[Louise Glück]
At the end of my suffering
there was a door.
Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.
Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.
It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.
Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.
You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:
from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.
Hey, Oldshoe: I am the hitchhiker you picked up in Wyoming back in February of this year. I read what you wrote on Poetry Critical about your picking me up. That was very good, very poetic. I read your poems on Poetry Critical and I thought they were very good.
ReplyDeleteRight now I am in northern California staying with some friends for a while. Don't know how long I will be here.
Here is a poem that I had published in ETHOS Magazine in 1997:
Shiloh
By Tim Shey
Brutal deathdance;
My eyes weep blood.
Pharisees smile like vipers,
They laugh and mock their venom:
Blind snakes leading
The deaf and dumb multitude.
Where are my friends?
The landscape is dry and desolate.
They have stretched my shredded body
On this humiliating tree.
The hands that healed
And the feet that brought good news
They have pierced
With their fierce hatred.
The man-made whip
That opened up my back
Preaches from a proper pulpit.
They sit in comfort:
That vacant-eyed congregation.
The respected, demon-possessed reverend
Forks his tongue
Scratching itchy ears
While Cain bludgeons
Abel into silence.
My flesh in tattered pieces
Clots red and cold and sticks
To the rough-hewn timber
That props up my limp, vertical carcase
Between heaven and earth.
My life drips and puddles
Below my feet,
As I gaze down dizzily
On merciless eyes and dagger teeth.
The chapter-and-versed wolves
Jeer and taunt me.
Their sheepwool clothing
Is stained black with the furious violence
Of their heart of stone.
They worship me in lip service,
But I confess,
I never knew them
(Though they are my creation).
My tongue tastes like ashes:
It sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I am so thirsty.
This famine is too much for me.
The bulls of Bashan have bled me white.
Papa, into your hands
I commend my Spirit.
Ethos
February/March 1997
Iowa State University
Genesis 49: 10: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be.”
No kidding. Damn man. That was a bit ago and never thought for a minute you would happen across that post on tetto.
ReplyDeleteI saw you a few months back in the center of Riverton, looked like you had just got into town. I was going to pull over, say hello, however, I was late for picking my daughter up from daycare, so passed by.
I swung back down Main after picking her up to see if I could spot you again, but you must have towed into some side road.
I appreciate you stopping in Tim, and the thoughts on my posts/poetry/writing and the like. They aren't much really, these tidbits I write here and there, but we all have to have something now don't we.
I've read your blog a few times since the day I picked you up. It was a good drive, good conversation, and really set the tone for my trip.
I am glad to hear you are well and staying with friends in Cali. Times are more difficult these days for hitchers I assume, as everyone is wary (or maybe I should say weary) of their fellow brothers/sisters, and the plight of mankind.
Thank you again for the words in kind and the poem. Wish you all the best and feel free to drop me a line now and again.
-- B
I am glad that we could connect. Maybe my hitchhiking days are done. I am not sure what I will be doing next.
ReplyDeleteHere is another poem that you might like to read:
Goodbye, Las Vegas
By Tim Shey
“Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.”
“He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying”
“Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal”
--T.S. Eliot
“The Waste Land”
_____
Desert jackals
Run to their destruction
Hollow eyes see nothing
Behind shades of glass
Painted Jezebel faces
Unrecognized by man
Mourning becomes electric
As piercing city lights
Rape the virgin night
This place never sleeps
And never awakes from death
Black Jack table bait
Roll-the-dice breath
Throw your money down
This is casino heaven
Idolatry never felt so good
This harlot language doesn’t speak
Straw fires always burn fast
I see the Prophet Jeremiah weeping
Over a people brought down to bankruptcy
By a Queen, a King and three Aces
A hitchhiker wanders hardened streets
With his burden on his back
This is the heart of darkness
Lifeless buildings built with foolish gold
I see Sodom burning
And bodies turned to ash
They were very fluent
In arrogance, pride, adultery
And enviropaganspeak
You have sold your soul to Satan
Do you remember Noah’s Flood?
The City of David was sacked by Romans
And America by Marxist-Darwin thugs
The Stranger leaves the graveyard
And the stench of Vegas Past
And hitches a ride to Barstow
Across the relentless Mohave
On Interstate Fifteen