PUBLISHED POEM
My poetry readers,
In my last PUBLISHED POEM article I indicated that that was going to be it. But I found another old poem, and there is a more recently published poem which I shall share at a later date.
The following poem was published in the Clover Collection of Verse Vol. XII, edited by Evelyn Petry, in 1976.
I distinctly remember the birth of this poem. I once had a job in The Bronx while living in Newark. I would drive the New Jersey Turnpike every day, through the meadowlands and onward to New York. The meadowlands are not a particularly beautiful area. However, during my journey, I would pass a small dock with a moored sailboat. I began to realize that if I focused on only that gentle area, surrounded by saw grass, I could block out the rest of the world surrounding the scene. I could pick out points of beauty from a world of corruption. This is the poem that resulted.
CAMERA’S EYE
Camera’s eye catches delicate flowers,
Views the graceful of bee in pollination flight,
Spies the brushing of pollen – laden stamens,
Holds in time a scene most tranquil;
Yet does not discover the roadside trash,
The flower’s home amid mud and mire;
Does not smell the exhaust raining acid
On delicate flowers.
Camera’s eye gazes upon a child framed in a window,
Beholds the easy lean of chin in palm, elbow on windowsill,
Wide eyes looking out at the world in wonder,
Knows the innocent child – wisdom;
Yet ignores the window’s building,
Screens out the ghetto of rotted houses and dreams;
Undetected is the garbage – urine hallway
As the child sits framed in a window.
Camera’s eye seeks the tall dignified pine,
Witnesses early – morning dew set needles sparkling,
Inspects wildlife in arbor home,
Beholds sunlight filtering to needle – soft ground;
Yet neglects the smell and diesel smoke machines
Sumping and gouging the earth of its riches;
Does not display the bulldozer’s approach,
Turns away as the stately pine topples.
I am the camera’s eye
Seeing what pains me not,
Grasping flowers from mud and mire,
Rescuing the child from a rotted tenement,
Preserving the pine in dignified splendor;
All safe and secure in a scrapbook world
As the real world lays waste.
I was so tempted to change this poem, but all these published poems are presented exactly as they were published.
Once a work is published, the writer must step back and hope his work is appreciated for what it is, not what it might have been.
PUBLISHED POEM
My poetry friends,
This is the last of my oldies but, you decide what comes next.
Although I now live in a small town, I have lived in many large cities. I have witnessed the subject of this poem time and time again. I’m sure you have too.
This poem was published in Quality American Poetry, 1975-1976, Book III.
The anthology was published by Valley Publications and edited by William Lloyd Griffin.
SUNDAY PARK BENCH
Alone,
Rumpled newspaper in hand
Sits the old man,
Cold morning air sends a chill
Through a heavy overcoat,
Sunday morning light filtering
Through burnished leaves of autumn
Kindling thoughts of Sundays long gone,
Waking next to his wife,
The sound of children filling the house;
Now children grown – wife gone,
Sunday mornings bring only rumpled papers
On a park bench,
Alone.
UPDATE PRESS RELEASE
Here is the complete interview I gave to Steve Thompson.
http://www.examiner.com/writing-in-philadelphia/interview-with-walt-trizna-author-of-new-moon-rising
UPDATE NEW MOON RISING
My readers,
My novel, New Moon Rising, is now available in paperback.
Enjoy the read.
Walt
http://www.melange-books.com/authors/walttrizna/triznanewmoonrising.html
PUBLISHED POEM
For some reason I have always had a fascination with Easter Island.
I’ve read about the island and became caught up with the struggles of two distinct populations and their undying need to build monuments. They decimated their forests to transport these magnificent structures.
I find it haunting that all this effort was going on while they had no idea that anyone else, outside their society, would see or appreciate this magnificent effort. Did they have the concept that there was more of the world?
I wrote a poem about these feeling which was published in 1975. The poem was published in the anthology, Best Poets of the 20th Century (another magnificent title and an awesome stretch), by Winston – Paramount Books, edited by B. Winston – Paramount.
EASTER ISLAND
Constructing sightless eyes no
one will see
They toil;
Probing rock with human fingers
They grope;
One – minded their effort approaches
uniqueness,
Years past witness human fingers to
dust,
Monuments remain to visit their labor;
Solemn stone faces looking out,
Pumice minds knowing an age of men
Possessing greatness long gone –
Deaf ears formed with stone axes,
Blood and sweat transformed
To monumental greatness;
Waiting on Easter Island.
UPDATE PRESS RELEASE
My good friend and fellow writer, Steve Thompson, wrote this article for the Philadelphia Examiner.
http://www.examiner.com/writing-in-philadelphia/new-moon-rising-on-sale-as-ebook
PUBLISHED POEM
Here is another poem from my distant past. It was published in 1974. The title of the anthology was, Quality American Poetry Book II, again quit a stretch. The publisher was Valley Publications edited by William Lloyd Griffin.
CLOUDS
I reach for clouds
High, ever so high do I soar,
Clutching – grasping – then tumbling back.
Clouds are but wisps of vapor,
Phantoms in the sky,
Who can touch a cloud?
I try – fail – then try again;
At times mind joins clouds – soaring,
While I stay behind exposed to the cold – stumbling.
One day mind and soul shall soar skyward
And beyond;
Leaving behind a shell – falling,
Never again to rise,
And reach for a cloud.
UPDATE – MELANGE BOOKS
This is an interview I did with Melange Books. It will show you where I was and where I’m going.
Enjoy,
Walt
Walttriznastories's Blog 