DRIVING NAILS

near the waterline, someone’s hammering
throughout the day, someone’s always
hammering

a staccato telegraph
of winter’s approach or gratitude
so little demands repair
or just some old goat’s survived

though when the hammering ceases
he may be eating a sandwich
or sawing a board to be hammered
yes, two taps secure its position

in the quiet, he’s
gone off to the supply house
for a another box of nails, another size
a door slams from another direction
where new hammering erupts

before the man puts his hammer down
on a leather tool belt
and then orders a beer

you’ll find boxes of hammering
in the tool shed, brown paper bags
of hammering in the mud room
old jars of hammering
on his truck bed

open any one
and his arm and shoulder
begin moving
the whole world as his anvil

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of seacoast poems,
click here.

THOU SHALT NOT?

At least they’re not commandments. Holy Moses! Ten more from my end of the universe.

~*~

  1. Sometimes I enjoy being in the front passenger seat the entire trip. Get to see more, for one thing. It’s an opportunity not to be in charge, not to be fully responsible – just let go and observe. What a relief!
  2. All the waterfowl, the tip of the wing nearly touching the surface they fly over: how do they do it?
  3. As Richard Brown Lethem says of his work, “For my entire life I’ve been trying to mine the subconscious.” No wonder I’m drawn to his paintings, inexplicable as so much remains to me.
  4. I feel myself to be from another planet, looking at a world I once wanted to inhabit.
  5. The grief men carry. Could it simply be the passage of time? Or something more fundamental to Eden?
  6. As the news story reported, a neck-slasher to his stepdad: “I’m going to kill you and your life is going to end.” (The redundancy is emphatic.)
  7. The Isabella Stewart Gardner museum in Boston’s Bay Back really is a magpie’s nest, an egocentric collection of bright and shiny objects. I do wish the curators were at liberty to give its masterpieces better display, contrary to Isabella’s directives. My, there’s so much clutter in the way!
  8. Rather than heading back to Maine, she’s spending the night here. Thus, it’s NO YORK.
  9. Pockets in a room that aren’t doing anything: that hold, in effect, dead energy. What’s the better usage?
  10. Who am I, at the core? What do I really want? (That, for someone she accuses of being self-centered.)

~*~

Right downtown, a great blue heron watching the tide.
Right downtown, a great blue heron watching the tide.

THE SOLACE OF FAMILIAR SPACES

richness / depth
discovery and a confession we don’t have it right, yet
as for a prescription, we’ll never have it exactly right
if we wanted surprise, we’d go someplace else
so by narrowing the focus, the unexpected twist appears

the asparagus bed or lilacs
my ferns, finally
eight springs at this dwelling

this repetition for greater completeness
complexity as a responsibility
within myself/yourself, too

a spouse rather than a lover alone

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more,
click here.

PENOBSCOT BAY PARTICULARS

1

what if the tide never turns
but waits to be submerged
in the next high tide
one after another until
the whole city is inundated?

sailboats would go under
on their moorings, perhaps still
rocking mostly one side
from perpendicular

the wharf and its autos
would mean nothing
while the moon ignores her orbit

2

masts sway
like speedometers

or gauges
missing their dials

3

a whirlpool, however large or compact
swirls within myriad currents
that knit the harbor

some talk of changing public opinion
or the incumbent party
but don’t reckon the vortex
swimmers approach
laughing to each other

any remorse
over their drowning
will ring hollow

3

while ducktrap is a fish
a store touts its Ducktrap Decoy

whether for some waterfowl or the fish
lingers in question

awaiting a retort
from Daffy, Donald, or Daisy

as for the fish? only silent
disdain

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of seacoast poems,
click here.

FLY, FLY, FLY

Just a taste of what’s popping up. In case you were looking for a prompt.

