Thursday, January 10, 2013

3 Poems by Fred Wolven

This is a new composition becoming
something with a fresh voice,
like a portrait of a woodlot scene in language
akin to a modern, new mode
for expressing minutiae
oft times like though not Queen Anne’s Lace
peopling a meadow.

Ah, remembering,
he said it better than I,
march on, march on
for the stretch to reach the stream
is an hour or so from here,
and this poem, heavens,
I just don’t know now,
may be another day’s journey or yet perhaps
even a story recollection in front of us,
and some tales are difficult to mesh
in a finite manner.

So, ah, where is my flute?
Please give me a drum.
I’ll refresh at the stream,
dinner will have to wait.
It is now Spring,
and love, that yet new feeling,
is nearer in the air.


I couldn’t help notice he was all decked out
in Chantilly lace, even more so, I suspect
than Prince Charles when he was young.
If one can so clothe in their fifth or sixth decade,
then why not strut about as the head rooster
organizing a hen house whatever the number
in the lot.  After all, the smallest field mouse
would, if it could, disguise itself to resemble
a lizard to not attract birds of prey on a
summer’s day.  And then I remember, quite
out of character, how it feels, sometimes,
when I prepare for the day, as though
I am dressing a battlefield wound, covering
what will become a scar so unlike the
remarkable multi-colored free-standing
faces of wildflowers dotting mountain-side
meadows one encounters backpacking
the trails in Georgia or even Tennessee. 


# 1

What did Chopin do
when he misplayed the fingering
what did he need
to recover his balance
when he slipped off the stool

Do you believe Mozart realized
his Concerto for Clarinet
would be the backdrop for
a award winning movie

I remember viewing Picasso’s Chicago
sculpture, called either The Picasso or
Picasso’s Chicago, located in Dailey Plaza
and noticing its imaginative form
whether patterned after an attractive woman
or Picasso’s pet dog or strictly an abstract
is of little importance
as it is a remarkable work of art

I used to wonder if Hitchcock was
so vain that he had to include himself
within each of his movies, but then
I merely figured he was only adding
a subtle element to the films
something which would be noticed
and questioned but not puzzling for viewers

The question is not
what makes an artist an artist
but what makes a creation worthy
and why does some work become classic

Fred Wolven is retired from academic life, the teaching portion, and having re-established Ann Arbor Review as an international journal, he continues the quest for fashioning just the right poem, and gaining a better understanding of the enigma that is his and that which was the late Theodore Roethke’s. After all, Roethke once said, “What I love is near at hand.” Thus, there is much yet left to be explored; plus, as he noted, “Being, not doing, is my first joy.”  What with nature’s beauty all around, and having opted to re-open himself to love and life, and still seeking to define his identity, he writes on, writes on…

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