tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post1469990344251942245..comments2024-01-28T03:56:39.351-08:00Comments on TOM CLARK: Susan Kay Anderson: The Place I've Never Lived InUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-30130722445066415612012-08-21T18:23:34.895-07:002012-08-21T18:23:34.895-07:00I've become more fond of crows since I live an...I've become more fond of crows since I live and spend most of my time in their range yet seldom see a meadowlark. They, the crows, are not without their harriers, jays especially. <br /><br />Marianne Moore's 9th Inning Pitch to the Dyslexic<br /><br />A blessing to poets,<br />a blessing of poets.<br />Sing 'em, write 'em,<br />grow 'em poem.<br /><br />Scratch the itch.<br />A thousand more<br />like it? Poet,<br />you're rich.<br /><br />How rich?<br />Sing 'em, write 'em,<br />grow 'em poem.<br />It's too late to switch.<br /><br />My apologies to Marianne Moore, whom I saw read her most famous and other wonderful poems at the 92nd St. Y.<br /><br /> larry whitehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05659637420532771765noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-69007515707582629092012-08-21T08:37:51.146-07:002012-08-21T08:37:51.146-07:00The sandhllls of Nebraska are really quite lovely ...The sandhllls of Nebraska are really quite lovely - in an austere way. These photos and Susan's poem remind me of the rolling plains where land meets sky - a land that says "home."Marciahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17150292834089323928noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-1183962758617032212012-08-20T09:15:48.329-07:002012-08-20T09:15:48.329-07:00Nebraska! My favorite Springsteen (next to "T...Nebraska! My favorite Springsteen (next to "Trapped"). Fantastic collection of wonderfully vivid poems, Susan!<br />Iowa is somewhat tamer, the railroad having breached it at least a decade sooner. Prairie to loess and plains.<br /> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burlington_and_Missouri_River_Railroad<br /><br />I gravitated to the nearest mountains most of my life. At fourteen sent letters to Esso etc. stating that I was planning a world-wide tour of mountainous regions, requesting maps. Got a big batch for "free". Ironically, my son has been the world traveller and National Park Ranger. larry whitehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05659637420532771765noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-58875604773962765712012-08-20T04:56:34.418-07:002012-08-20T04:56:34.418-07:00Growing up in a place where an anthill would have ...Growing up in a place where an anthill would have passed for a mountain, the mere thought of peaks and valleys was enough to excite my imagination. There was a certain city street I liked because of the way cloud banks stacked up at one end of it. It was possible to close one eye, tilt the head a bit and imagine... mountain ranges.<br /><br />Then came later years of living in mountains on several continents, and having to be walking up them. <br /><br />And then still later came living in very high mountains, over 10,000 feet, up near where they made The Shining. And that was pristine and strange and in mid of winter (all eight months of it) weirdly spooky and deathlike.<br /><br />Unidentified flying objects and light shows traversed the night skies.<br /><br />Northern lights? Exploding propane tanks in liftoff?<br /><br />Before we migrated up there from CA. (some 34 years ago now) the local acid shamaness approached me one day and said in a low voice, ominously and with curious dark portent, "Never move from a temperate zone to a high altitude". <br /><br />I took that with a grain of nonchalance. (Always a bit dumb that way.)TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-11790315253971530072012-08-19T19:53:25.258-07:002012-08-19T19:53:25.258-07:00i've grown attached to my mountains. mountains...i've grown attached to my mountains. mountains make a valley. but honestly, never been anywhere flat. nope, never yet.gamefacedhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16562522181852339258noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-27762842434558096692012-08-19T01:34:52.355-07:002012-08-19T01:34:52.355-07:00The Echo (While I’m Swimming)
It is summer. The ...The Echo (While I’m Swimming)<br /><br />It is summer. The wind is wild<br />in the trees and in the bushes.<br />I spot the places.<br />My mother yodels on the bank<br />of Dismal River. The song is partly<br />about a well in a village near<br />a certain mountain. There is wine <br />and also a small bird.<br />I see my mother’s long white<br />foot touch the water. Everything <br />is alive in the river.<br />She watches me swim and sings<br />mostly to listen for the echo.<br />Her face is expressionless<br />as she concentrates on<br />throwing her voice up to the roof<br />of her mouth.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-60653429132323695682012-08-19T01:29:05.135-07:002012-08-19T01:29:05.135-07:00Winter Solstice
No water, yet we were his crew,
