CLEMENS STARCK ~

 

FAREWELL, CLEM

 November 30, 1937 ~ March 21, 2024

NOVEMBER 30, 1937 ~ MARCH 21, 2024No

NOVEMBER 30, 1937 ~ MARCH 21N, 20NOVEMBER 30, 1937 ~ MARCH 21, 202424NOVEMBER 30, 1937 ~ MARCH 21, 2024

MIKE O'CONNOR ~

We lost Mike O'Connor out in his naive land

of the Pacific Northwest — but then the Far East

could also be said to be Mike's native place as well —

sometime this month. I was just receiving the news

from a mutual friend who also sent to me this photograph

of Mike titled "Mike/Old Growth" when we got slammed

up and down in Vermont with a heavy wet snowfall and

all power went bye-bye for a day and night so there

was no access to nothing except the snowmelt pools

I found to fill us up 15 gallons of water for bathing and

dishes, something Mike would well understand.

Mike's book of poems The Rainshadow remains one

of my standby classics — built, indeed, out of old growth.

How do you not fall for a guy who looks

like this guy in this photograph? 

[ BA ]

 

TOM JAY ~

Walking To The Barn



Walking to the barn

in the cold blue twilight

of this wintry day;

the water bucket steaming

to make warm mash for our toothless horse.

The horse is older;

the bucket heavier with the passing years.

We duck beneath the breeze-supple branches

of a young cedar seeking the

open light of the trail.

Its green brushes us as we pass,

Mall stops and whispers,

"To be touched by a tree is a blessing."


_______________

Tom Jay
The Blossoms are Ghosts
At the Wedding
Empty Bowl
2020

ROBERT SUND ~

Considering Poverty and Homelessness
                       ( Homage to Basho )




I cannot go back now,

        for what I have not done.

Of what is done,

take — and be kind.

        I am building a voice for my grief.

Alone, on foot,

if years from now I have learned anything,

        I will wander back.

Dust will rise up

on a dry winter road

where no one has walked before.




___________________

Robert Sund
The Hides of White Horses
Shedding Rain
Brooding Heron Press
1982

AWAKENING IN 5 IRISH TOWNS ~

Awakening in 5 Irish Towns


                                                                             "Appalled: I see

                                                           the true shape of my hand"

                                                                            — Robert Sund



Cork


This morning, like other mornings,

one hand tucked into the other,

I watch tap water fill

the bowl they form,

but on its way to wash my eyes,

lifelines in the palm

foretell my heart's climate

and I spill cold water

in a puddle at my foot,

the bowl of fingers as gone

as all that was real when I dreamed.


________________

GO    FIND    THE    POET    IN    4    OTHER    IRISH    TOWNS

Michael Daly
Awakening in 5 Irish Towns
Empty Bowl

CLEMENS STARCK ~

Regarding the Eclipse

Chances are I’ll never tell

the story of how I found myself

adrift at sea

in a twelve-foot dinghy with a single oar;

or how, once, in the mountains

called Sierra Nevada,

trapped on a snowbound freight train,

my intrepid companions and I

existed for several days

on a fifty-pound sack of frozen marshmallows.

In retrospect

you could call it adventure, but at the time

it was nothing special.  Anyway,

some events—like cloud formations

or teenage children—

are completely inexplicable.

My ambitions were nebulous at best.

All I ever wanted to be was a glass blower

or a wood carver

or failing that, a utility infielder.

A career in the Foreign Service

looked promising once, but I couldn’t feature myself

in formal attire

on a balcony overlooking the capital . . .

What would I be doing there?

Serving cocktails

to the Peruvian attaché’s voluptuous wife?

And so it is that I stand

on the sagging porch of a tumbledown house

regarding the lunar eclipse

through binoculars held steady by my stalwart left hand.

With the other I gesticulate wildly,

but fail to observe

any change

in the shadow cast by this earth on the moon.

____________________

Cathedrals & Parking Lots

Clemens Starck

Collected Poems

Empty Bowl, 2019