An old/new poem of mine, in memory of Anthony Hecht

Roger Tory Peterson "has the ability to refrain from painting something beautiful when it’s unnecessary”


What in the world is there that won’t be
Drawn to the attention of his humane skill?
Let him refrain from the unnecessary

And sketch around the essence with a free
Hand. (Add your hand, also, if you will.)
What in the world is there that won’t be

Captured by his brush? This imagery
Is never overdone: as if a trill
Let him refrain from the unnecessary

Beauty of a long-held note. A chickadee
Can improvise the melody to fill
What, in this world, is there. That won’t be

Hard to seize, either – simplicity
Demands the feather stripped to the quill.
Let him refrain. From the unnecessary

To the essential is the only flight
He must risk, and the one flight words can’t kill.
What in the world is there that won’t be?
Let him refrain from the unnecessary.

A new poem

Here's a piece inspired by a recent trip to NYC:


ACCIDENT REPORT

There I was sampling
The product in a fine old
Barroom est. 1874 just yards
From the Gowanus Canal
But far enough away
That the oil slick
Was a slippery memory
And then I step out
Into the sun when a crash
And a couple thuds
Echo down the block
Everybody’s cousin
Already on the corners What
The Fuck a van has
Glanced off a parked car
And plowed into three more
Cars now accordioned
Razor edges paint slashes
Detours of deadly force
One big lump
Halfway over the curb
Against the meters
And a redirected signpost
The middle vehicle
Lifted whole off the
Asphalt a good
Six inches mercifully
Nobody hurt thank
Goodness whatever
Goodness might inhabit our
Little worlds these days
But the cops
Will be all over this
You can be sure
Somebody will pay his dues
Probably
That scrawny man of smiles
From elsewhere who leans
Against a brick doorway
Who escaped the wreck
But didn’t get away
Nothing gets lost
Not in the last
Reverb of a metropolis
Omnipresent undraped
The soft soft organ pedal
Covering the valve chattering
Idling beasts the gnashing
Of grills and radiators till a horn
From another avenue
Announces the last
Moment of the last act
And life goes on
Back to the salt mine
In the watering
Hole back to the bottom
Of an empty glass.