Tuesday, November 24, 2009

A poem I would have read had I been there

At tonight's Harvard reading to accompany the "ACT UP New York" exhibit, I'd planned to read this poem by Rynn Williams, from her book ADONIS GARAGE. Rynn died this year, too soon, but she left behind this superb collection, the evidence of a life deeply lived into.



The Forest at the Edge of the World


Today I left groceries by the playground on Hudson
and tried to haul, up toward my block,
a cross section of maple grown too large,
chainsawed into manhole covers. Alphonso,
Super for All Buildings east of the projects,
stopped sweeping. He leaned his bald broom
against the stoop, nudged the wood with his toe.
"Nothing to do but roll it," he said, hands
deep in his pockets. I nodded,
barely believing my luck in the midst of asphalt,
transistor radios, and the wet smell of dogs
as he squatted eye level with the log, heaved it
against his shoulder like a man who bears
a handmade cross for miles on his penitent back.
I saw a kind of glory in his eyes, he understood
the heft of the trunk, nicks in the damp bark.
I stood on the side and righted the thing
and together we rolled this boulder of tree
past the Indian deli, the Russian shoe repair,
the Caribbean bakery. "You can smell the forest,"
he said, as we reached my stoop, wood
in the crook of his neck, sawdust and humus and sweat.
And we hoisted the thing, one step at a time, stopping
only to breathe the scent of sap and after a good half hour
it was filling the whole of my apartment--
the shade, the damp smell, that enormous presence--
light brown rings so perfect my whole life
fell right down inside them, concentric circles,
tree within tree, the single slab a world within itself--
suddenly it was thirty-five years ago:
I stood on the edge of a forest, someplace upstate,
and looked up into the branches of my first
true and majestic tree, in the first real forest--trees
instead of buildings. Oh the breadth of those limbs--
after the taut geometry of elevator, fire escape, lobby,
to see the world through branches to the sun--I believed
the world was mine, there was sap in my veins,
the tree was limitless, the scent of the tree,
the bark and the branch and the six-year-old sightline,
which goes on to the edge of the known world.

5 comments:

Katzknits said...

Thank you so much for posting this. It's gorgeous and touching, and I am glad to know about her.

Elisabeth said...

The poem is poignant, more so given the untimely death of its author, and more so too because you never made it to Harvard to read it.

Life and opportunity chopped off like a tree felled too soon.

Mim said...

Lovely and lyrical, a contrast to the ACT UP exhibit at Harvard, which is strong in a different way: bold, design-shaped, graphic.

melissashook said...

thank you

SAPTARSHI DUTT said...

Dear Writer:

I saw your writing in your blog Your writing attracted the minds of our co-editors. It was meticulously written crafted with thought-provoking words and deep in-sight meaning. We would like to inform you that we are bringing out an international journal labeled “Mirror of Times” from the heart of city, Kolkata. Many prominent writers like SMT. NABANITA DEV SEN, SMT. ANTARA DEV SEN, SRI SUNIL GANGOPADHYA, SRI SANKHA GHOSH, MR. AMITAVA GHOSH, MR. N.V. SUBARRAMAN, MR. D.C. CHAMBIAL, MR. PRADIP K. CHOUDHURY, MR. PRONAB K. MAJUMDAR WILL DISPLAY THEIR WRITINGS. Besides, loads of eminent editors / columnist like Mr. K.K. SRIVASTAVA, MR.JASVINDER SINGH, MR. ANJAN BANIK will also showcase their writing skills. KNOWING YOUR WRITING SKILLS, PROFICIENCY, EXPERTISE, AND FLAIRNESS; WE [THE EDITORIAL COMMITTEE] IS PLEASED TO NOMINATE YOUR NAME AND WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU TO SUBMIT YOUR WRITINGS AT THE SAID MAGAZINE @ Rs. 100/- [India] or $20 [USA] or £ 25 [UK] by subscribing the journal.

YOU CAN SEND YOUR WRITINGS AT E-MAIL TOO:

saptarshi_dutt@rediffmail.com

Your early responce is solicited.

Awaiting your positive feedback.

Saptarshi Dutt
Editor
(09433834481)

ALSO VISIT: saptarshidutt.blogspot.com

U MAY SEND THE SUBSCRIPTION BY M/O OR D/D AT THE FOLLOWING ADDRESS:

MR. SAPTARSHI DUTT
30, RAM KANAI ADHIKARY LANE
KOLKATA – 700012, WEST BENGAL
INDIA
(09433834481)

Foreign authors may only draw cheque in favour of Mr. Saptarshi Dutt.