~*~

  1. Anyone else hate raking leaves? Find bagging them’s even worse? A reminder, too, of the tons of snow to be shoveled, all too soon around the corner. Will this be the year we cave in and buy a snow blower, rather than continue by hand?
  2. Commuting to choir each week requires driving through Belmont. That is, the one in Massachusetts. When folks mention the name, it could as easily refer to the one here in New Hampshire, up in the Lakes Region. Or, in my past, the neighborhood where I grew up in Ohio, going all the way through Belmont Elementary and High.
  3. Sometimes on that commute, the GPS sends us through some exclusive neighborhoods. We note the tonier neighborhoods are dominated by slate roofs.
  4. As a midday meal, it’s hard to beat fresh mussels and a baguette.
  5. So many things have to be taken at a leisurely pace, doled out over time.
  6. Would love to hit weekend morning dim sum in Boston’s Chinatown again. The restaurant basement function rooms fill with 250 or more diners as a dozen carts of delicacies pass your table. Pick something, if you wish, or wait for the next. Nothing in English, and no prices in sight. Just what’s in that steamed bamboo dish? The total for this “Chinese fast-food tapas” turns out to be about what we’d pay for breakfast at McDonald’s.
  7. Another unanticipated side of my Motets: the close connection between religion and politics, or at least social responsibility.
  8. Did Quaker culture essentially fail to address the earthy side of life? Could we have become all too refined?
  9. Guiding and teaching a new generation – a swami at last. Or whatever you want to call the guru or elder or abbot.
  10. What are we really afraid of? Really afraid of?

~*~

An expression of timeless grieving. Gone was that Puritan constraint.
An expression of timeless grieving. Gone was that Puritan constraint.

 

 

SUBMIT TO AIR CIRCULATING ALMOST

one bit of good news

remove debris and deport from one side
for her garden, relocating the piles
in shadowed cesspool, a bonfire, a second

live-trap a dozen spewing squirrels

the as-yet unspecified glade
even without feathered friends
concentrates on the emerging line and shape

a full-time task
regarding implanted hierarchy

“Your generation just doesn’t know
how to have fun” and delight in
thirst

out of the house and about
so you’d admit nearing release
nearing an island

with us, the race to plant bulbs
would always have a late start

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
For more,
click here.

 

STILL LOOKING FOR FOLIAGE?

No, we can’t ignore our glorious fall foliage.

My slide shows and Yankee autumn essays archived in the New England spirit category, August-November 2013, of my Chicken Farmer I Still Love You blog are well worth revisiting. Our regional character comes forth in the intense, all-too-brief flurry from summer into long winter.

Take the tour, if you haven’t already. No wonder we treasure the color! And feel free to react with your comments.

First, the slide shows, beginning with a hike before the color shifts and a taste of the apple harvest. And then the sequence of full autumn foliage:

And then, ponder the influence all this has on our emotions and thinking:

~*~

Click away as you will.

Just another mill town, right?
Just another mill town, right?

SERIOUSLY SCORPIO

Why wait for the dust to settle? Here are 10 bullets from my end.

~*~

  1. Am imagining evenings for violin and piano. How long since I’ve even picked up rosin and bow!
  2. A drive through a stretch I call the Black Forest can be quite amazing now. So luminescent, a golden-yellow tunnel of light.
  3. Indian Summer officially comes after the first killing frost. It’s almost scary.
  4. How much I feel myself a dilettante. A little of this, a little of that.
  5. The Big Question? (Questions! Yes, it’s questions!)
  6. It’s important to have a place to wind down, to fester, to percolate. To look at the messy side of your existence. (Nothing of that in a Frank Lloyd Wright home.)
  7. Reza Baraheni is the Iranian poet I heard read after his release from prison and torture. He warned that the alternative to the Shah would be even worse.
  8. My Mediterraneo poetry project had me reconsidering Greek and Roman mythology and then seeing that in contrast to theology. What strikes me is how convoluted it is, more than even Hindu cosmologies, and how anthropromorphic, down to the birthing or immortals slaying other immortals while frozen in time. How intricately it’s bound to a specific locale and its people. In contrast to the One Truth implicit in monotheism, i.e., science, the mythologies give us a cosmos that’s chaotic, ruled by caprice, fear, vengeance, conflicting deities as the source of human suffering. How do you find direction in such confusion?
  9. A neighbor’s 2 1/2-foot iguana is on the loose, according to the poster on the telephone pole. There’s a $100 reward.
  10. You don’t shoot your own troops. Not if you want to win. Otherwise, there’s every reason to mutiny.

~*~

Along the Community Trail through Dover.
Along the Community Trail through Dover.

 

Just in case you were looking for red.
Just in case you were looking for red.

 

MY VIEW FROM THE TOP OF THE BARN

Some maples are red and others bright yellow. Either one can catch my breath.
Some maples are red and others bright yellow. Either one can catch my breath.

 

October is one of my favorite times for sitting and working in the loft of the barn. The sun no longer turns its air intolerably stuffy but rather adds some welcome comfort. I can still leave the loft door open for natural light and fresh air, if I want. And just look what’s happening around me!

 

Our season of outdoor dining is just about ended.
Our season of outdoor dining is just about ended.