Welcome to the March 2015 issue of brass bell, featuring poems by Jack Goldman
snowfall overnight
world seems less complicated
in shadowless light
fresh snow on the creek
unruffled ducks glance at me
over their shoulders
bread of life for birds
cast upon the snowy yard
squandered on squirrels
snow ablaze in sun
contest of fire and ice
cold consolation
under the streetlamp
my shadow hurries ahead —
I’d rather linger
wary of warm day
magnolia blossoms withhold
their sudden glory
that unnoted twig
suddenly lifts from the branch
and becomes a bird
duplicitous March
I’m on to your fickle ways
my boots stand ready
planting a fall bulb
an annual act of faith . . .
two bulbs hedge my bet
in this cold country
where skies merge with mirrored lakes
stone walls stand their ground
frozen pair of jeans
swinging slowly on the line
Old Man Winter's blues
stones stacked up like books
along the turbulent gorge
“Ancient History”
hip-hopping squirrels
break dancing in the branches
addle the cool cats
willow trees whisper
secret longings to the wind . . .
that flighty gossip
youth speaks the grammar
of present and future tense —
age speaks past perfect
my friend recommends
meditation and breathing —
I’ll think about it
my mirror reveals
an elderly stranger who
appears to know me
floating in the sea
merging with the ocean sky
I swallow the clouds
strolling on the shore
warm sand caressing my soles
the sun underfoot
twinkling butterflies
swarming in the morning sun
a tropical wink
leaving the islands
returning to a cold home
sand in my sandals
sketchy potted plant
still living at the window
drawing winter light
poor old puckered pear
judging by appearances
we two make a pair
moved by a March breeze
maple trees unpack their trunks
no longer snowbound
something consoling
in the nonchalance of crows
patrolling the storm
handful of haiku
neither poetry nor prose
this side of silence
***
Jack Goldman:
I graduated from UCLA in 1964 after several years abroad in Israel, France, Germany and Switzerland. I came to Ithaca in 1965 as a graduate student in German Literature; joined Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) in 1967, and devoted several years to opposing the Vietnam War and doing community organizing. In 1975, I opened the Bookery, a downtown bookstore which continues to thrive. I've been married for many years to the extraordinary Barbara Mink
and I'm the father of the equally wonderful Emily, and son Dan* (d. 2013).
* you were a gazelle
sensing an instant too late
the shattering air
