~This poem was originally published in Junctures: The Journal for Thematic
Dialogue (2008).
THE
SHIPWRECK
Painted in 1805, part of a
retrospective of the works of J.M.W. Turner
exhibited at the National Gallery of Art,
Washington DC
In
Turner's painting The Shipwreck
everything leans and moans,
everything leans and moans,
even the
glowering clouds.
Three small wooden craft
Three small wooden craft
are
flung from the drowning ship.
The striped cap of the sailor at the tiller
The striped cap of the sailor at the tiller
looks
like exposed ribs,
while in the other life boats
while in the other life boats
men
drape agonized atop one another
and waves hoist
and waves hoist
their
hummocks of foam.
The young genius, the painter,
The young genius, the painter,
lingers
lovingly, reaching
over each violent wrench of water.
over each violent wrench of water.
The Shipwreck is his first large-scale oil,
his palettes and knives and brushes reaching,
his palettes and knives and brushes reaching,
desperate,
through a vortex of small men
centered on their unfolding disaster,
centered on their unfolding disaster,
two
dozen hopeless figures
hemmed in by a dense black sky.
hemmed in by a dense black sky.
*****
~This poem was originally
published in Gargoyle (2013).
THE
THING IN THE THING
Is
the chimney a chute of air where grey smoke
clots and rises? Or is the chimney the bricks,
clots and rises? Or is the chimney the bricks,
the mason’s careful art? Is the car a box of metal,
a
web of gauges and fuses, or the feeling of speed
gathering under your right foot? The tree waves its branches
and becomes, thanks to wind, more tree. The clouds
lend
more meaning to the sky. Water maintains
its fluidity even while held in the confines of a glass:
its fluidity even while held in the confines of a glass:
a glass of water is a shape, not a nature. The true nature
of a
thing, its essence, is something pure and focused
like a stone holding its hardness. A telephone holds its ring
as pure potentiality. Then it does ring, and it’s Gwen,
and
she’s telling me a story about her sister in Knoxville,
or
explaining the common root of a word in Italian
and
a word in Hebrew. Not knowing the name of a thing
changes nothing, but when I can,
changes nothing, but when I can,
I
like to know. The sky holds nothing
back. Every time
the barometer drops, it makes some big confession.
the barometer drops, it makes some big confession.
*****
~This poem was originally
published in The Northern Virginia Review
(2014).
AFTER HOURS IN THE KINDERGARTEN
It's geography week at school.
The kindergarten halls are lined
with identical pictures: Mrs. Benton's
The kindergarten halls are lined
with identical pictures: Mrs. Benton's
penguins, repeated blobs in black and white.
I move out of the polar regions.
What is that odd smell hiding beneath
What is that odd smell hiding beneath
disinfectant? On a
low table I find
white styrofoam painted mud-brown,
notched rectangles that once enclosed
computer components, now glued
in a standing row, topped with toilet paper rolls,
also painted, topped with little paper
also painted, topped with little paper
Chinese flags, yellow stars on red.
Why, it's the Great Wall of China!
Styrofoam walls, cardboard watch towers
—I kneel to look closely—
one of the wonders of the world,
here between the girl's bathroom
and the janitor's closet,
fantastic in fluorescent light.
*****
THE STORY BEHIND THE POEMS
“The Shipwreck”: I recently saw the
terrific movie “Mr. Turner,” which I highly recommend. The movie brought me back to this poem, and
the experience of seeing the Turner retrospective at the National Gallery of
Art in 2008. I visited the exhibit
twice, drawn back magnetically to those visionary landscapes and
seascapes. I wish I could see it again a
third time!
The poem describes an
early painting of Turner’s, which was inspired by a poem by the same name by
William Falconer, which recounts the final voyage of the merchant ship Britannia. The poet, who would (ironically) later die by
shipwreck himself, wrote:
Again she plunges! Hark! A second
shock
Tears her strong bottom on the
marble rock!
Down on the vale of death, with
dismal cries,
The fated victims shuddering roll
their eyes,
In wild despair, while yet another
stroke,
With deep convulsion, rends the
solid oak:
Till like the mine, in whose
infernal cell
The lurking demons of destruction dwell…
I became enamored of the
idea of this subject coming full circle, of writing a poem on a painting based
on a poem.
If you want to see the painting (and read an actual,
professional commentary on it), go to the Tate Museum’s web site: http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/turner-the-shipwreck-n00476
As
for the two others, “The Thing in the Thing” is a personal victory; I’ve long
wanted to include my friend Gwen Rubinstein in a poem, and I finally did. As an extra bonus, I even slipped in a
reference to her sister Rona. “After
Hours in the Kindergarten” refers to the basement of Cedar Lane Unitarian
Church in Bethesda, MD. I teach a Memoir
class for adults in that basement, and the space is shared with a kindergarten,
so viewing children’s art projects (in the absence of actual children) has
become a regular spectator sport for me. Some of the teachers are very
creative. The project I describe here
wins the award for best reuse ever of
styrofoam packing material.
*****
ABOUT
KIM ROBERTS
Kim Roberts is the author
of four books of poems, most recently Fortune’s
Favor: Scott in the Antarctic, a series of blank verse sonnets based on the
journal of Antarctic explorer Robert Falcon Scott (Poetry Mutual, 2015). She is
editor of Beltway Poetry Quarterly,
and the anthology Full Moon on K Street:
Poems About Washington, DC (Plan B Press, 2010), and co-editor (with Dan
Vera) of the web exhibit DC Writers’
Homes. Her website: http://www.beltwaypoetry.com.
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