November 3, 2024

“Holding Vigil” by Alison LutermanPosted by

Alison Luterman

HOLDING VIGIL

My cousin asks if I can describe this moment,
the heaviness of it, like sitting outside
the operating room while someone you love
is in surgery and you’re on those awful plastic chairs
eating flaming Doritos from the vending machine
which is the only thing that seems appealing to you, dinner-wise,
waiting for the moment when the doctor will come out
in her scrubs and face-mask, which she’ll pull down
to tell you whether your beloved will live or not. That’s how it feels
as the hours tick by, and everyone I care about
is texting me with the same cold lump of dread in their throat
asking if I’m okay, telling me how scared they are.
I suppose in that way this is a moment of unity,
the fact that we are all waiting in the same
hospital corridor, for the same patient, who is on life support,
and we’re asking each other, Will he wake up?
Will she be herself? And we’re taking turns holding vigil,
as families do, and bringing each other coffee
from the cafeteria, and some of us think she’s gonna make it
while others are already planning what they’ll wear to the funeral,
which is also what happens at times like these,
and I tell my cousin I don’t think I can describe this moment,
heavier than plutonium, but on the other hand,
in the grand scheme of things, I mean the whole sweep
of human history, a soap bubble, because empires
are always rising and falling, and whole civilizations
die, they do, they get wiped out, this happens
all the time, it’s just a shock when it happens to your civilization,
your country, when it’s someone from your family on the respirator,
and I don’t ask her how she’s sleeping, or what she thinks about
when she wakes at three in the morning,
cause she’s got two daughters, and that’s the thing,
it’s not just us older people, forget about us, we had our day
and we burned right through it, gasoline, fast food,
cheap clothing, but right now I’m talking about the babies,
and not just the human ones, but also the turtles and owls
and white tigers, the Redwoods, the ozone layer,
the icebergs for the love of God—every single
blessed being on the face of this earth
is holding its breath in this moment,
and if you’re asking, can I describe that, Cousin,
then I’ve gotta say no, no one could describe it
we all just have to live through it,
holding each other’s hands.
 

—from Poets Respond

__________

Alison Luterman: “I don’t have to explain why this moment is so fraught right now. I’m feeling a lot of tenderness for all of us who are suffering anxiety this week, and trying to hold each other up.” (web)

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November 2, 2024

“12 Months Haiku” by Chen XuePosted by

Chen Xue (age 14)

12 MONTHS HAIKU

 
 
Snow footprints
Vanishing into the distance
A silent thief
 
 
Coming wind
Scattered stars
Everywhere
 
 
Ice cracked
Laughters
Out of rivers
 
 
Morning glories
Children’s voices
Dyed pink
 
 
Paper airplanes
Something I don’t know
Happening
 
 
Lemon slice
Red tea
Sunset
 
 
Darkness
How hope
Becomes fireflies
 
 
A bite of mooncake
Sweet clouds
Of dawn
 
 
Pomegranates
In the orchard
Blushing faces
 
 
Kiss marks
On the foggy window
Trembling
 
 
Camphor scent
Woolen gloves
Forget my temperature
 
 
Fireworks
Above a word—
Reunion
 
 

—from 2024 Rattle Young Poets Anthology

__________

Why do you like to write poetry?

Chen Xue: “I love writing poetry because it brings me solace. When I encounter setbacks in life, I turn to poets from around the world. Though I may not fully grasp their language, their verses always move me to tears. I aspire for my own poetry to be read by more people.”

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November 1, 2024

“A River Runs Through It” by Charles Harper WebbPosted by

Charles Harper Webb

A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT

Not flows. Runs—watery
knees high, arms pumping,
breath steady and sure.
 
Not the whole river.
That would scare people.
This is a big, kind-hearted
 
river. Splashy and reflecting
light, this river loves
to mix with people—sad
 
so often, full of discontent.
That’s what their big
brain-to-body ratio achieves.
 
The river splashes them
as it runs by, as if
they were little kids
 
playing with squirt guns
on a stifling August day.
What could be more fun
 
than to dash shrieking
around the yard, playing
a game you want to lose,
 
since losing means
you wind up soaking
wet and cool, dripping
 
and laughing? The river
loves to make us feel
that way.
 

—from Rattle #85, Fall 2024
Tribute to Musicians

__________

Charles Harper Webb: “I was a professional rock singer/guitarist from the age of 15 to 30, playing in Texas, Louisiana, and all over the Northwest. I think my poems have rock-and-roll attitude and energy, and that the same musicianship I showed on stage permeates my poems. In all the clubs and concerts that I played, I tried to excite and entertain my audience, and never to bore them. I bring that same attitude to poetry.” (web)

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October 31, 2024

“Haiku [his shadow]” by Greg SchwartzPosted by

Greg Schwartz

HAIKU

 
 
 
his shadow
in the kerosene glow—
bat wings
 
 
 
 

—from Poets Respond

__________

Greg Schwartz: “Most of the poetry I read goes over my head, but haiku is something that tends to stick with me. The compactness of a haiku fits my attention span nicely, though the good ones have an impact much larger than their words. This poem resulted from that day’s #haikuhorrorprompt prompt on Twitter, which was ‘kerosene.’ It took a while to come up with something, but the vampire shapeshifting into a bat trope seemed to fit well with the Dracula-era setting conjured up by the prompt.” (web)

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October 30, 2024

“F. Wayne Scott” by Ken WaldmanPosted by

Ken Waldman

F. WAYNE SCOTT

Forgive us, Lord, for
 
when a loved one passes, we
ask ourselves: What next?
Years of devotion lead to this
necessary song that catches
every sad note. It’s hard
 
sometimes. Forgive us, Lord. We
can’t undo time. Yet how is it
one day can go on for weeks,
then months? Tears are the oldest
tune. He’s now the music of light.
 

