This was drafted near the end of a seven day walk on Lost Coast Trail. I’m pretty sure this was inspired by the beach at Bear Harbor, near the northern end of the Sinkyone Wilderness State Park.
Rinse
The idea for this poem came to me a few months back, at which point I hurriedly tapped out the opening four lines—then nothing. So today after four or so months of periodically checking in on it, I’ve finally managed to sit down and finish the original idea.
an inkling hope
Publication History:
Clamor — Fall 2009
I guess my “holiday” poems tend not to be so festive. It was a phrase from Joyce’s Ulysses that somehow got me going: “Must be his [Smith O’Brien’s] deathday. For many happy returns.” (pg. 93).
Thought this a curious twist on the phrase. And found myself jotting down a note in my composition book… which expanded into a quatrain… which expanded three more stanzas. At which point I looked at it and thought to myself, “Why am I writing something like this this early Thanksgiving morning?”
Why indeed! But with a little reflection, it came to me.
It’s the forth anniversary of a father’s death—suicide—which I can’t help but feel some responsibility for. Our most tragic mistakes shape us, hopefully into better beings. But they also scar us. And sometimes others.
I’ve been told again and again that I shouldn’t accept responsibility for this suicide. But… leaving circumstances untold here …It’s difficult not to. I hope his shade some semblance of peace there at the edge of Styx.
So, this realization in mind, I found myself focusing the last three stanzas more tightly.
happy deathday
A small set of haiku inspired by late autumn in Ukiah, specifically the turning of a few tall birch trees growing in the front yard.
birch
I found myself thinking about the story of Adam and Eve. It has always seemed odd to me that god would place his newborn creations in a garden of ideals, and then stick a tree in the middle that grows fruit you’re not supposed to eat. Then, on top of that, toss in a snake that gets off on lying to people and convincing them to do what they’re not supposed to do. Never mind that Eve didn’t know anything about lying, so imagine her confusion when god tells her one thing while the snake tells her another.
This is like putting a small child in a room with a great big bar of chocolate, telling him he’s not supposed to eat the chocolate, then leaving a recording behind that repeats over and over, “You can eat the chocolate. It’s okay to eat the chocolate. Go ahead and eat the bar of chocolate.” Well, what do you think is going to happen?
Naw man, if you take the story at face value, then the whole thing was a setup from the start, like a really bad practical joke. So thus this experimental poem.
revelation
Sometimes I just feel like experimenting.
Though I did a lot of journaling while I was out on my seven day walk on the Lost Coast Trail at the beginning of the month, I only wrote one small poem. This wee tanka.
Usal vespers
Usal Beach is at the southern end of the Lost Coast Trail. I have on many occasions driven all the way out there from Ukiah just to spend a night under the redwoods and alders.
I found myself enjoying a cloud mural painted in the skies above Ukiah’s western ridges this evening. I felt it deserved a tanka.
valley dusk
Another one pulled from the drafts of my little hiking journal. When I backpack, I’ll take a couple of bansuri flutes along. And in the evenings when all is quiet, I’ll try to play my surroundings. I’ve found that most places carry a song that can be felt and transposed through an instrument.
transposition
Over time I’ve learned the habit of casting all my sense across some scene, some place of peace and stillness, and in my heart asking to know its song. Then, if I’m fortunate, I’ll close my eyes and feel the sounds come through me, and I’ll find them on my flute. Then we’ll play together, me and the spirits who live there.
As I got to know my future wife long distance, I found myself wanting to assure her that my love for and dedication to her will never change.
“He loves me.”
This one was scribbled out as I sat atop a giant bit of driftwood watching the waves during a recent hike on the Lost Coast Trail in Northern California’s Sinkyone Wilderness State Park.
True Nature
When I go backpacking, I tend to my bring my journal along, or at least a little composition book. Here I’ll record any thoughts I have, or poem fragments. I should do this more often, since it affords me an opportunity to really sit with my thoughts, undistracted. Later I’ll go through the poem fragments and see about expanding them into actual poems (though I’m told a poem fragment is usually itself a poem).
Of the five or so recorded during my recent eight day walk, this one feels the most complete.
Glance
