Toward the Verrazano, poem by Stephen Dunn

TOWARD THE VERRAZANO
Poem by Stephen Dunn

Up from South Jersey and the low persistent
pines, pollution curls into the sky
like dark cast-off ribbons
and the part of us that’s pure camera,
that loves funnel clouds and blood
on a white dress, is satisfied.
At mile 127, no trace of a tree now,
nothing but concrete and high tension
wires, we hood toward to Outerbridge
past Arthur Kill Road where garbage trucks
work the largest landfill in the world.
The windscreens are littered, gorgeous
with rotogravure sections, torn love
letters mauve once-used tissues. The gulls
dip down like addicts, rise like angels.
Soon we’re in traffic, row houses, a college
we’ve never heard of stark as an asylum.
In the distance there it is, the crown
of this back way in, immense, silvery, 
and in no time we’re suspended
out over the Narrows by a logic linked
to faith, so accustomed to the miraculous
we hardly speak, and when we do
it’s with those words found on picture postcards
from polite friends with nothing to say. 

Photo: Arthur Kill Road, Staten Island, New York (1973), EPA Photo from National Archives.

Writing a novel is like driving a car at night, quote by E.L. Doctorow

Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” E.L. DOCTOROW

Photo: BAZZAE73, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Fresh Poetry, cartoon by David Pascal, poem by Meredith Clark

CREDIT: New Yorker cartoon by David Pascal, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Prints for sale at condenast.com.

For a real-life farmers market poetry vendor, check out this feature at komonews.com (article and video) about Meredith Clark, a Seattle-area author who writes poems for customers on the spot — for free on a manual typewriter. (Photo of Meredith Clark by Zachary D. Lyons, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED)

FOR ARLENE

by Meredith Clark

Garlic, too, works
through the weather,
builds roots that way,
grows taller, never falters.
It, too, shows up
with earth in its skin,
braids tightly together
the land and those
who live it. Both
leave bright traces,
some sharp, clean taste
on all the hands
they touch. Both make
from the inside out
their own new scape.

“For Arlene” was commissioned by Ballard Farmers Market from Meredith Clark of the Poem Store in loving memory of Arlene Dabrusca of Anselmo Farms.

Ford Fairlanes, Found Photos, and Wikipedia Poems

“And then the car was beside him, not idling but panting like a deadly animal which may or may not be tamed.” STEPHEN KING, The Stand

Photo: Java1888, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Note: The above photo of man and car belongs to Java1888, who states on Flickr.com: “I recently found this awesome 50s photo album at an antique store. Its full of extremely hip 50s people and their stuff!”

The dashing man in the cool suit and jaunty hat is a few years pre-Mad Men. My best guess is that car is a 1957 Ford Fairlane (a model sold from 1955-1970). While reading about Ford Fairlanes on Wikipedia, I was inspired to turn some of the words into the zen poem featured below.

ZEN POEM:

1957 FORD FAIRLANE

by Wikipedia

For 1957, a new style gave 

a longer, wider, lower,

and sleeker look

with low tailfins.

Toward the Verrazano, Poem by Stephen Dunn

TOWARD THE VERRAZANO

Poem by Stephen Dunn

Up from South Jersey and the low persistent

pines, pollution curls into the sky

like dark cast-off ribbons

and the part of us that’s pure camera,

that loves funnel clouds and blood

on a white dress, is satisfied.

At mile 127, no trace of a tree now,

nothing but concrete and high tension

wires, we hood toward to Outerbridge

past Arthur Kill Road where garbage trucks

work the largest landfill in the world.

The windscreens are littered, gorgeous

with rotogravure sections, torn love

letters mauve once-used tissues. The gulls

dip down like addicts, rise like angels.

Soon we’re in traffic, row houses, a college

we’ve never heard of stark as an asylum.

In the distance there it is, the crown

of this back way in, immense, silvery, 

and in no time we’re suspended

out over the Narrows by a logic linked

to faith, so accustomed to the miraculous

we hardly speak, and when we do

it’s with those words found on picture postcards

from polite friends with nothing to say. 

Above photo: Arthur Kill Road, Staten Island, New York (1973), EPA Photo from National Archives.

Note: The title refers to the Verranzano Bridge, a suspension bridge that connects Staten Island and Brooklyn (see photo at left — U.S. Navy Photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Jonathan Snyder)

Thoughts on Writing a Novel by E.L. Doctorow

Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” E.L. DOCTOROW

Photo: BAZZAE73, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED