Past
In exploring the poetry of my past, I am discovering a part of my writer self that I thought I had lost. I want to find a way to reconnect what I am doing now with what I did then. And it is happening. I just finished one last draft of my novel—now called, tentatively, New Moon Falls. As I revised, I found that part of my writer self from years ago—the part of me that wrote this poem:
Fossil
This rock is not a rock
but a house
for something I cannot name.
A home
where I might have lived
or some piece of me.
And then I recognize
your hand
as some place
I have also lived—
its palm marked
with ancient signs.
And in the two—
the rock and the hand,
this day
could have been any other—
it has sky.
It has land.
Places I have lived
I cannot name.
This hand is not a hand.
Comments
i love that jan.
i can hear you reading it like
you’re at the mosaic and reading it or at one of our
workshops or something.
very fun. i’m doing a reading
tonight. first in quite a while.
hopefully will be fun.
dj
dj 7 August 08
Chris—you know just what to say to a girl :-) Thanks.
And dj—the Mosaic! Wow. I haven’t thought of that place in so long. Do you know if it’s still there? For other readers—the Mosaic was a restaurant in Tucson that hosted poetry readings. Good luck with your reading, Dave.
Jan 7 August 08
Jan, this reminds me of other writing of yours that I have read. It’s stark and restless, and yet in it everything matters. Also, the way you keep returning to and altering a simple sentence structure — subject/verb — gives this a subtle rhythm.
Jane Kokernak 8 August 08
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Love the poem, Jan! Beautiful. And by the way, I LOVE those Matt dancing Youtube videos, too (there’s more than one). He’s gotten some zillion hits — so simple, so effective. (Kind of like your writing…. :-))
chris 7 August 08