Category Archives: Poetry

The Barn

by Seamus Heaney

Threshed corn lay piled like grit of ivory
Or solid as cement in two-lugged sacks.
The musty dark hoarded an armoury
Of farmyard implements, harness, plough-socks.

The floor was mouse-grey, smooth, chilly concrete.
There were no windows, just two narrow shafts
Of gilded motes, crossing, from air-holes slit
High in each gable. The one door meant no draughts

All summer when the zinc burned like an oven.
A scythe’s edge, a clean spade, a pitch-fork’s prongs:
Slowly bright objects formed when you went in.
Then you felt cobwebs clogging up your lungs

And scuttled fast into the sunlit yard –
And into nights when bats were on the wing
Over the rafters of sleep, where bright eyes stared
From piles of grain in corners, fierce, unblinking.

The dark gulfed like a roof-space. I was chaff
To be pecked up when birds shot through the air-slits.
I lay face-down to shun the fear above.
The two-lugged sacks moved in like great blind rats.

Sonnets. I’m not a huge fan in general, but this one has grown on me. Naturally Sonnet Central has a plethora…

How to bill a family

When I went to the Family Museum I half expected to see a history of the family, or perhaps even some discussion of what a family means to different groups of people. Instead I found rooms full of toys and other technology.

The museum seems to be something akin to a high-tech exhibit for manufacturers to represent their products to future generations and inspire consumerism, or competition — CES for toddlers. The kevlar showcase is one good example. Perhaps I should have taken their motto more to heart than their name: “Play and learn together”.

Back to the family, is it defined as a group that plays and learns together? Surely not. Page 15 of the museum guide sets this issue to rest:

$85 entitles two adults and their children under age 18 who reside in the same household to all basic member benefits.

Aha! I’m amused by the need to specify “reside in same household”. For how long? Does a weekend count as residing? A week? Month? I admire the fact that they do not specifiy “man and woman” although I also noted that two adults does not mean one parent and a baby-sitter.

Your babysitter may be added to your membership for a fee of $10

Pets are $2 per leg. Just kidding.

Brothers and sisters of the parents? Not allowed as family.

Grandparents? Considered family, but they need to get their own special pass.

$50 entitles two adults residing in the same household and all grandchildren under the age of 18 to all basic member benefits.

Ok, so enough of the identity information. How does one go about verifying the difference between family and a grandparent? Let’s say my father comes to visit and I give him my family membership card to take my daughter to the museum. Are they going to toss them out for not being a family, or charge my father a $50 membership fee or a $10 babysitter membership fee? How will they know my father is not me, especially if we have the same name? And let’s say that my brother wants to take my son to the museum, so he borrows my father’s membership card. Are they going to toss them out for not being a family, or charge him a $10 babysitter membership fee? What happens if you change babysitters frequently? Is it $10 per, or can you get a generic babysitter pass? Here’s a good one, try applying for a card with just a first initial and last name.

The truth is that the person checking the cards is empowered to make an executive decision and if they decide to stamp your hand with a little blue-ink symbol, you’ve been recognized as some relation to a family, regardless of what the revenue guidelines state.

Alas, once I had left an arm and a leg with the guards, I wandered around trying to look like someone with a family. Eventually I found some poetry, tucked away among the toys and technology, which made me pause to think:
Breeze

Very subtle. Money blowing in the wind. Consumers bowing down. I get it…

Overall, the museum seems like a good idea that is popular among children and their parents. I mean who doesn’t like grabbing and feeling bits of technology that tens of thousands of other children and parents have been grabbing and feeling? And howabout that kevlar? And the ethanol/biodiesel placard was interesting, although it was more geared towards touting the benefits of growing corn than any reference to the security implications of domestic energy and efficiency (alas, they also seemed to be lacking any insulation in the building and the lamps were all high-burn halogens). Schools apparently are not the best place for families to play and learn together, and so it makes sense that private enterprise would spring up to fill in the gaps. They even have classes and learning groups and they share space with the public library. But is it really necessary to break down the family into billable units?

Glad

by the Swingin’ Utters

    Some sing their songs
    they’re flying on uppers
    So sweet and smug
    that I lose my supper

    Some mumble psalms
    of solace and virtue
    Hang by their palms
    Choke on the cud they chew

    I’m glad we met
    So sad you left
    Sometimes the sweetest things turn sour

    Love songs are cheap
    and only get cheaper
    They prey on the meek
    Who only get meeker

    Cliches sung by stars
    Look so good on paper
    Each bar fed to you
    A communion wafer

    I’m glad we met
    So sad you left
    Sometimes the sweetest things turn sour

    Don’t even think of being average
    You’re so much more to me than adequate
    I’m hanging on to every word you speak
    I’ll burn the torch until you come to me

    I’m glad we met
    So sad you left
    Sometimes the sweetest things turn sour

    The time we spent
    Was heaven sent
    Opened my eyes and stole my hours

House Made of Dawn

I decided to pick up a copy of N. Scott Momaday‘s classic prose in House Made of Dawn. I wonder why it is so rare to see any of the Indian story-telling or prose mentioned on sites of American poetry? His opening paragraph seems amazing to me, all by itself:

The river lies in a vally of hills and fields. The north end of the valley is narrow, and the river runs down from the mountains through a canyon. The sun strikes the canyon floor only a few hours each day, and in winter the snow remains for a long time in the crevices of the walls. There is a town in the valley, and there are ruins of other towns in the canyon. In three directions from the town there are cultivated fields. Most of them lie to the west, across the river, on the slope of the plain. Now and then in winter, great angles of geese fly through the valley, and then the sky and the geese are the same color and the air is hard and damp and smoke rises from the houses of the town. The seasons lie hard upon the land. In the summer the valley is hot, and birds come to the tamarak on the river. The feathers of blue and yellow birds are prized by the townsmen.

And of course the song:

Tsegihi.
House made of dawn,
House made of evening light,
House made of dark cloud,
House made of male rain,
House made of dark mist,
House made of female rain,
House made of pollen,
House made of grasshoppers,
Dark cloud is at the door.
The trail out of it is dark cloud.
The zigzag lightning stands high upon it.
Male deity!
Your offering I make.
I have prepared smoke for you.
Restore my feet for me,
Restore my legs for me,
Restore my body for me,
Restore my mind for meÂ…