The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 2/1/09

[BlueIris]

"Wooden Ode"

Whenever I see a chair like it,
I consider it: the no arms,
the lower limbs of pear or cherry.
Sometimes I'll take hold of the back slat
and lift the four-legged creature off the floor to hear
the joints creak, the wind in the timbers,
hauling of keel rope. And the structure will not
utter, just some music of reed and tether,
Old Testament cradle. Whenever I see
a Hitchcock chair—not a Federal,
or an Eames—I pay close, furniture
attention, even as my mind is taking its
seablind cartwheels back. But if every
time you saw a tree—pear,
cherry, American elm, American
oak, beech, bayou cypress—
your eyes checked for a branch, low enough
but not too low, and strong enough,
and you thought of your uncle, or father, or brother,
third cousin twice removed
murdered on a tree, then you would have
the basis for a working knowledge of American History.

—Sharon Olds

[CaliforniaPeggy]

1. My dear BlueIris!

Wow, the mood sure shifts in this one!

It sounds like a nice poem about a chair and the trees it might have come from...

And then, BAM.

Murdered on a tree...

Ouch.

Still, I like it...

I think...

Thank you...

:hug:

[Tuesday Afternoon]

2. Yeah

This lady knows how to pack a punch. I remember some of her other stuff. Powerful! Thanks, Blue.

[BlueIris]

3. I'm so happy someone else here likes Sharon Olds.

Best. Poet. Ever.

[BlueIris]

4. Kick.