Thursday, December 3, 2009

Leadville

Leadville
            —circa 1874

Her hurdy gurdy sound detaches in tangents across the plain.
little missy violet walks from the dance hall foyer.
Drone-strung, her torso waits for its player.
A crib is a disheveled doldrum of human need.                          

little missy violet walks from the dance-hall foyer.
Somewhere beneath her breastbone a series of levers turn.
A crib is a disheveled doldrum. Of human need:
the clanking-pocket gent, fierce gears in woolen trousers.

Somewhere beneath her breastbone a series of levers turn.
Beyond cracked walls, bursts of pewter snow.
The clanking-pocket gent, fierce gears in woolen trousers--
after the dig, the sift, drip of the silvered tongue, there is this:

beyond the cracked walls, bursts of pewter snow,
and her torso, a pliable instrument and white.
After the dig, the sift, the drip of the silvered tongue, there is this:
A rosined heart pumps coniferous blood.

And her torso, a pliable instrument and white
as powdered wind. Here within this branchless town
a rosined heart pumps coniferous blood--
Its hurdy gurdy sound detaches in tangents across the plain.

6 comments:

Jenny said...

A suggestive hurdy gurdy rhythm. The structure is so fascinating and original.

"and her torso, a pliable instrument and white" Great!

Francis Scudellari said...

The structure of this puts me in mind of a "round" with the repeating lines, slightly altered. And that fits so well with the "hurdy gurdy" imagery. So many great lines, but I really like these:

"After the dig, the sift, the drip of the silvered tongue, there is this: / A rosined heart pumps coniferous blood."

Jon said...

I'll second what Francis says... the repetition seems pleasantly like a roundel

but what grabs me is the small details... the color of the snow (pewter) for example...

thanks for sharing!

Jukka said...

I wish I could write poetry like you. Hope I'm not to old to be good at writing poetry.

Megan said...

Thank you all.

This is a pantoum of sorts. I love writing them though I don't think I'm always successful.

I find the hurdy gurdy to be the creepiest of instruments. The fact that they were used by "crib girls" to attract men during the silver boom of the 1870's is fascinating to me.

Ande said...

I really go for the way you evoke the dramatic scenery. It felt like a scene as much as a poem.
Interesting time, the very late 19th century.