ROUGH-HEWN:Lyric Poems & Haikus
by Rick Doble
Atlas captive -- unfinished sculpture -- by Michaelangelo
Copyright © 2015 Rick DobleAll rights reserved.
All photographs are from commons.wikimedia.org.
TABLE OF CONTENTSINTRODUCTION......................................................2
LYRIC POETRY......................................................3
ROUGH-HEWN........................................................4
TV DREAMS.........................................................7
THE END OF THE WORLD MAY 21 :)....................................9
ATOMIC BABIES....................................................10
THERE IS A TIGER UNDER MY BED....................................12
THE BIRTH OF VENUS...............................................14
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL POEMS...........................................16
IN THE RAIN......................................................17
DO YOU LOVE ME?..................................................19
TEARS............................................................22
ADVICE...........................................................24
IN THE DEPTHS....................................................25
REMEMBERING......................................................28
YOUR GIFT OF CRUELTY.............................................30
GHOST............................................................31
IN THE STYLE OF HAIKU POETRY.....................................34
DOWN EAST NEAR THE OUTER BANKS OF NORTH CAROLINA.................35
MY FATHER........................................................50
Rick Doble ROUGH-HEWN: Lyric Poems & Haikus Page 1
INTRODUCTIONTo be a poet is a condition rather than a profession.
Robert Graves
Over the years I found I needed to put some of my thoughts in poems. For me certain ideas, expressions, images and emotions can only be put in poetic form. While this might seem strange to a reader, it is not unlike the difference between writing about something or creating a song about it. Sometimes one form works better.
For me poetry is almost a language. I find that, when I am in my 'poetry mode' or perhaps 'poetry mood', I think quite differently and the words and phrases I use have a poetic flavor, rather than a prose flavor. I think in terms of rhythms, for example, and sounds of words -- and I try to boil my ideas down to the smallest essence.
Poetry is also much more demanding than prose. I believe that every word -- including articles such as 'the', 'a', 'an' -- should be exact. Nothing should be on the page that has not been carefully crafted.
The art of writing, especially poetry, is rewriting and also hearing your work, that you know so well, as though you were hearing it for the first time.
10, 20, 30 revisions is not unusual for me. But in the end, my words have a way of settling into the right places in the work. I revise with this hope: that the notes and phrases I have cobbled together will eventually find their place and like a building will support each other to create a world that my reader can walk through and experience.
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Lyric Poetry
Awakening captive -- unfinished sculpture -- by Michelangelo
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ROUGH-HEWN
In Michelangelo's unfinished statues the male figures, the 'Captives'"seem to be battling to free themselves from the rough-hewn stone."Time-Life World of Michelangelo.
Words after speech reach into the silence...Words strain, crack and sometimes break under the burden...T.S.Eliot, The Four Quartets
In Michelangelo's unfinished statues
the angry captive men
are rooted within blocks of marble
arms and legs not yet born
forever pulling to be free
Like these poems,
never finished,
impure
formed from slabs of silence
now audible
yet immovable on the page
So I regret these words
because I cannot polish them
and lay each one down
like found stones
that I reworked
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Real words live in our mouths
spoken with the taste of bread or beer
slippery with saliva from another's lips
If I could
I'd place them on the page
as I find them
covered with the dirt of people's cries
So I will not talk about beauty in the abstract
Instead I will tell of moments not quite right:
like you standing in the hallway that night
looking at me in the bed, the light behind you
the curve of your naked hip in silhouette
and that slight annoyed turn of your neck
Incomplete images
we are afraid to bring into being --
the life we have not lived
the world we move against every day --
figure and ground
My words cluster together
full of loose ends
outlining a rough shape
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These words are born from the silence
and point
uncertainly toward song
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TV DREAMS
TV dreams leave no room for thought
so lets cut to the chase:
we are hostages to the visual
In our off time
we are immersed in
the 24 hour video aquarium
a wall against the outside
built frame by frame
of flickering paper
The angry arm
that sweeps the table clean
of plates and candlesticks
so they crash
in choreographed slow motion
onto the polished floor --
does not tell us much about the hero
The quick cuts
the sound bites
the echoes of laugh tracks
leave a taste of metal
like the smell of a gun barrel
that's just been fired
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We lie in the dust
of media messages -
jingles from past cola wars -
and learn the names of serial killers
whose quiet lives
did not betray their thoughts
(Sometimes
when you cannot sleep
you sit alone
in the dark
volume low
staring into the screen
The soft flicker of explosions
lights your hands, your room
And half-awake
you touch
the remote buttons
and wander
from channel to channel)
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THE END OF THE WORLD MAY 21 :)
Harold Camping's prediction that the end of the world would occur on May 21, 2011, was widely reported. He was a American Christian radio broadcaster.