S...Winter Solstice<br /><br />No water, yet we were his crew,<br />Sighting land for him. Land ho! (Nevada)<br />Land ho! (Montana) Land ho! (Oregon). <br />We were sturdy and had sea legs. <br />Ate sardines, Pilot Bread, astronaut food.<br />Army surplus rations and freeze-dried <br />ice-cream from a can. We’d show off<br />to our friends—hey, want a bowl of ice cream?<br />and we’d come out with a bowl of pink or white<br />marshmallow-like rocks that stuck<br />to your teeth after one bite.<br />The getting ready! Our little metal trunks<br />held all the toys and books for the next place.<br /><br />My dad’s beard, his sunglasses. The real boat<br />he had once in Missouri and how he drove it<br />round and around in circles on a lake. <br />Plus, the great trip he took to Mexico<br />with his brother to the Sea of Cortez<br />& how they swam in the phosphorescent water<br />& the raft trips when I was in high school<br />& how Mom fell for the leader, John,<br />a math professor, good with ropes.<br />Oh, the sailing trips along the Oregon Coast<br />and to Alaska. How my mom hated it <br /> <br />being stuck on a boat. How it was alright too<br />because by then it did not matter.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-45045007046762334702012-08-19T01:26:08.417-07:002012-08-19T01:26:08.417-07:00My Father Wanted The West
When he was little he g...My Father Wanted The West<br /><br />When he was little he got cowboys<br />and Indians and also a boy<br />with a moon for a head,<br />pineapple spikes for hair.<br />He wanted joy and sustained surprise.<br />That’s what he got<br />with Moon Boy just by taking a look.<br /><br />This made sense. My father,<br />showing his teeth, genuine agates.<br />His hair, wild, scraggly oaks<br />and smooth corn husks. A scent<br />rising off his clothes like buckskin<br />and eagle feathers in the fancy dance<br />he did across the country.<br /><br />It wasn’t as if he were lazy<br />but he wanted the West to come<br />to him, only, instead, it passed<br />through him and out the other side—<br />through his body towards my mom, me, <br />and my sisters swirling like satellites <br />around a heavenly body.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-77003870980410496742012-08-19T01:24:37.910-07:002012-08-19T01:24:37.910-07:00At Night (The Leaves Are Soft)
The moon is my fri...At Night (The Leaves Are Soft)<br /><br />The moon is my friend<br />coated with feathers.<br />That’s how I always wear my hair<br />in Nebraska.<br />like it’s dropped down from the air.<br />The mashed potatoes in Nebraska<br />are like mountains. Forks climb<br />to the tops and butter avalanches<br />down to the small villages<br />next to the canned peas.<br />next to the gravy.<br />Everything is near the meat.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-51148882739405489702012-08-18T21:37:22.009-07:002012-08-18T21:37:22.009-07:00What I Learned
Call it the feral island of blind ...What I Learned<br /><br />Call it the feral island of blind foxes<br />and wrap-around moon.<br />In the tall grasses my dreams wait crouching.<br />Wishes easily flushed <br />into the pink and grey wind.<br /><br />Call it just plain walking.<br />Every step leads away from<br />and closer to the ocean<br />up on the bluffs. The bluffs took giant steps<br />and the ocean marched gently, always.<br />In the middle of the caliche forest<br />I found some of my friends<br />covered in strange chalk.<br />I did not shake their hands.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-46648375386000758312012-08-18T21:28:24.874-07:002012-08-18T21:28:24.874-07:00Missouri
It is cool, a small ditch
under some ced...Missouri<br /><br />It is cool, a small ditch<br />under some cedar hedges next to the house.<br />Nobody knows I’m there—this is where<br />the sour grass grows<br />that I eat. It is tangy and I see<br />sparks fly out of my brain<br />when I shut my eyes.<br /><br />Later, when we moved to Nome,<br />it was a place similar<br />but stuck on the side of a hill—<br />Chicken Hill—where burrowing owls<br />hunted at night and their wings<br />brushed the tundra air right above<br />where I lay, waiting for the sun<br />to go down—of course it never did,<br />or for our dog Shumagin<br />to come find me, bring me home<br />to our house across the creek<br />where I wrote my own Nancy Drews<br />in shadow writing <br /><br />listening again<br /><br />for the gunshot from the neighbor<br />woman—a suicide,<br />and listening again for our baby sitter’s<br />drunk boyfriend snoring on the couch<br />or for Mr. Peterson to come <br />give me more 8 track tapes.<br /><br />For Cathy Cabinboy’s mom to unfreeze,<br />for Deena’s brother to empty the water<br />from his hip waders in the Kusitrin River,<br />for little Rena to not be run over <br />by the snowplow. <br /><br />I am waiting, <br />waiting in the bedroom in Missouri <br />someone’s house where we stayed over<br />and I drew on all the freshly painted walls—<br />I am waiting, waiting for the animals<br />I drew to guide me, take me to a land<br />where we all speak the same language,<br />where their cries and calls form music<br />that’s perfect, that’s enough as it is.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-65450317141702224612012-08-18T21:25:06.108-07:002012-08-18T21:25:06.108-07:00The High Plains Whirl
Pawnee Buttes.
