by Sam Rasnake
— Sally Mann, Untitled (Deep South #23), 1998
The field is the mouth of the dead.
Starlings drift the summer's late amber
as though a photograph's gelatin silver
has come to life, and you breathe in,
you breathe out — that other world.
Your lungs are sadness, full-measured.
A faultless tension. The scarred tree's
gift is silence. At the edge of hearing,
the slow river's story — all moss and
bush — slips its bridge between darkness
and darkness — while the sky, always
the patient doppelgänger, sits on water.
Whole forests & towns & time swallowed
in ivy. One trickle of sweat beside the ear.
Somewhere a banjo, somewhere a hound.
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A link to Sally Mann's photograph ( tea-toned gelatin silver print) at artnet:
http://www.artnet.com/artwork/68173/480/sally-mann-untitled-deep-south-23.html
This piece originally appeared in FRiGG, Fall 2013.
http://friggmagazine.com/issuefortytwo/splashpages/SamRasnake.htm
This has one of the best opening lines I think I've read in any poem.*
Stunning imagery in the last section. *
Somewhere a banjo, somewhere a hound.
- lovely way to open it outward at the end.
"...somewhere a hound."
Eloquence in a half measure. Full measure divine. *
* This is right in the sweet spot. *
Great opening, great ending, great imagery in between.*
"... while the sky, always
the patient doppelgänger, sits on water."
Oh YES!
*fave*
can *see* the image -- and yes the first line is stunning, stunning. FAV
Stunning.*
This one made me ooh and ahh. Beautiful poem, Sam.
Fave.
Fantastic. Each sentence is a landscape painting. Vivid imagery.
"At the edge of hearing,
the slow river's story — all moss and
bush — slips its bridge between darkness
and darkness — while the sky, always
the patient doppelgänger, sits on water."
How did I miss this one?
*