October 17, 2023

“The Bittern at Abbott’s Lagoon” by John O’ReillyPosted by

John O’Reilly

THE BITTERN AT ABBOTT’S LAGOON

the walk to the sea belongs to the sea
we are drawn on as waves are
the late light is sidelong
a glance at a party
passed from one guest to the next

few have binoculars out for the bittern
on the other side of the lagoon
the walk pauses where those
who’ve been shown it show it to others
like a face in a tortilla

for some time we forget about the ocean
all of us eyeing this cryptic bird
which deems itself invisible
as we deem ourselves while exposed

soon darkness will sidle down
brought to the hem of the Pacific
that the bittern might recede
into invisibility amid the reeds
there upon its hunting ground
a shy and terrible god like ours

—from Rattle #36, Winter 2011

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John O’Reilly: “Lorca said he wrote poetry because he wanted people to like him. For a long time, I was charmed by his candor. I’ve come to think of it as poetic candor, with a riddle inside. I write in part to solve that riddle, while I paper the door of my refrigerator.”

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October 16, 2023

“In My Heart” by D. Dina FriedmanPosted by

D. Dina Friedman

IN MY HEART

after E.E. Cummings

Here’s the secret: nobody knows
what the moon is made of. Nobody 
understands our bodies’ common cheese, 
or how vocal cords vibrating in a hot wind 
can reach a harmony that pleases, even in dissonance.
Nobody knows why that tomato chose to birth itself
out of the compost pile, wrapping its vines
around the lone milkweed. Or how the praying
mantis managed its miraculous escape 
just before I heaved the weed it perched on
and accidentally uprooted the volunteer tomato, 
which I dug a hole for in the garden 
and watered, though I don’t have much hope
for its survival. Yet, some of us persevere 
like plants, sprouting where we don’t belong, 
dragging our faltering bodies, foggy minds
all to look at the moon, to say: This matters. 
This is why I’m still alive. 
 
 
 

Prompt: “Write a poem after E.E. Cummings’ ‘[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in].’”

—from Rattle #81, Fall 2023
Tribute to Prompt Poems

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D. Dina Friedman: “Prompts open a pathway to new perspectives, whether it’s a shortcut to my own subconscious, or simply an alternate way of seeing.” (web)

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October 15, 2023

“The Bush” by Alicia Rebecca MyersPosted by

Alicia Rebecca Myers

THE BUSH

Every time I thought of anger, or fear or revenge, I breathed it out. I tried to think of what I was grateful for—the bush that hid me so well that even birds landed on it, the birds that were still singing, the sky that was so blue.
—Maya Alper, survivor of Hamas’ attack on the Tribe of Nova music festival

The extraordinary arms of the bush.
Trap music still echoing: the singing
birds another cover. The conscious hush.
 
The sky that was so blue above the rush.
The sound of blood pooling, shots ringing.
The extraordinary arms of the bush.
 
The bush wasn’t burning, the birds weren’t ash.
A prayer for breath. The rigid thorns clinging.
Birds another cover. The conscious hush.
 
Lungs instead of terror, the labored wish
to survive. Birds that landed, kept going.
The extraordinary arms of the bush.
 
The roar of explosives, the forceful push
of gratitude against anger. Morning
birds another cover. The conscious hush.
 
The thorns, the sky, the breath, the birds, the bush.
The hidden body contorted, living.
The extraordinary arms of the bush.
Birds another cover. The conscious hush.
 

—from Poets Respond
October 15, 2023

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Alicia Rebecca Myers: “I wrote this after learning that my brother-in-law’s good friend lost his life in the attack.” (web)

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October 14, 2023

“The Bellbird” by Isabella Slattery-ShannonPosted by

Isabella Slattery-Shannon (age 11)

THE BELLBIRD

The full moon, glowing at dusk,
and the audacious bellbird is calling out from his tree,
so small yet so loud.
He calls, repeats, waits, and calls again.
It makes me wonder how loud our songs are heard,
and how far they spread beyond our knowing.
 

—from 2023 Rattle Young Poets Anthology

__________

Why do you like to write poetry?

Isabella Slattery-Shannon: “I enjoy poetry because it opens a whole new world for my brain.”