The sandy cl...The High Plains Whirl<br /><br />Pawnee Buttes.<br />The sandy clay<br />spells out firmness—<br />it blows softly<br />towards the cactus.<br />I hope you don’t become<br />a strand of this cactus grass—<br />the wind is howling<br />I am spinning<br />with my hands out<br />fingers reaching to pull you in<br />from all directions.<br />There are green flames.<br />The trees are not just dead earth.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-26190747002612992782012-08-18T21:13:59.484-07:002012-08-18T21:13:59.484-07:00Thanks for the comments Mr. Chant and Mr. Wooden B...Thanks for the comments Mr. Chant and Mr. Wooden Boy.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-29419737364048072992012-08-18T21:11:11.288-07:002012-08-18T21:11:11.288-07:00I chew, but cannot swallow
this metal spaghet...I chew, but cannot swallow<br /> this metal spaghetti<br /> as it flows from my mouth—<br /> drags, sounding like the<br /> clatter of shells<br /> across the linoleum—<br /> cracks and spaces filled with<br /> grease mixed with dust—<br /> I grab hearty handfuls,<br /> plastering the tangled tinsel<br /><br /><br /> onto my head<br /> for hair<br /> and look around the store<br /> for a package of barretts<br /> that will manage & control<br /> my new mane. My eyes wide<br /> open and I crunch my torso<br /> first to the left and then<br /> to the right—<br /> my head swings and follows,<br /> my legs twitch,<br /> I make my way up the aisle,<br /> almost stepping in a soft<br /> round plate of steaming dung.<br /> There’s time to chew<br /> on the tinsel.<br /> It could have been cooked<br /> a little longer,<br /> served al dente.<br /><br /> “There is sort of a girdle<br /> round the middle of the body.<br /> The hair is very wooly, like<br /> A sheep, very fine, and in<br /> <br /><br /> Front of the girdle the hair<br /> Is very long and rough like<br /> A lion’s.”Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-20973571721989220722012-08-18T21:05:22.255-07:002012-08-18T21:05:22.255-07:00"the front range with the sun going down behi..."the front range with the sun going down behind it"<br /><br />That is what happens there on the High Plains.<br /><br />I love Tom Clark's poem, "Meanings of the Plains" where there is the red coke dispenser, the sun going down with so much meaning that nobody could possibly understand.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-78396384801682192422012-08-18T21:00:19.995-07:002012-08-18T21:00:19.995-07:00Hazen, I love your poem. I can smell the black soi...Hazen, I love your poem. I can smell the black soil. I can smell the Pleistocene retreating.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-37253603385009441652012-08-18T20:54:37.222-07:002012-08-18T20:54:37.222-07:00They still thought
There was gold out in the
Far r...They still thought<br />There was gold out in the<br />Far reaches of this country,<br />The Staked Plains, the region<br />Of Quivira, they had their<br />Suspicions and were somewhat<br />Mystified—there was gold somewhere<br />Because “they knew what the thing was<br />And had a name for it—acochis—“<br /><br /> The store isn’t a 7-11 but<br /> It used to be a gas station<br /> Now it’s only a store<br /> Minus the pumps.<br /><br />Pedro de Casteneda<br />Tells about the monstrous cows encountered<br />Bulls he calls them.<br /><br /> <br /> There are postcards<br /> of Canada and Alaska<br /> right beside the packages<br /> of gold tinsel<br /> I had to run to the store for.<br /> There are greetings<br /> written in cursive<br /> on the fronts<br /> of all the postcards.<br /> The cards shine lime green,<br /> velvet brown, they shimmer<br /> on the rack.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-8635901429778113182012-08-18T20:51:08.367-07:002012-08-18T20:51:08.367-07:00Beast of Burden
