both your poem and Hopkins himself.
With a splash of Dylan Thomas in the title, kind of obliquely DT (singing in his chains like the sea...)
RUST NOT MARINERS ON THE TEMPESTUOUS SEAS
For the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins
I deny the corrosion of hours
Destined to hold within them golden bells
Knowing the world we think we inhabit
Is fugitive under
a surface spell
Light peals out from angelic sources
Clouds move at the lapsed speed of dreams
Within the worlds on worlds I believe
Fire kindles and brindles
The inner creeds.
mary angela douglas 27 april 2024
Fantastic!
Wanted to say as well your poem made me feel kind of a longing for country scenes I saw in the 1970s when I traveled one summer through Iowa For rusty silos, covered bridges John Deere tractors abandoned in fields, raggedy farm houses with the grass grown up all around them, the ghosts of machinery. Your poem has an intense CRISPNESS to it and HEIGHTENNG of REALITY to an extra dimension and that is the way it reminded me of Hopkins. The lyricism is realism and the realism is lyricism (To combine both elements in poetry is quite rare I think) and the poem crackles with a you are there astonishing sensibility. It made me miss so many things. And it is so precisely etched on the living air. It is so well rooted and grounded and branching forever in Time.
Both your and Graham's reading of the poem as a living evocation of time and place makes me very happy, not only because of your generosity, but for this reason:
I, quite madly and as a younger person who understood very little about poetry, devoted myself (quite literally) to reading and understanding the work of Canadian poet and essayist Tim Lilburn. In the context of my practice of poetry - which sounds nothing like Lilburn's (thank goodness) - I consider myself a student of Lilburn first and foremost. What he does in his immediate and raw honesty of attention towards Place in his work, is what I aspire to, more in terms of the attentional practice than the specific music of his lines. Mine is a sort of dim but determined plodding over deeper footsteps.
Though Frost and Thomas are great inspirations of mine, and both fellow travellers of yore that I seek to learn from in my small way, it's actually Lilburn whose moves loom largest.
All that to to say, in short, that I recommend Tim's poetry to anyone who hasn't read it! Though it may provide discomfort to the more axiomatic reader (quite understandably).
Finally, let me say the reminiscences you shared above indeed reflect the a landscape that is a close cousin to the one described in my poem. A pleasure to hear them.
Apologies for the long comment! Hadn't planned to evangerant like that, but there we go. Cheers!
This poem is sweet honey and nostalgic car-rust and takes place on the Earth that you and I currently inhabit. I love it. I was kind of doing the burn-through-it-all post-lunch substack thing, and when I hit "iron body off the northern highway" and heard the sounds, i stopped, took a breath, and actually read the thing. and then re-read. it's lovely as hell, and is better than going to church.
Graham, wow. Thank you for the extremely kind words. Beyond honored my friend.
Just callin' it like I see it, which I do.
Thanks for this pure poetry, and I hope to read countless bazillions more of where that came from.