The natural world and human nature provide a variety of jumping off points for three poems that contrast the ego and experience of each poem’s speaker with other perspectives, both observed and imagined. The discussion touches on the use of a strong opening conceit, lineation that cannily reflects breathwork, and leaning into specificity as strong poetic moves. Let’s not forget the role that taste plays! Kathy’s internal sommelier springs to life twice to flag questionable taste in wine and a discussion of the third poem under discussion highlights the role that direct experience and cultural awareness can play in appreciating the landscape of a poem. The discussion also briefly lingers on the question of whether singer Dionne Warwick is still alive and well and performing. At the time of writing these notes, she most certainly is!
Some links we think you might like:
Dionne Warwick, Do You Know the Way to San Jose (YouTube)
At the table: Kathleen Volk Miller, Marion Wrenn, Lisa Zerkle, Jason Schneiderman, Manuel López, Isabel Petry, Vivian Liu (sound engineer)
John Wojtowicz grew up working on his family’s azalea and rhododendron nursery and still lives in the backwoods of what Ginsberg dubbed “nowhere Zen New Jersey.” Currently, he teaches social work at Stockton University. He serves as the Local Lyrics contributor for the Mad Poet Society blog and has been featured on Rowan University’s Writer’s Roundtable on 89.7 WGLS-FM. Recent publications include: Rattle, Split Rock Review, Soundings East, West Trade Review, and The Ekphrastic Review. He is the author of the chapbook, Roadside Attractions: a poetic guide to American oddities. Find out more at: www.johnwojtowicz.com
Kolyuchin Island
Polar bears have taken up residence
within the marmalade walls
of an abandoned weather station,
the lone dwelling
on a small island in the Chukchi Sea.
This unexpected sanctuary,
strategically located
between Russia and Alaska,
has a post-apocalyptic feel
like the Statue of Liberty scene
at the end of the first Planet of the Apes, but cuter.
White-coated inhabitants
can be seen sunning themselves
on the front porch,
poking frosty heads from turquoise
window frames, wandering
their 2.8 mile yard littered with rusted tanks
and construction debris.
Pierre Boulle never wrote
a sequel to the Planet of the Apes.
Man loses. The End.
And with earth’s history of ruling classes
and our self-destructive tendencies,
this is the likely scenario.
If by some grace, we go out without taking
every living thing with us,
it gives me pleasure to picture
a sleuth of grizzly bears
as the heirs to Buckingham Palace.
As a whole, extraterrestrial
anthropologists will have to assume,
we cared very little
about the arctic fox, musk ox, and polar bear,
dooming these lifeforms
(and then ourselves).
And even though I didn’t do much to stop it,
I hope they’ll find
the remains of my glacial wall calendar
and arctic-themed necktie
or better yet the yellowed receipt
from a donation I plan on making
to the World Wildlife Fund
and conclude that I was one of the good ones.
Wild
The rugs haven’t been cut in a long while
and the shag is starting to tickle
my chin. It’s up to my neck
which is sometimes
how I feel navigating the jungle of my life
which germinated
from the garden of my childhood
and went mostly untended
for the first quarter or so.
Yes, it’s been some time
since I backpacked through nightclubs,
traversed the landscape of closing time,
tossed the map on an LSD trip.
Right now, I am dead-heading petunias
on my back deck. My two kids
are sleeping. The dog is chasing
lightning bugs. My wife is finishing a glass
of Moscato and will soon be
waiting for me in our bed. Earlier today
I added boat-tailed grackle
to my backyard bird list.
My zucchini is starting to flower
and so is (for the first time)
the southern magnolia
planted a few springs back.
The groundhog I nicknamed Big Orange
is on his hindlegs
taking in the evening news.
And as the sun moves to give someone else
a turn with the light,
I consider that this
might be the wildest I’ve ever been.