Shopping Cart
    items

      ←

      June 2, 2017Night HowlsPenny Harter

      When the drunk neighbor across the tracks beats his dog again, the primal howling jerks us from a dreamless sleep. Once I used binoculars to see what manner of man yells Shut the fuck up! at a dog.
      after the fire—
      an acrid stench haloes
      the burnt trees
      How convenient for this man to have a dog. How practiced they both are at it—the dog on a short chain cowering behind his doghouse, the man descending the back stairs with yet another chain wrapped around his fist.
      repeated whistle
      of the midnight freight—
      headlight bearing down

      Penny Harter

      “One late winter afternoon in the early 1960s, while sitting in the Douglass College library, I happened on a Conrad Aiken poem capturing a similar late winter afternoon, and time stood still. I was transfixed. I did not yet know I would be a poet, although the following spring I chose Emerson’s essay ‘The Poet’ for an American literature course paper. Then, in the late 1960s, while waiting in a school parking lot for my then-husband to come out from an after-school meeting, I grabbed a dry cleaner slip from my purse and began to write on the back of it a poem about how quickly the brilliant sunset was fading between the dark branches of a winter tree. It was the first poem I had to write—and when I held the finished poem, I felt something I’d not felt before: a passion! From that time on, I’ve never stopped. I write about what matters most to me, hoping that my poems can reach out and touch others. I write poems for the Earth and our planet in the cosmos; poems of memory and family; and poems probing the riddle of time, hoping to capture our shared experiences of love and loss. I have written to chart my grief at the loss of my husband in October 2008. And recently, to process my journey through cancer and successful chemotherapy this past year. Above all, I write because I must.”

      →

      Related