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October 13, 2023

“At the Love Feast” by Curtis DerrickPosted by

Curtis Derrick

AT THE LOVE FEAST

Father’s special homily gave Mother
and the choir some rest. I leaned
across Delphina’s lap beneath her arm.
 
So much was moved
by her painted fan,
Jesus on a hillside tending lambs. 
 
Wave on wave, Love wafted,
perfect and perfumed,
from her soft, black hand.
 

—from Rattle #81, Fall 2023

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Curtis Derrick: “As a preacher’s kid, I was baptized in the poetry of the Bible, the Lutheran liturgy, and hymns. My first sense of rhythm, rhyme, metaphor, and poetic devices such as alliteration came from these religious sources. But I grew up in an era when school recitations of poetry were still common. So, my exposure to more secular poets grew rapidly through memorizations of Longfellow, Frost, and Sandburg, for example. My early favorite was a poet of the troubadour school, Woody Guthrie, who gave me the metaphor that has been my motto ever since the fifth grade: ‘I’m just a speckle on a freckle on a face that’s got too many.’”

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October 12, 2023

“In America” by Diana GoetschPosted by

Diana Goetsch

IN AMERICA

“Why don’t you go to Japan and ask the cats?” I said
to the TSA agent when she asked if I was Amish,
because I believe in answering a non-sequitur

with a non-sequitur. I only said it
after I’d been cleared, after I’d been strip-searched
behind frosted glass, and then posted

the bitch’s face on Facebook along with her name.
Maybe being trans is like being Amish,
or maybe I went pale when I missed my flight

as Security Agent Pamela E. Starks
conferred with Explosives Expert Gary Pickering
to discuss, based on the “soft anomaly”

picked up by the body scanner, which of them
needs to search me (at one point she
suggested they each take “half”).

I suppose I could have come from Amish country,
a place so deep in the heart of America it can’t be seen,
and delivered to the airport by horse and buggy—

an Amish horse, oblivious to traffic. Maybe
it’s because of my long black dress, or makeup
that makes it look like I’m not wearing makeup—

a goal whose purpose used to elude me,
though I totally get it now, but please don’t ask.
You could go and ask the cats in Japan,

though it’s bound to earn you a contemptuous frown,
by which they mean to say, “Eat my ass
in Macy’s window.” How do cats in Japan

know about Macy’s? you must be asking.
Beats the hell outta me. They have
no tails—did you know?

Neither do the Amish. Just kidding.
I’m still waiting to hear about
the complaint I filed, the one that,

along with the viral video of them
repeatedly calling me “it,” shut down
the TSA website for three days

while they rewrote the rules about me.
“You could be charged for this,”
friends warn me, but in America

it can’t be libel if it’s true. I learned that
from the cats in Japan, who you can ask—
though it’s best not to disturb them.

—from In America
2017 Rattle Chapbook Prize Selection

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Diana Goetsch: “I’m basically a love poet. I’ve started to understand that after all these years. No matter the subject, I think my mission has something to do with redemption. And I just go for the hardest thing to redeem.” (web)

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October 11, 2023

“What to Say to Those Who Think You’re a Fool for Choosing Poetry” by Joseph FasanoPosted by

Joseph Fasano

WHAT TO SAY TO THOSE WHO THINK YOU’RE A FOOL FOR CHOOSING POETRY

Tell them yes.
Tell them poetry is what chose you.
Tell them
you had a night, once,
just as they did,
when you knelt alone on the cold tiles
and asked the night
to give you a reason for being.
Tell them the answer was your life.
Tell them we are nothing, nothing
without passion,
the wild dark flock
that fills our rooms with joy.
Tell them
you will give the rest of your blazing days
to try to give another life
that moment,
that moment when you opened
to the coldness
and found that the music of your ruin
was too beautiful to ever be destroyed.
 
 
 

Prompt: “A young reader’s email that read, in part, ‘What should I say to those who say I’m being foolish for choosing a life of poetry?’”

—from Rattle #81, Fall 2023
Tribute to Prompt Poems

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Joseph Fasano (from the conversation): “My journey toward poetry was really a journey toward giving in to it. I always scribbled, I always read, and I was sort of saying, ‘You know what, maybe these great questions and these great mysteries are things that I want to explore within the human heart, within the human mind.’ That’s an abridged way of putting it, but it’s been a journey into language and into the human heart as the biggest mystery of all.” (web)

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