They said the world was going to end today
so I took the day off --
and listened for the end of time
This is great I thought
we should do this more often
Just let it stop
let the future become a blank,
a question we don't have to answer
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ATOMIC BABIES
Like children they had names
Trinity, the first,
melted the desert
turning it into glass
that they called Trinitite
At Hiroshima
'Little Boy' fell out of a clear blue sky
vaporizing pedestrians
burning their shadows onto stone steps
In Nagasaki
'Fat Man' exploded off target
in the Urakami Valley
killing only 70,000
the hills protecting the main city
After that each series had a title:
Operations BUSTER-JANGLE
TUMBLER-SNAPPER, IVY, TEAPOT
WIGWAM and PLUMBBOB
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And bombs were christened
ABLE, BAKER, ZEBRA
EASY, FOX, DOG
GEORGE and SUGAR
FRIGATE BIRD
SWORDFISH
HARLEM
PETIT
TIGHTROPE
CALAMITY
JOHNIE BOY
LITTLE FELLER
And finally a giant step:
the first 'true' hydrogen bomb
IVY MIKE
800 X more explosive than the first 'Little Boy'
"If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst forth at once in the sky, that would be like the splendor of the Mighty One... I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."
Words of the God Shiva in the Bhagavad-Gita, quoted by Robert Oppenheimer "father of the atomic bomb" when he witnessed the explosion signifying the birth of the first atomic bomb.
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THERE IS A TIGER UNDER MY BED
He screams
"Not again," his father says
"Yes, again," his mother says
"Hurry," the boy shouts.
And she walks slowly down the hall to her son's room
"There are tigers," the boy cries, "under my bed."
"No," she says, "Not tonight, or last night or the night before."
"Yes there are," and his tears fall onto the comforter and one of the dozens of stuffed animals he has around him
She sighs, she pulls out her flashlight, she crouches down below the mattress and sweeps the beam across the floor from one side to the other
"It's clean," she thinks to herself, "the maid did a good job."
"I'm looking everywhere and there's nothing," she shouts to her son
"I don't believe you," the boy moans
She stands up and looks him in the eye. "There are no tigers here in Pontiac Bay. This is a protected community. The grounds people look out for creatures."
"No," he says quietly, "I heard them."
At last she says, "Look, I'll crawl under the bed. If I don't get eaten, will you believe me then?"
She crouches down, stomach on the floor, pushes with her hands and disappears. Then she comes up on the other side. "See no teeth marks or claw scratches."
The boy laughs and she holds him until he falls asleep and then she turns out the light and tiptoes to her bed
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But that night she dreams of
a grassy plain next to a forest of trees
She can hear the calling of hyenas
Suddenly she sees a small limp body --
A tiger is crouching and has
its teeth clamped around the shoulder, gums bared
She tried to wake but it is too late
The tiger carefully drags it away from the hyenas,
to a safer place in the grasslands
and begins to eat her son
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THE BIRTH OF VENUS
That night
you came out of the sea --
no longer wounded
you danced on the picnic table
in front of Ziggy's beach front bar
your wet white blouse
clinging to your small body --
hopping up and down
you sang,
"I'm tough; I'm tough."
