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Authors, sign in!Last week I was sitting in a poetry workshop while on a residency at St. Mary's College of Maryland, and the professor prompts us to start writing a poem of thanks... sounds easy enough right? Well, lets just say the page is still blank. These types of writing prompts just shut me down because of the expansiveness of such an idea. How do you reduce everything you are thankful for to syllables? What algorithm do you use to query memory to try to recall all the times the fatal news story could have been you or a loved one?
I could go on... but as my family and move through this day (and season) of thanks, mourning (for our Indigenous brothers and sisters), harvest, giving and receiving. I will be collecting words and memories in an effort to create a body of work that always speaks to this spirit of gratitude.
In the poem below Yusef Komunyakaa examines thanks in the language his experiences has given him, check it out....
Thanks
By Yusef Komunyakaa
Thanks for the tree
between me & a sniper's bullet.
I don't know what made the grass
sway seconds before the Viet Cong
raised his soundless rifle.
Some voice always followed,
telling me which foot
to put down first.
Thanks for deflecting the ricochet
against that anarchy of dusk.
I was back in San Francisco
wrapped up in a woman's wild colors,
causing some dark bird's love call
to be shattered by daylight
when my hands reached up
& pulled a branch away
from my face. Thanks
for the vague white flower
that pointed to the gleaming metal
reflecting how it is to be broken
like mist over the grass,
as we played some deadly
game for blind gods.
What made me spot the monarch
writhing on a single thread
tied to a farmer's gate,
holding the day together
like an unfingered guitar string,
is beyond me. Maybe the hills
grew weary & leaned a little in the heat.
Again, thanks for the dud
hand grenade tossed at my feet
outside Chu Lai. I'm still
falling through its silence.
I don't know why the intrepid
sun touched the bayonet,
but I know that something
stood among those lost trees
& moved only when I moved.
Published November 22, 2007 by Fred Joiner |
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Poetry
Comments (1)
Fred, what a wonderful poem you've chosen for us. There's a lot there. I'll be back to read it a few more times before this day is over. Thank you so much.
Nora Thomason
Posted by Nora Thomason
|
November 22, 2007 3:22 PM
Posted on November 22, 2007 15:22