April 26, 2010
Monday Poem
Song Behind a Rear-Tined TillerThey believed consciousness resided in the heart
Aristotle believed this, and the Egyptians
who scooped out dead Pharaoh's brain
through his nose with a spoon
and stuffed his skull with rags assuring
he would not be thinking in the other world
to which he'd travel by long boat
being wrapped in cloth, speechless, supine in gold,
embarked with a breathless retinue of slaves
through the hole at the end of the earth
to a place far in imagination
Here and now the sun climbs a trellis of trees
along a rail line on which, at irregular intervals,
a freight comes dragging coal behind three engines
or hauls ladened boxcars labeled J.B. Hunt,
or pulls chains of chemical tanks and steel containers
heavy with the inventions of consciousness
some inscribed with graffiti sprayed by
a deft hand in letters bold and color-nuanced
arranged with a master's touch
tuned to the songs of heart or brain
while the smell of blue-grey diesel
sparks a synapse between beats
and one step follows another
behind a rear-tined tiller
as I urge a throttle
Who knows who sings
through what instrument
–did Aristotle?
by Jim Culleny, 4/22/10
Posted by Jim Culleny at 12:10 AM | Permalink
Comments
Jim,
Do you know about Michael Reynolds aka The Garbage Warrior? Your poem--about civilizers--conjured the image of Michael leading a volunteer flotilla laden with a cargo of refuse of our discarded tires and plastic bottles, sailing from Florida to Haiti to build his houses there en masse. With the slightest pressure on the throttle we could give those beautiful graceful patient people the tools to make their own new communities and gardens right now.
Check this out at the 2:17 mark. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2uF7MjdhZLQ
The cost to the American people? Nominal. The reward of participating in an armada of hope and home? Priceless.
Posted by: Frances Madeson | Apr 26, 2010 8:23:54 AM
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