Consciousness, Literature and the Arts
Archive
Volume 16 Number 3, December 2015
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OCTOBER IN MONTANA: four poems
by
WISDOM ROAD (for Donna and Kat Healy)
the I Ching
told us
follow wisdom road
a yellow path
luminous with aspens
in fall dress
on Montana’s high plains
little did we know
wisdom comes
in wind gusts
at 65 miles/hour
stranding us
in Billings
with little choice
but YAM* for nourishment
wanting to see
western art, you know
old masters
like Frederick Remington
and Charles Marion Russell
instead we hurtled
into Willem Volkersz’
‘Persistent Memories’
of childhood lost
in Amsterdam
166 children
from his school
lost their lives
in KZ camps
before he sat
in their former seats
blond handcrafted
wooden suitcases
each with name and dates
a boy in neon
his suitcase
packed to leave
wooden clogs
some for infants
in a heap
the shaft of a spade
engraved ‘guaranteed
lifetime’ protrudes
the mound
rows of wooden benches
reminiscent
of carpentry class
with perfectly placed
stepped-out-of children’s shoes
in front
next to a staircase
of stacked cases
a soulbird escaping
its top - later
crashing a Sunday
afternoon tea fundraiser
we meet two of Billings’
few Jews
Kat and Donna
daughter and mother
carrying the spirit
who help us mourn
shiva-like
Volkersz’ memories
and we laugh together
for
as the YAM T-shirt says
art matters
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* YAM = Yellowstone Art Museum
A GLIMPSE
on this our Canadian
thanksgiving day
we relished
our chicken
and vegetables
turkey sandwich
with olive spread
and roasted peppers
while watching
sleeping behemoths
above Bozeman
blazing manes
sun-painted
grace
a wily artwork
master fly fishermen
still drinking downstairs
skipped, hopefully
the poets gathering
for open mic night
at the tea shop
weren’t practicing
all day long
because there are many
more divine
letters
coursing through
those hills
than the M
that forms the eye
of the behemoth
to my left
now that the sun
is almost down
BLANKETED WARRIOR (for Carol)
is the name of the horse
you’ll meet
on the walking path
behind the library
he stands there in all
his scrap metal glory
the third, maybe
fourth of his kind
we’ve come across
in Montana, sensibly
fitting her landscapes
and the life here
not far from the warrior
sits humpty dumpty
on his bench posing
a photo op
not to be resisted
and we don’t
the retired New Yorker
we meet by the horse
now settled here
gives us hints
of where to continue
our walk and after
a few laughs together
and talking
about the joys
brought by grandchildren
and what wouldn’t we
do for them
we continue down
the graveled path
lit by aspens reaching
a more passionate yellow
in the fall sun
then back over
and down the ridge
to the library
where they have twelve
of your books
on their shelves
you a warrior
here too
COTTONWOOD CREEK (for Willem and Diane Volkersz)
cottonwood creek
takes a turn
down below
in the backyard
a sandy half-moon
of beach left over
from a flood
a fire pit
where dead branches
offer up
their fervor
cottonwood and aspen
in a declension of yellow
provide cover
for elk, bear and wolf
sometimes a cougar
that’s the good grammar
of habitation
in the artist’s studio
situated up the hill
light streams in
at the right time of day
for sculpture-creations
that tell stories
of beauty and horror
of going through and
of arriving in places
empty wooden chairs
hang ready
to play their part
in the future tense
in the high-ceilinged
log home
the artist and his wife
exhibit artlessly
the how
of loving
the world
and each other
for fifty years
is there a more
advanced grammar?
a more intricate ecology
of mind?
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