tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post6061333306148459949..comments2024-01-28T03:56:39.351-08:00Comments on TOM CLARK: Edward Dorn: In My Youth I Was a Tireless DancerUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-17476396508286023112010-03-04T01:44:39.052-08:002010-03-04T01:44:39.052-08:00Susan,
Thanks for the terrific poem. I think E.D....Susan,<br /><br />Thanks for the terrific poem. I think E.D. would have loved it.TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-74709855049581067852010-03-03T10:05:22.703-08:002010-03-03T10:05:22.703-08:00The Burdens For Edward Dorn
They are infant...The Burdens For Edward Dorn <br />They are infant sized<br />versions of worry beads<br />from out of Fall River<br />weighing about one hundred pounds.<br /><br />They are blank clown faces<br /> their bodies<br /> are Fall River, Big Thompson.<br />They float in the meadows<br /> as proof of some sort<br /> shine almost obsidian.<br /><br />The watershed is a watery muscle.<br />The fish its electric impulses<br />sending messages from the surface<br /> to the pools of deep sand.<br />The burdens are all brow<br /> from eyelid<br /> to forehead<br /> and back round again.<br /><br />When they are hot—water sizzles<br />and drops onto the grasses<br /> pleased to meet you<br /> why don’t you stay—no I can’t.Susan Kay Andersonnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-32906991850597341782010-02-28T04:49:20.461-08:002010-02-28T04:49:20.461-08:00Thanks Otto, you've put your finger on it. I f...Thanks Otto, you've put your finger on it. I feel exactly the same way: no matter how many times I read this poem (and I've read it many, many times, over many, many years), when I've finished it I always want to read it again. <br /><br />Sometimes many, many times. <br /><br />I don't think I'll ever be done with it.TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-9018622420403740402010-02-27T16:10:55.463-08:002010-02-27T16:10:55.463-08:00Wow, you are opening me up to some wonderful stuff...Wow, you are opening me up to some wonderful stuff, Tom. I love love love wanting to read something again right after I'm done and this is that. <br /><br />"he tombstones would not<br />"fancy their faces turned from the highway."<br /><br />"thin from journeying"<br /><br />"they had been dancing all the time."<br /><br />Wow.~otto~https://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-89012913048172475392010-02-26T20:12:54.983-08:002010-02-26T20:12:54.983-08:00The first time I saw Ed walk into a room at the Un...The first time I saw Ed walk into a room at the University of Colorado, I knew he had "style" (and this was <i>before </i>I had really read his work) . . . but isn't that finally what attracts us to the poems we respond to?<br /><br />Style is mysterious, but it includes elegance and sharpness, a simple "rightness" . . . no extraneous words . . . (which would partly explain the period between <i>Hello La Jolla </i> and <i>Abhorrences </i>) . . .<br /><br />I remember especially a Halloween party at Boulder when he and Jenny came as, well, denizens of the 1920s, and the hat he was wearing, and the Jack Daniels that was being passed around, and the uproarious laughter when he said that Wallace Stevens was the Christine Jorgensen of poetry . . . (well, maybe it was only me who laughed) . . .Joe Safdiehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10146108321237585329noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-77122266985129736592010-02-26T17:48:15.419-08:002010-02-26T17:48:15.419-08:00Not Heavily
Wish I had been there too
Just like th...Not Heavily<br />Wish I had been there too<br />Just like that vaoporous <br />bunch of sky water...Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-73299178384006205302010-02-26T09:45:57.235-08:002010-02-26T09:45:57.235-08:00Thank you Pierre, and you are so very right about ...Thank you Pierre, and you are so very right about the elegance informing the sharpness.<br /><br />(I have Ur-memories of those zoot suit pants.)TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-39970668042930048782010-02-26T09:00:40.013-08:002010-02-26T09:00:40.013-08:00A pleasure to read that poem on a snowy morning i...A pleasure to read that poem on a snowy morning in Brooklyn — Ed's elegance was indeed part of his sharpness — Lucia's description & the photo are excellent context — thanks, Tom —Pierre Jorishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17620468904568794519noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-67837875501044498292010-02-26T08:46:08.286-08:002010-02-26T08:46:08.286-08:00Thank you Stephen, lovely.
______
Poem for the ...Thank you Stephen, lovely.<br /><br /><br />______<br /><br />Poem for the Day: Joanne<br /><br /><br />the shadow of a cloud<br />passing, being itself<br /><br /><br />______<br /><br /><br />Wish I were there, as always.<br /><br />Yes, the wind swirling and building out of the south now. For us it's that Oh no, here it comes again feeling. (All fall apart & c.)TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-79226548052818364692010-02-26T07:59:36.727-08:002010-02-26T07:59:36.727-08:00Thanks for this Tom, and to think that (coincidenc...Thanks for this Tom, and to think that (coincidence) yesterday after that long 'note' to you I ran into Joanne when I was coming out of the water, who mentioned (in passing) Ed Dorn, who shows up here. . . . Meanwhile, south wind kicking up, more rain soon ---<br /><br />2.26<br /><br />first grey light in cloud above shadowed<br />ridge, red-tailed hawk calling on branch<br />in foreground, waves sounding in channel<br /><br /> perspective, adjusted sight<br /> lines in this version<br /><br /> i.e., the shadow of a cloud<br /> passing, being itself<br /><br />silver of sunlight reflected in channel,<br />white clouds in blue of sky above ridgeSTEPHEN RATCLIFFEhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12339481653546188412noreply@blogger.com