I had heard
about your accident
the rollover,
the ambulance --
and then your absence
from the coffee shop --
our conversations unspoken
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By chance
I was in bare feet,
feeling the summer sand,
looking out at the white waves breaking
when you and your friends
came from the darkness
into the soft light of the boardwalk
We looked at each other --
your clothes glistening with water
your hair damp like a newborns --
and then you danced
In this unlikely moment
I had been allowed
to see your rebirth --
and like Venus from the foam,
you took my breath away
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AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL POEMSPOEMS ABOUT LOVE AND MARRIAGE
Bearded captive -- unfinished sculpture -- by Michelangelo
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IN THE RAIN
In the rain
late at night
she snuck out of her bedroom window --
we drove down glistening streets
stoplights reflected in the black tar
In the rain
we parked close to my secret place --
an old chapel that was never locked
Sheltered inside
amazed by the loudness
of the shower on the metal roof
we sat on the edge of the stage
surrounded by the rain
I pushed her wet hair behind her shoulders
I wiped the drops from her cheeks --
with the heavens drumming above us
we felt alone and protected
by the chapel and the rain
Then we drowned our lips inside each other
feeling like we were floating
and never felt closer
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than we were there
in the rain
Later when the torrent
on the tin roof stopped
I took her home --
silently we glided into the parking lot
we held each other and I could not let her go
but I watched her walk away
and climb through her bedroom window
Now alone,
it was dark and quiet
and the leaves were dripping a few drops
so I drove away
after the rain
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DO YOU LOVE ME?
"Do you love me," she asked
in the supermarket
as I was rolling the cart down the isle
looking at our list
"Yes," I said
"of course. That's why I married you."
I put my hands on a box of spaghetti
"Yes, but do you really love me?"
I looked her in the eyes
I had been down this road before --
it could go on for a long time
"Yes, I really love you."
I said with my best smile.
I gave her a hug
but she pushed me away
"I want to know if you really, really love me?"
I was getting annoyed
I rolled the cart to the ketchup
and reached for our usual brand
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"Forget about the damn the groceries.
I don't care about food.
Just tell me if you really love me."
I ignored her and put the ketchup in the cart.
then I turned
"Yes, I really, really, really love you."
"And why should I believe you?"
"Is there anything I can say
that will convince you?"
"Yes, if you really mean it."
"I do really mean it. I really love you."
"No, you don't. You're just saying that because you know what I want to hear."
We were at the check out counter
we ran the groceries through
then we went out to the car
and got in
I turned and gave her a kiss
she tolerated it but just barely
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"Did you get the eggs?" she asked
"Yes," I said starting the car
"And they're on the top, so they're not crushed?"
"Yes," I replied
and we drove home
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TEARS
At first your tears
were like a doorway
that led me into you
a way to reach you
comfort you
something that drew us together
Then your tears became an enclosure
that surrounded us
because at a point in our talk
when you did not want to go further
you cried
and the tears would stop our conversation
and I would hold you in silence
Toward the end
your tears were like a wall
I wanted to reach an understanding
but your tears blocked my way
Later they were like rain
they came so often, so full
that I treated them like weather
and knew that within an hour or a day
they would be gone
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ADVICE
In trouble
we ask our old marriage counselor
what to do
"I'm going to be pessimistic,"
she says
"I think you'll stay together."
