I just posted, but I also happen to think at least one person in the world might be interested in this dancing monkey posting more poetry. This is the poem I've been revising this evening (and my reason for still being awake). I just e-mailed it out to be workshopped at our next class (ENGL 853, Seminar in Poetry) and perhaps some of you would like to take a stab at being my editors as well. I can't say I consider it finished, but it has reached the point where other's eyes are necessary for it's continued growth.
Thoughts Concerning the Fountain in front of the Nebraska Union
Catapulted, kinetic force loaded, Drop
finds himself suddenly independent, an organism
distinct from the uncountable noun of his birth.
He shoots skyward, looks around, hopes someone
is watching, sure of his role in life: to go high, to go
higher, if possible, higher than any other energetic
drop, to refract particles of sun. He trades kinetic
energy for potential and climbs until,
transfer complete, for a moment,
just.
one.
moment .
he hangs motionless in the air. Perhaps
he wonders at the majestic view, the colonnades,
backpacks, and concrete—thinks the universe
conspired to create one sublime instant just for him.
Or maybe the universe was created for this
now? Perhaps he’s unsure of his role. Could I
have gone higher? Slowly curves the parabola,
Drop grabs what light he can manage. The ascent
dictated how he would fall: moment. one. just.
the descent felt in his molecules, ineffably wrong,
ominous, but necessary; molecules know the way,
they traveled this path as past drops, the way
back to uncountable. With a plunk and splash, Drop
will be forgotten, dissected, and replaced in the spray
by newer drops whom I will admire equally.
Background: This is not a Wordsworth poem, but somewhere in my head it deserves the title, “Intimations of Immortality.” Watching the mathematical chaos of a fountain can be mesmerizing and numinous. When I dig at those feelings, I find religious thoughts of transience and the beauty thereof. I hope this poem makes the instant of life something beautiful though it cannot quite replicate the beauty of the instant of refraction. It was written while reading Gaspar and thematic comparisons to him are in order though stylistically it is a very different creature.
Hey Scott, unfortunately, I do not have a comment on the poem, but rather a comment on what a small world it is....this is Steph Detlor, now Gottfried, working behind the desk at Fletcher Academy, Inc, in Fletcher, NC and I was chatting with a gentleman who is out here for a job interview and his name is William Froelich....through small talk we got on the subject of Union and then you and how you are his nephew. A small world indeed. Needless to say, I enjoyed being reminded of you and the few conversations that we have had. Hope all is well in Lincoln.
Posted by
Stephanie |
11/01/2005 01:58:00 PM
Yup, that's my Uncle Bill. He's trying to escape the natural disaster that is Florida. He's a great guy despite his virulent Republicanism. Also, if you run into anyone with the last name Wetmore in the area, they are also related to me.
Posted by
Scott |
11/01/2005 07:12:00 PM
You are hilarious. Great poem, even greater hubris--"Intimations of Immortality" indeed. :D just kidding. Excited to read your stuff, I am.
Posted by
Kate Lechler |
11/02/2005 06:18:00 AM
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