4.26.2007

Poetry in Synchrony

Guest Poet: Shari Z.



In the triskaidekaphobia post, I brought you the poetry of the illustrious RR. Now, I would like to share with you the work of one of the few people I know who has her ear to the pulse of the planet, Shari Z. Following are two recent compositions that she was so generous to share.

The first is Pantoum, and has its stylistic origin in Malaysian poetry. In a Pantoum, the second and fourth lines of each stanza are reproduced as the first and third of the next. The second poem We Never Did Become Friends is more subtle, and seemed to me like an arrow rushing through a small golden hoop. My ears were left ringing.

Enjoy.
Pantoum

Her pain was so purple, the daughters cried.
And father fell white like blossoming plum.
She bloomed thistle from an organ
that a wetland wouldn’t waltz.

And father fell white like blossoming plum
into a tumble that forced bend and snap;
that a wetland wouldn’t waltz.
We climbed through the forsythia for help.

Into a tumble that forced bend and snap
she coiled her belly and whimpered distress.
We climbed through the forsythia for help
to green grass doctor and hyacinth nurse.

She coiled her belly and whimpered distress,
calling for opium’s cloud and thunder
to green grass doctor and hyacinth nurse.
They pulled the weed and planted daffodils.

Calling for opium’s cloud and thunder
she bloomed thistle from organ.
They pulled the weed and planted daffodils.
Her peace so pointed, the daughters cried.

................................................

We Never Did Become Friends

Three
clotheslines
strung
through
your
living
room
is
odd

So
is
six
plus
one

Like sevens
you
are
back doors
alleyways
cellars

Unlike evens
two
six
eight
I un-enter you
straight

................................................

Shari Zollinger, ©2007


3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Thanks Reese! I am honored.

Anonymous said...

Nice one Shari, I especially like the last one.

Anonymous said...

Shari, thanks for sending the poems. I have the third that I'll post sometime soon.

It is a tragedy that most humans don't recognize the simple complexity of poetry. I think we are infected with an infectious case of 'lol', a kind of vernacular that wastes the power of words.