Summer 2009 Poetry: A Sneak Peek, A Farewell by Cesar Garza
The six poems slated to appear in the Summer 2009 issue of The Rose & Thorn boil down to three interconnected themes: earth, death, flora. Here's how the themes connect in my mind: Death is buried in earth, the life-bed of flora, the ultimate metaphor for living and dying, the prime mover of poets and poetry the world over, the world turning, the circling, the endless, the end. All good things, dear reader.
So here I write, on the occasion of my last issue as Senior Poetry Editor of The Rose & Thorn. After nine years I am stepping out into pastures just as green as the one that nurtured my enjoyment of poetry with fine memories (the poems) and even finer company (the poets, the zine's staff). Do I know where I'm going? Not exactly. But I move on with a sure foot and, every now and then, a backward glance.
Though they won't be published until July, the poems being featured in Summer 2009 have, to me, already receded into the past. This is not a strike against them. Far from it. As you'll see, Summer's poetry is imbued with a sense of repose and, more importantly, a sense of renewal. That's why it's easy for me to talk about the poems at the same time as I talk about departing. In the cycle of things, the end is a kind of beginning. You've heard this before, I'm sure. But not poems like these:
Gale Acuff's "Wake" is a comic-ironic lament for a lost father by a lost son: "He comes to the door but he's / younger than I am. Or we're the same age, / that is, dead. You can't get much older than / dead."
Alexandria Ashford's "Peach Tree" transforms said peach tree into a chilling symbol for someone who never quite reaches the full bloom of potential. The tree is named Eliza, a "name that / means my God is a vow, // but only because it grew in your / back yard, crooked and narrow."
The poet kj gives us "Scattered Seeds," a poem in the shape of a flower and with lines as rich, dense, and dark as soil: "The deceitful summer tricks the trees, roots, and animals into momentary prosperity."
Bobby Bradshaw's "Butterfly Weed" is a moment of shining respite from the gloom waiting for us on the fringes: "The geraniums on the fire escape / lean out with their bright faces / like children along a parade route."
Lana M. Wiggins' "Nickel and Dime" kicks into gear the wry, bitter observations of a lover unrequited, jilted, or something in between: "If I had a nickel for the men / who loved me / I’d have a nickel instead of this / sapphire reminder of tea rooms / broken glass / small bank / and big ass."
Finally, there is Gerald Gordinier's "Coins," an intelligent meditation on the turnstile passage between living and dying, beginnings and ends. The cost is great and the way uncertain: "The coins on our eyes / are one-way tickets, // placed so even the sky / is hidden upon arrival. "
So here I write, on the occasion of my last issue as Senior Poetry Editor of The Rose & Thorn. After nine years I am stepping out into pastures just as green as the one that nurtured my enjoyment of poetry with fine memories (the poems) and even finer company (the poets, the zine's staff). Do I know where I'm going? Not exactly. But I move on with a sure foot and, every now and then, a backward glance.
Though they won't be published until July, the poems being featured in Summer 2009 have, to me, already receded into the past. This is not a strike against them. Far from it. As you'll see, Summer's poetry is imbued with a sense of repose and, more importantly, a sense of renewal. That's why it's easy for me to talk about the poems at the same time as I talk about departing. In the cycle of things, the end is a kind of beginning. You've heard this before, I'm sure. But not poems like these:
Gale Acuff's "Wake" is a comic-ironic lament for a lost father by a lost son: "He comes to the door but he's / younger than I am. Or we're the same age, / that is, dead. You can't get much older than / dead."
Alexandria Ashford's "Peach Tree" transforms said peach tree into a chilling symbol for someone who never quite reaches the full bloom of potential. The tree is named Eliza, a "name that / means my God is a vow, // but only because it grew in your / back yard, crooked and narrow."
The poet kj gives us "Scattered Seeds," a poem in the shape of a flower and with lines as rich, dense, and dark as soil: "The deceitful summer tricks the trees, roots, and animals into momentary prosperity."
Bobby Bradshaw's "Butterfly Weed" is a moment of shining respite from the gloom waiting for us on the fringes: "The geraniums on the fire escape / lean out with their bright faces / like children along a parade route."
Lana M. Wiggins' "Nickel and Dime" kicks into gear the wry, bitter observations of a lover unrequited, jilted, or something in between: "If I had a nickel for the men / who loved me / I’d have a nickel instead of this / sapphire reminder of tea rooms / broken glass / small bank / and big ass."
Finally, there is Gerald Gordinier's "Coins," an intelligent meditation on the turnstile passage between living and dying, beginnings and ends. The cost is great and the way uncertain: "The coins on our eyes / are one-way tickets, // placed so even the sky / is hidden upon arrival. "
The rewards of this journey? Priceless.
Cesar Garza makes a living as a librarian in South Texas — and a literate, loving living it is.
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