The first, "Hart County," is a poem I wrote a month or so ago, sitting at the kitchen table of a friend's apartment, talking about the power of the human sense of smell to trigger memory. Playing on this idea, I thought of an old wooden pipe I inherited from my grandfather. He used to smoke pipe tobacco all of the time, and his house smelled of it - not in a bad way, though. It was always a pleasant smell. It was a smell I always associated with his house and his presence. Now, even though he died of cancer from that very smoke, I think of him every time I smell pipe tobacco.
HART COUNTY
Sitting at the kitchen table, smoking
Parliaments and playing Charles Mingus LPs,
I think of my grandfather’s mahogany pipe –
the one that after seven years still
carries the scent of unseasoned tobacco.
I am reminded of his hands, long and calloused,
and his teeth, blackened from the smoke.
I spent many nights on his farm in Hart County,
lying in a bed with red blankets, listening
to the howl of timber wolves in the distance
echoing mournfully at the corners of my window pane.
I've always loved short poems, and this next one, "The Days Are Shorter Now," is one I edited down from a much longer version. Originally it was something like twelve lines long. I sent it to my creative writing teacher, and he cut it down to something like six or seven. I looked at his marks and realized how little I really needed. To be as economical as possible, which is essential in writing short poetry, I cut out anything that was not necessary to the poem as a whole, leaving a short, sweet, four-line poem. One you could whisper under your breath if you wanted.
THE DAYS ARE SHORTER NOW
The bells of St. Francis ring seven times.
It seems the days are shorter now.
Already, dried husks of corn are tied to lamp posts,
and the porches are being lined with bright-colored squash.
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2 comments:
I love sensory recall poems! I’ve actually never written one, but I use to be on the speech and drama team in high school and we did a lot of exercises using sensory recall. Apparently, if you are able to think about a smell or sound and totally immerse yourself back in the memory it helps you get into character. We did writing exercises as well, but short stories and personal narratives. I’m not a very good critic of poetry, so I’m sure this is going to be not only unhelpful, but annoying as well. I know when people make comments on my short stories…”I like it!” I get frustrated with how vague their comments can be. But I digress, this poem creates an image for me. It’s like I already have the words memorized and I can close my eyes and it’s there. (Does that even make sense?? It is early after all, but I hope you understand what I’m trying to say!) I’ve always had a soft spot for tobacco, especially pipe tobacco because my grandfather smoked a pipe as well. It was like a hobby for him. He displayed his pipes proudly and smoking was an art form. My father smoked cigarettes, about two packs a day and I believe it was because the smell was lingering in his memory, haunting him, taunting him to smoke. I’ve never smoked tobacco, yet the smell makes me homesick. I have always felt like smoke represents memories. It’s like a vignette around a picture of the past. You look back and the details are a little fuzzy but the smell is still there.
I'm glad you enjoyed it. What you described, "It's like having the words memorized and I can close my eyes and it's there," is exactly what I strive for as a poet - to appeal to the senses rather than the intellect in a way that the reader can hardly help but imagine. Images mostly, but emotions as well - nostalgia, for example. Anyways, thanks for commenting. Most of the reason for creating this blog was to get feedback, and see what people think of my poems. Without that, it's I'm just posting a bunch of poems for myself.
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