CSU Fort Collins professor Dan Beachy-Quick sees poetry as an ongoing experiment, one that often uses tradition as it looks at the complicated world and what it means to be human. His most recent book of poetry is titled "(gentlessness)," a word he created to reflect that experiment. The book is a finalist for this year's Colorado Book Awards.
Excerpts: "(gentlessness)" From "Romanticisms" Be generous—. But the nettle’s bloom bitters Its lesson deep into the thumb’s lovely Incaution, and the rose thrown in the gutter Still casts out its scent so sweet it’s sickly, Almost shapely, love’s ghastly prepossession. I hoped to die before spring came again, Then the dung beetle made its confession. Then the pillow kept my silhouette’s stain—. I rose as if I never had risen—. Be cautious—. But the letter lays bare Those marks her own hand pressed through words Onto the page below this page, where White on white makes present all past, absurd Legibility, as grief notes grief, The colors of the sky, and the sky itself—. From "Overtakelessness" This field, this leaky boat— the sea seeps in— springs up and in, and— under the grain— beneath the seeds—we don’t sift fingers through amber waves-- we learn to drown, or we sink. From "Overtakelessness" I pull the plow behind me. It cuts a line I cannot see. It opens up the sea behind me as I work. How do I know? I hear the waves crash on rocks that they are there, brine in the air the gulls cry out hunger, why are they so sad?— the sea?—the sea?— It is a long line behind me using itself to point at itself—it also points away— using itself to point away. Reprinted from "(gentlessness)" by Dan Beachy-Quick with permission of Tupelo Press. Copyright (c) Dan Beachy-Quick, 2015 |
