Monday, another of those days allowing time in the afternoon to browse aimlessly in a couple of poetry collections, eye out for a shaping of words that grabs attention, a voice speaking in a personal language of the heart, shared thoughts worth pondering.
Ellie Schoenfeld is a native of Duluth, Minnesota, and the author of three poetry collections: Screaming Red Gladiolus! (1999), Difficult Valentines (2004) and The Dark Honey: New and Used Poems (2009). Her work has twice been featured on Garrison Keillor’s The Writer’s Almanac. Schoenfeld co-founded Poetry Harbor in Duluth and is a past recipient of an ARAC/McKnight Artist Fellowship. Screaming Red Gladiolus! was nominated for a Northeastern Minnesota Book Award. The poems below are both from the 2009 collection, The Dark Honey. The first is a wonderfully uncommon take on the hard-to-define concept of patriotism, something surely more than a Pledge of Allegiance and American flag in the front yard.
PATRIOTISM
My country is this dirt
that gathers under my fingernails
when I am in the garden.
The quiet bacteria and fungi,
all the little insects and bugs
are my compatriots. They are
idealistic, always working together
for the common good.
I kneel on the earth
and pledge my allegiance
to all the dirt of the world,
to all of that soil which grows
flowers and food
for the just and unjust alike.
The soil does not care
what we think about or who we love.
It knows our true substance,
of what we are really made.
I stand my ground on this ground,
this ground which will
ultimately
recruit us all
to its side.
And next a plain unadorned Steinbeck view of passing time in a laundromat among ordinary people.
I RIDE GREYHOUND
because it’s like being
in a John Steinbeck novel.
Next best thing is the laundromat.
That’s where all people
who would be on the bus if they had the money
hang out. This is my crowd.
Tonight there are cleaning people appalled
at the stupidity of anyone
who would put powder detergent
in the clearly marked LIQUID ONLY slot.
The couple by the vending machine
are fondling each other.
You’d think the orange walls
and florescent lights
would dampen that energy
but it doesn’t seem to.
It’s a singles scene here on Saturday nights.
I confide to the fellow next to me
that I suspect I’m being taken
in by the triple loader,
maybe it doesn’t hold any more
than the regular machines
but I’m paying an extra fifty cents.
I tell him this meaningfully
holding handfuls of underwear.
He claims the triple loader
gives a better wash.
I don’t ask why,
just cruise over to the pop machine,
aware that my selection
may provide a subtle clue.
I choose Wild Berry,
head back to my clothes.
I really like her stuff. My kind of quick clear images. Little short stories--especially 'I Ride Greyhound' with its sharp capture of the people inhabiting the place.
ReplyDeleteI really like both of these poems because they talk about the down to earth things......things most people don't think about.
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