—from Rattle #85, Fall 2024
Tribute to Musicians

__________

Ken Waldman: “In the early ’80s, I lived near Chapel Hill, North Carolina, with two musicians, a banjo player, and a guitarist. I was the boring housemate who worked in a bookstore and didn’t play music. My housemates had parties. The musicians who came were good then, and they’re good now. One guy who wasn’t so good abandoned his fiddle after a party, along with bow and case, and was selling them for $100. I bought that fiddle. My talent was stubbornness. Several years later, beginning to write poems in grad school, one of my subjects was the old-time fiddle tunes I was struggling with. Fast forward and for almost thirty years now I’ve made a living combining Appalachian-style string-band music with original poetry and Alaska-set storytelling. Musically, I have decent rhythm, and play fiddle tunes pretty plainly, but well enough to appear on stage with highest-level musicians (when I’m the band leader, calling the shots). I’ve been told my fiddling is distinctive, and has energy and depth. One strength is I know my limitations. My poetry is pretty plain too, I think, though I’ve taken a liking to forms, which makes the work easier to contain, or at least finish.” (web)

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October 29, 2024

“Reverie Work Ahead” by ZeidPosted by

Have you ever eaten breakfast here before? by Barbara Gordon, oil painting for two construction barrels leaning toward each other as if in conversation in an empty parking lot

Image: “Have you ever eaten breakfast here before?” by Barbara Gordon. “Reverie Work Ahead” was written by Zeid for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, September 2024, and selected as the Editor’s Choice.

__________

Zeid

REVERIE WORK AHEAD

two traffic barrels wonder if they should crack the street / split the asphalt like an egg / see what spills out. or if they should imagine themselves as spiderwebs / snaring a city’s descending ashes / clung tightly to circular frames. one barrel whispers to the other / the reply is a stuttered hymn / a plastic rasp. they are the pulse of rust and rain / flickering stripes / smoke-glint on iron / ghosts of a steely and dust-bitten world. they lean closer / barricade lights nearly touching / soft pulses under blue sky. they whisper of silver platters and things they cannot eat / oil-slick dreams sliding between orange bands. a yellow caution tape snake slithers by / coiling in a wind’s clutch / curling toward and away from the barrels. they wait for the night crew / who’ll roll them back to their stations / with street tremors below weighted bases. for now / they press into each other’s shadows / the city’s hum beyond the frame / the asphalt cooling as the day exhales. still / the question hovers like fog above street / should they crack the ground beneath them / or let it hold / fixed / silent / as / fault / or as choice?
 

—from Ekphrastic Challenge
September 2024, Editor’s Choice

__________

Comment from the series editor, Megan O’Reilly: “This image, on its own, is a poem, the way the artist breathes humanity into commonplace objects and winks deftly at a more complex narrative. ‘Reverie Work Ahead’ puts words to that narrative, imagining the untold story of two traffic barrels. It takes a skilled writer to achieve this without veering into absurdity, and Zeid pulls it off impressively. Inspired phrases like ‘ghosts of a steely and dust-bitten world’ and ‘coiling in a wind’s clutch’ captivate and give dimension to the world the poet creates. The last line, in the form of a question, feels profound and consequential, and reminds the reader that great poets and artists can create the deepest meaning out of the most ordinary subjects.”

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October 28, 2024

“Einstein Washes the Dishes” by Michael R.J. RothPosted by

Michael R.J. Roth

EINSTEIN WASHES THE DISHES

Einstein washes the dishes
He knew he could not change the world
So he tried to change the universe
Knowing it would be absurd
But then again, it could’ve been worse
It didn’t measure up to his plans
And Einstein washes the dishes
Not knowing where he stands
 
Einstein washes the dishes
From morning till mid-afternoon
He suddenly finds he has time on his hands
On the mystical side of the moon
Everyone blames him for putting
Black holes where stars used to shine
So Einstein washes the dishes
Leaving his future behind
 
Einstein washes the dishes
Rinsing the time off his hands
When he thought that souls were fictitious
Like Zen monks would say in Japan
Ashes from Auschwitz float by like wishes
That something human remains
Einstein washes the dishes
But he cannot remove all the stains
 
That trick with the loaves and the fishes
Was a thing he could not comprehend
He thinks that he might know the answer
The truth is that it just depends
He’d change the world for a song
If it changed the world
But he wonders how it will end
So Einstein washes the dishes
And he does it again and again
 

—from Rattle #85, Fall 2024
Tribute to Musicians

__________

Michael R.J. Roth: “I started as a poet, relishing the freedom it provided for the voice of the soul, free of constraints. I later started writing songs, finding ways to fit words into the structures created by music and convention. Of course, in songwriting as in poetry, the conventions have been evolving and increasingly liberating. The more I wrote, the more I found the words demanded music, and increasingly worked from the lyric to shaping the music around it. There are dimensions that poetry has that cannot be translated into song, but music provides dimensions the written or spoken word alone cannot achieve. We see those dimensional differences between photography and painting, for example, or black-and-white versus color. We see it in plays versus cinema, and may wonder what it would be like if architecture could sing or sculpture could dance. I find that songwriting provides an element of emotion and drama that I can’t supply with words alone. There is also the added factor of the audience. Songs need to convey their meaning rather urgently, and the need to communicate clearly in a short time adds some discipline that I like. I still write poetry, but I have been writing and performing songs for more than a half century, and still love the flirtation between words and music.” (web)

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