* organizing the world with Donald Justice

This week’s poem “Bus Stop” by Donald Justice rounds out the recent syllabic kick on the Influence.

I recently read an illuminating essay by Justice where he breaks down some of the thinking that went into the poem, both the conceptual thinking and the structural.

He describes walking his dog around his neighborhood in California around the same time when people would be coming home from work. His sense of the memory is that everything was already there for the poem, the world of it just had to be organized.

I remarked to someone just this week that Justice’s work always surprises me. An undisputed technical master, he makes you forget all about technique by earning such moments as the one below where he fills a line with: Black flowers, black flowers.

* whatcha waitin' for *

* Bus Stop with Chola *

Bus Stop – Donald Justice

Lights are burning
In quiet rooms
Where lives go on
Resembling ours.

The quiet lives
That follow us—
These lives we lead
But do not own—

Stand in the rain
So quietly
When we are gone,
So quietly . . .

And the last bus
Comes letting dark
Umbrellas out—
Black flowers, black flowers.

And lives go on.
And lives go on
Like sudden lights
At street corners

Or like the lights
In quiet rooms
Left on for hours,
Burning, burning.

***

Happy burning!

Jose

* photo by Craig Carlson found here.

* considering Thom Gunn

Writing poetry has in fact become a certain stage in my coping with the world, or in the way I try to understand what happens to me and inside me. Perhaps I could say that my poetry is an attempt to grasp, with grasp meaning both to take hold of in a first bid at possession, and also to understand (Thom Gunn)

To continue in the syllabic vein begun with last week’s poem, I present below Thom Gunn’s “Considering the Snail.”

There is much to admire in the poem. The pace, for one, feels apt for the subject matter.

Then there are the seemingly happenstance (but more likely deliberate) end words emphasized by the form. One choice moment for me is the way the line:

What is a snail’s fury? All

breaks right at seven syllables and seems to both answer the question by breaking on “All” as well as progress the line.

“Progress” as the last word of the poem, seems to be at the heart of the poem, both in concept and in form.

* for your consideration *

* for your consideration *

Considering the Snail – Thom Gunn

The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
has darkened the earth’s dark. He
moves in a wood of desire,

pale antlers barely stirring
as he hunts. I cannot tell
what power is at work, drenched there
with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail’s fury? All
I think is that if later

I parted the blades above
the tunnel and saw the thin
trail of broken white across
litter, I would never have
imagined the slow passion
to that deliberate progress.

***

Happy progressing!

Jose

p.s. I have two haiku in the latest issue of A Hundred Gourds. Check them out here and here.