Sherry Brennan

d a i l y   p o e m s

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Readme Online Chapbook #2

June 2000


The poems collected in this chapbook are part of a project I began in September 1999, writing a poem every day. I call these the daily poems. They are practice and have come into existence side-by-side with the Dante essays. This chapbook selects from the fall poems.

Text copyright 2000 by Sherry Brennan
Artwork: manipulated versions of "Haying, Conway Meadows," 1864 by Albert Bierstadt


 

1 .    9 / 1 4 / 9 9

filled
tenacity less than
ear or tone
how you never know
that, unknown
so there are times
unknown
further, neither

 


 

3 .   9 / 1 6 / 99

dust momentum conducts electricity
hides
where flicker
leaf mold dappled scuff alight
on
unravel me

 


 

4 .   9 / 1 7 / 99

mist and fog enwreathed dissipate
and the light falling,
fails,

shines through white pines
everywhere a green
submerged light in needles sea,

and among such wraithlike shining the rain lights alight
everywhere.

 


 

7 .   9 / 2 0 / 99

single-sided gray day
with rain all its own
away, and wrap
slanting against the window --
soon though, as
texture of air mixed with air
wrapped still
has
unheld.

 


 

1 2 .    9 / 2 5 / 9 9

full moon wild blue
afterimage waning
hydroelectric weir-fledged
juvenile fish patterns
empty of fish.
skeeter-bugs
shadow their suspension
water shadows under water
memory.

 


 

1 8 .   1 0 / 1 / 99

custom loves to withdraw
this room the sound of
trucks pass
blue
and partly cloudy
new moon

and here are steel
whisperings
more fragile than
pinecones

 


 

2 7 .   1 0 / 1 0 / 99

The road as counterpoint
  endless line of it
  treble, staccato
of orange construction barrels,
  telephone poles, guardrails,
  and mile markers flickering by.

The land in its monotonous stretch
of yellowing woods, fields
  alternately mown and tilled,
of scrub brush
  red and brown, of quiet
  streams, reflecting,
  cows patiently waiting
  for one day and the next,
of the speed with which they pass
  and fall away, and the slow turning of the
  horizon, while the dotted center line
  flickers, flickers, contemplative.

Of sedges grasses reeds and cattails, brown,
  leaves adrift and fluttering down
of those more red, luminescent in
  the gray that is today
  in strange serenity
of those that are orange, with
  red enveined in every leaf
and the gray branches, entangled
  with the color of cloud
  that from them have fallen
  intent
  surrounded by their fields.
Of the alternation of color,
  tree by tree, red to orange
  rose to yellow to vermillion,
of little ponds surrounded to
  reflect the turning horizon
  in its variable intensity
and of each leaf upon each leaf
  in each another tone and hue.

Where is it I go when I'm with you,
and are you there at all, I wonder.
It is a place more beautiful still
than in all the wonder of this passing land,
in the movement of music under my fingers,
in the turning of the sky from
day to evening, the joists and beams
of it above from east to west,
in the joy of turning
homeward, in the intricacy
or the passing
workings of this day
into the next, and all in that
I hold.

 


 

3 5 .   1 0 / 1 8 / 99

all night long leaves skitter
along the road
where wind sounds
somewhere in Pennsylvania
at the bottom of a hill on the right
a brown cedar board and batten
house I will
search out tomorrow

 


 

3 8 .   1 0 / 2 1 / 99

1.

Morning shines
off the Delaware River east sounds
and feel of city trucks and taxis
obscured by light
abstracted the thought again of touch
recurs more palpable
light along every cobble everywhere
and nowhere visible.

2.

A small black pond in the night
sky waxing gibbous moon
in the pond two swans silent
there a mist curls
the path and as I walk the swans
come to greet me gentle
and silent as hands
gentle and silent as mist.

 


 

4 1 .   1 0 / 2 4 / 99

See how the red oaks shine --
so the moon on Greenwood Furnace pond
catches

close rain patter sounds
cold on my face.

I walk
and here light
gives.

 


 

4 3 .   1 0 / 2 6 / 99

nightfall
insect whirr in the thick
air catching light of you
such sweetness thicket
unavoidable unswerving

 


 

4 4 .   1 0 / 2 7 / 99

day in leaf form
breaks
word rustling

fragrant
thyme in my mouth

 


Sherry Brennan lives in Centre Hall, Pa. She has published poetry and essays in Chain, HOW(ever), Kenning 3, New American Writing, Object, raddle moon, Tripwire and the edited collections The Poetics of Criticism and the forthcoming Telling it Slant, among others. A chapbook, Taken, appeared in 1997, from "a primitive publications." Another chapbook, The Moving Walkway, is forthcoming from Propjet.

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