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IN THE DEPTHS
In college we told the story of a friend:
a girl he liked was shallow
"but then maybe she's only shallow on the surface"
he laughed
On the surface you were deep
well read, invited to join Phi Beta Kappa
and you often wore a knowing smile
Only much later I realized
that in the depths
you were shallow
You saw yourself as complicated
and mysterious
instead it was quite simple:
it was all about you
And beneath that was much more
but it was a line you would never cross
It was like digging down and hitting granite
like walking into an alley and finding no exit
like the cliched "brick wall"
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You talked to me
for hours about your problems
with teachers, supervisors, parents
but when we reached for a new understanding
the conversation suddenly changed
it no longer interested you
you were tired
After many years of searching my own history -
long after our marriage ended -
I felt
that unknowingly it was a mutual abuse
that had brought us together
As I dug within me
it became clear that
I had been abused by my older brother
and you by someone in your past
And while you rarely took responsibility as an adult
I think you had made the mistake all such youngsters make
of taking responsibility for your abuse as a child
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And that fall from grace, that original sin
had been covered up
forgotten
but had set in motion
the person you had become
Even though in our marriage
we were still groping --
unsure of the reason
that darkness surrounded us --
the critical decision we needed to make
was in which direction to move
But this is what finally split us apart
The reason was quite simple:
I wanted to know
and you did not
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REMEMBERING
Letting myself
remember you
a Pandora's box
just a crack
and the love
I learned to fear
rushed out
overtaking me
After 25 years
every emotion
relived
my body tense
and tired
My first true love
so total
I did not know myself
I trusted in your kindness
"but smoke gets in your eyes"
My father asked
why I left you
"she was destroying me"
"oh" he said 25 years ago
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And still that is
the best explanation
And still I don't know why
After years
of caring for you
because you were so fragile
After years
of holding you
until you were not afraid
After years
of seeing you grow and bloom
I don't know why you were so cruel
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YOUR GIFT OF CRUELTY
at the end
you gave me the gift
I needed most --
your cruelty
without it
I could not have left
thank you
for letting me know
that you were not
the person I loved
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GHOST
NOTE: In 1970 for $50 a month we rented an antebellum house deep in the country. It had been the grand manor of a plantation and built around 1850. The locals were often afraid to come by. They said that a ghost had lost his treasure and he was on the staircase that led to the second story. In 1975 we had to move because a lake was being built. The house was moved to another county.
I have been back to our house
many times in my dreams
I drive down the long gravel road
with red clay rising behind me
to our front yard
but no dogs run out to greet me
which is strange
I walk in our door
into the living room
I can smell a large pot of lentils --
a dish we learned to make in Spain
with rosemary, onions and tomatoes --
on the wood cooking stove
that is putting out a soft heat
and the yellow muslin curtains
you dyed and sewed blow in the drafts
of this antebellum house
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I am just about to throw my coat
on my grandmother's velvet couch
but then I notice things
are slightly ajar --
suddenly I see
new furniture and pictures
have been added
In my home where I felt most comfortable
I become very afraid
I am out of place
then I remember
we have broken up
and you are living with someone else
I hear a car
and know I am an intruder
I hide behind the wall paper
as others walk past me
then I slip out the door
and fly above the road
as the house sinks into darkness
and the one light upstairs --
the one we always left on
when we were away --
throws a shaft through the windows
onto the fields below
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I have this dream
for many years
and like the ghost
that locals say haunted the house
I have to keep returning
looking for what we lost
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IN THE STYLE OFHAIKU POETRY
Young captive -- unfinished sculpture -- by Michelangelo
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DOWN EAST:NEAR THE OUTER BANKS
OF NORTH CAROLINA2nd Marriage
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Salty from our swimI fire charcoal with paper, woodyou say I taste like smoke
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After lightning shakes our old frame housecandles feeling the soft darkness
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Now I'm used to seeing wild horses across Taylor Creek on Carrot Island
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Forty-fifth birthday mid-summer days getting shorter
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Under the moon shrimp boats, yucca blooms the surf's dark glittering edge
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Dog Island the prevailing wind a smoothly rounded grove of trees
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Cat Island white egrets on the tops of live oaksunexploded bombs in the sand
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On an abandoned dock wine and raw oysters pulled from the mud
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In clear September light fish darting ... inside a wave breaking
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Near me swimming gulls in the waves --small fish in the foam
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The tiger kitten in Wendy's parking lot --dragging a burger
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A bourbon night my father, stepmother fight again --I sit in the graveyard
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My father's funeral -- old friends call me by my childhood name
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