Friday, January 15, 2010

How High the Moon

New moon turning its face toward the empty nest high up in the black catalpa, the tree's limbs etched against the evening sky yesterday & now simply more blackness at 4:00 a.m.

a trailer truck on Highway 95, the glass slide whooshing guitar strings, a riff existing somewhere between the major & minor modes

someday the whole story will have been told & the constellations will continue to glint, small glass shivers strewn above this January's frozen fog

Some night once we’re all asleep will we rise

will we rise to a solarized new moon & the atmosphere of a black & white film except without the soft focus

will we rise & say this is what I meant to say all along

will we rise & nest in the catalpa’s black fingers, the glass slide’s icy rush up the guitar strings toward the octave, the trailer truck whooshing south-southwest

will we rise & say my heart is in my hand & mean it so much it flies off, a birdcall in a blue foggy dawn

it is a very long time ago driving thru night south-southwest thru the Owyhee desert before the crows glided across the sagebrush bluffs, the stars are shattered glass in every direction

will we rise & go back to a place we’ve never been

a glass sliver from a votive candle

will we say my heart is in my hand & it’s glass

the glass slide existing somewhere between the major & minor modes

New moon turning its dark face toward us etched against this night sky in the wordless frozen fog


Jack Hayes
© 2010

11 comments:

  1. you are brilliantly talented. the silky lilt of that line about the constellations, and you took my breath away when i got to, "this is what i meant to say..." this poem is the best gift of my day.

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  2. Breathtakingly beautiful, John. Or are you Jack? Have you always been Jack?

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  3. I love this poem. You make such fine use of repetition to circle around and come to a place of deep and sacred meaning. Slide glass, rise moon, and turn your face our way. Thanks, John!

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  4. Hi Jen, Willow & Audrey

    Jen: Thanks so much!

    Willow: The John/Jack thing is a very long story. Most of my published poetry appeared under the name Jack, which was a family name for me (very much preferable to either "Junior" or "Little John"). I may write more about this on the blog. Anyway, as I'm moving closer to publishing the "Days of Wine & Roses" collection, I believe I will go back to using that name for poetry. Thanks for the kind words.

    Audrey: Wow, thanks for that! I feel badly for being out of touch, & will drop you an email today. Really glad you liked this one!

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  5. This is wonderful! I can see why you've become Jack - new persona for poetry unleashed!

    I like these lines and images:
    "will we rise & say this is what I meant to say all along"

    and

    "will we rise & say my heart is in my hand & mean it"

    and

    "a birdcall in a blue foggy dawn"

    and

    "crows glided across the sagebrush bluffs"

    and many, many more.

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  6. Hi Karen: Thanks! I think I might do a post on the whole John/Jack history on Monday!

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  7. Oh yes, this comes from the America of my dreams. 'a trailer truck on Highway 95, the glass slide whooshing guitar strings, a riff existing somewhere between the major & minor modes'. Vivat Kerouac and George Thorogood!

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  8. Hi Dick: Thanks--I guess it's the America of my dreams, too!

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  9. "blue foggy dawn" -- lovely and moody!

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  10. Oh, I like this one, John...

    Wonderful, and beautiful.

    "We will rise and say my heart is in my hand and mean it"

    My heart is in my hand, too.

    ...

    What's this about 'Jack'??

    Do tell us the story, Mr. Hayes. :)

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  11. Hi T & Ginger

    T: So glad you liked it!

    Ginger: Thanks! My post this Monday will tell the whole "John-Jack" story--tune in if you have a chance!

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