Poetry Scott T. Starbuck — April 16, 2014 12:11 — 0 Comments
Thinking About AWP 2014 in Seattle – Scott T. Starbuck
As poets and story tellers met, sea stars melted unexplainably
along the waterfront from Sitka, Alaska to San Diego.
As presenters spoke, polar bear cubs drowned from having to swim
too far to keep up with their mothers due to global warming.
As the Washington State Convention Center & Sheraton Hotel filled
each morning and emptied each night in a tide of aspiring writers,
Fukushima had its worst spill of radiation in six months,
and California experienced its worst drought since the 1500s.
Professors, directors, and students of the AWP tribe taught
and learned as those before had thousands of years
and hopefully would for thousands more
like a kid with a stick on the Olympic Peninsula,
a writer in his youth, running in circles and
delightedly carving tidal sand for onlookers to enjoy
before the next set of waves erased everything.
What am I?
Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies
Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;
Scientists can't find me.
Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—
Remind me:
The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…
Tick, Tock: Divine me.
-- Richard Kenney