My toe, my beast, it lifts up a c...Beast of Burden<br /><br />My toe, my beast, it lifts up a cat, a flat of cauliflower.<br />I’ve never had a Minneapolis dream, but isn’t that where<br />Prairie Home Companion steps in, isn’t that what happens<br />here, in a way, in the highlight, in the heavy load<br />ox-like, of work, the mind gathering, the plowing<br />planting and watering, all along, the tip toeing around—<br />it is almost a sort of tameness <br /><br />was once a wild thing, once an involved<br />pose, those things needed, necessary.<br />Their state, their hair and the way the lookism—<br />o.k., the looks and looking. How it changes,<br />it is all along and a spreading, growing.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-38775557830343882262012-08-18T20:47:49.212-07:002012-08-18T20:47:49.212-07:00Thanks for the comments and for posting this poem....Thanks for the comments and for posting this poem. I look at it and want to run into the arms of the buffalo grass, search for the hoofprints of the others.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-90175235772790134482012-08-18T13:05:19.566-07:002012-08-18T13:05:19.566-07:00We've been to the fens near Peterborough, visi...We've been to the fens near Peterborough, visiting the inlaws. It's a strange place with skies that leave you feeling invisible and alive. But I'm like you, V: I don't know whether flat would suit me as a long term proposition. <br /><br />"There are no places/ in this history where my grandma doesn’t pretend/ nothing has happened. <br /><br />This line, between a here and a there, crackles, and the static coming off it throws me back.<br />Mose23https://www.blogger.com/profile/01100756913131511440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-59127108419730623672012-08-18T11:25:59.757-07:002012-08-18T11:25:59.757-07:00Love the way that the poem twists and turns throug...Love the way that the poem twists and turns through the flat lanscape.Jonathan Chanthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03647746685252448938noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-85974600858671684772012-08-18T10:46:26.283-07:002012-08-18T10:46:26.283-07:00The Plains
the Buddha ground:
the prairie grass o...The Plains<br />the Buddha ground: <br />the prairie grass once so high, the ground so flat <br />that a man on horseback <br />riding off into the curving distance <br />would quickly disappear from sight.<br /><br />Topsoil there<br />in central Illinois <br />so they tell me<br />is eighteen feet thick. <br />you mean inches . . . <br />eighteen inches.<br />No.<br />Feet.<br /><br />Marshland once <br />until the Dutchmen came and drained it<br />a skill learned on the Zuider Zee.<br /><br />Black all the way down<br />rich earth<br />you wouldn’t believe<br />throw down seeds <br />they grow.Hazenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13417573435195561519noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-18375357202020940012012-08-18T09:37:29.799-07:002012-08-18T09:37:29.799-07:00Susan's poem brought back memories of our own ...Susan's poem brought back memories of our own period of habitation (late 70s) in that flat wide lonesome stretch of planet. <br /><br /><a href="http://tomclarkblog.blogspot.com/2011/09/meanings-of-plains.html" rel="nofollow">Meanings of the Plains</a>.TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-45071718541122439112012-08-18T09:21:36.231-07:002012-08-18T09:21:36.231-07:00Flat kind of grows on you, after a while. The larg...Flat kind of grows on you, after a while. The large sky, the waving grass, the infinite horizons. And then after another while, you want to run...<br /><br />But what I really want to know is: what the heck was the U.S. Navy doing in Hastings, Nebraska in 1944?<br /><br />Eating "tamalies"??TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-8502180809833349592012-08-18T08:43:20.613-07:002012-08-18T08:43:20.613-07:00i don't know how i'd be able to be in a pl...i don't know how i'd be able to be in a place so flat. gamefacedhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16562522181852339258noreply@blogger.com