Scarecrow Sings the High Lonesome
Nothing about me shines or sparkles. If asked,
I would place myself among the discarded —
remnant cloth and straw, worn, inedible,
useless, if not for packaging intended to
convey a certain message, which I of course
have subverted to “Welcome, corvids!” Even
my voice lies stranded in the refuse, silent
yet harmonious, clear yet strangled, whole
and unheard, dispersed, like tiny drops of
vapor listing above the ocean’s swell, enduring
gray skies and gulls and those solemn rocks
bearing their weight against the white crush.
Why do I persist? What tethers a shadow
to its body? How do we hear by implication
what isn’t there? Bill Monroe hammered
his mandolin, chopping chords, muting,
droning, banging out incomplete minors
to expectant ears, constructing more than
a ladder of notes climbing past the rafters
into the smoky sky. What I sing is not
heard but implied: the high lonesome, blue
and old-time, repealed. Crushed limestone
underfoot. Stolen names, borrowed sounds.
Dark words subsumed by light, yellowed,
whitened, faded to obscurity, to obscenity.
“Scarecrow Sings the High Lonesome” first appeared in Crannóg, in June 2017.
i really appreciate the form and the pace of this one!
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Thanks for noticing. I pay particular attention to pace, and wonder if anyone ever notices. 🙂
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The scarecrow seems to stand somewhere on the border of Bonnefoy’s arriere-pais and Frost’s untaken road (though the corvids have taken it), a land of Voschev’s forgotten things (Platonov). This one really speaks of a quiet and subtle nobility in the world’s unexamined spaces.
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Scarecrow lives in the world’s unexamined spaces!
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…like tiny drops of vapor listing above the ocean’s swell…
…Why do I persist? What tethers a shadow to its body?
My favorite lines! Love the pace and imagery!
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Thanks very much, A. Perveen! I’m so pleased the lines and pacing work for you!
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Indeed excellent poetry. The run over pacing makes one breathless to read; and feel run off each time. Notice the sad lifeless loneliness hidden within, hard to call out, yet shouting out to be heard.
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Thank you. These Scarecrow poems are special to me. I don’t set out to write them, but they pop out from time to time…
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So deep!
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Thanks very much!
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I’ve often wondered what a scarecrow thinks, you keep this moving along nicely, in much the same way i imagine it would think –
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Then I have done my job properly. Thank you, Beth!
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This imagery is wonderful, and flows so beautifully!
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Thanks very much, Sarah!
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Hi Robert, I really like the whole section that says ” Even/my voice lies stranded in the refuse, silent/yet harmonious, clear yet strangled, whole/and unheard, dispersed, like tiny drops of/vapor listing above the ocean’s swell,…”
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Thank you, Leslie. I think we all feel that way on occasion.
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Wonderful pace with each line flowing in the next. Brilliant writing.
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