Idlefellow
West of the East and East of the West
A fine poem; I like it very much!ZuluCollector":r6gq0pva said:Here is a poem I wrote a year or so ago about pipes and tobacco.
A few of my favorites: Jane Kenyon, Wendell Berry, Jim Harrison, Kenneth Rexroth. And this, which wasn't written as a poem, but certainly could stand as one:
Now nearly all those I loved
and did not understand when I was young are dead,
but I still reach out to them.
Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman,
and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone,
although some friends think I shouldn’t.
Like many fishermen in Western Montana
where the summer days are almost Arctic in length,
I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening.
Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon,
all existence fades
to a being with my soul and memories
and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River
and a four count rhythm
and the hope that a fish will rise.
Eventually, all things merge into one,
and a river runs through it.
The river was cut by the world’s great floods
and runs over rocks from the basement of time.
On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops.
Under the rocks are the words,
and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.