LIVES OF THE POETS


LIVES OF THE POETS

Tom, folding his flag over his mattress,
coming into winter shelter at the Church,
says he lost his gloves today, Somebody
needed them more than I did,

he says. Opening the night shelter
is the first time I've been out all day,
holed up in my room with my friend's
sermons on the anguished heart--

Atonement--through the eyes
of Kierkegaard. I'm in a lousy mood
all day, to use a word common
to my father, (one that hasn't crossed

my lips for decades), and I hear
his voice and my mother's pain
in the same moment. "...Get men
to judge to get them out of their masks,"

the brave pastor quotes his mentor.
How inventive, my own hidden inwardness
and rascality--how vulnerable--I am
creation in cover-up. Geronimo

has returned to claim his bed
by the door. Each night two men
permitted showers. Who's
going to rub my feet tonight?

is the lone, sweet call from
the corner in the fellowship hall
as the men, exhausted from a day
of surviving, put sheets over plastic

mattresses after spraying them with 409.
I am the most restless traveler. God
of my North Dakota childhood sees
my every thought, the only one who knows.

Jim Bodeen
5 December 2016







BIG SNOW


























AT THE POST OFFICE

"I'm the last leaf on the tree."
                        Tom Waits

Looking for the old time post cards,
Marissa, the postal clerk
I've known for years, tells me,
We have what you're looking for
but they're not old fashioned.
Plain, but postmarked, I say,
I want to use the commemoratives.

Laying stamps out before me
I have all but Repeal the Stamp Act.
If you have Repeal the Election,
I'll take all of the sheets in the drawer.

Had I thought that rather than said it
in the hearing of the banal clerk in the next window,
had I thought it in silence,
the white misogynist's poisoned offering
Lock her up,
wouldn't be stamping me days later.

Jim Bodeen
2 Dec 2016



















MEDITATION ON THE NAME ALEPPO
AFTER IT BEGINS SHOWING UP IN CHRISTMAS CARDS

There is the Aleppo Boil,
lasting a long time
and leaving a deep scar.

Wiktionary etymology,
from Italian Aleppo,
from French Alep,

from Ottoman Turkish,
halep, from Arabic halab,
of uncertain origin.

Folk etymology,
from Arabic halaba,
gave out milk,

coming from tradition
that Abraham gave milk
to travelers moving through.

Jim Bodeen
20 December 2016



















BEFORE THE ROLLER SKATING PARTY IN UNION GAP

Did you see the video of your granddaughter
last night, looking at the stars? my wife asks
as I come in from shoveling snow to rest the back
and warm my cheeks while reading the news story
of county votes Statewide, looking at enrolments
in health care. It seems the poor have voted
themselves out of coverage. The writer for the Times
asks the question, How much are we obligated to care?
He resurrects sarcasm from Mencken:
Common people know what they want
and deserve to get it good and hard.
Shop talking journalists trace it all
to radiating fear and loathing against liberals.
On this day my granddaughter turns nine.

Jim Bodeen
10 December 2016




















SATURDAY MORNING, TALKING WITH A NEIGHBOR

Blaze lives around the corner
in the next block, walks his dog, Luna
by my place while I'm out
shoveling snow. Give me a little Luna
light, I say, my glasses already dark
from an hour in snow. About that name,
Blaze, I say, can you say something
about those parents who named you?
I can, he says. Mom and Dad
are in Michigan. Dad was in school
studying philosophers. Blaze Pascal
is who I'm named after. Yes, I nod.
"Men never do evil so cheerfully as when
they do it from religious conviction.

Jim Bodeen
10 December 2016

THE WEEK THAT SNOW COVERED

up November, friends check in
with reading lists and detailed plans
to carry them deeper into the young century.
Flush with new books myself.
Early December, Guadalupe's name day
after the weekend, I can already hear
trombone and tuba marching
through dark streets. Body of Water,
Dead Souls, Montale's Complete, 1925-1977.
Elegance of designed dust covers.
A full year into following an old word:
Banal. Banalities. Poshlost in Russian.
Melville's Clarel, longest American poem,
threads needle towards 2020.


Jim Bodeen
10 December 2016



















SHADOWLIGHT IN TALL TREES BEFORE SOLSTICE

Snow came with its beauty, but it came early,
and the cover-up was only partial. Going alone is paradoxical,
as it includes mail, and while mail is no guarantee,
it is packed and cared for as survival gear.
Side light, then. Mid-afternoon, mid-December,
after big snow. Fresh snow.
Real cover this time. Astonishing.
Sunshine hike on skis, in Paradise.
Thighs talking to the eyes, who don't even try to listen.

Jim Bodeen

19 December 2016



A Children's Vest in Memory of Sandy Hook Children




BUT WE WILL REMEMBER, AND WE WILL RESIST

Four years ago on this day my grand-kids
were in kindergarten and first grade.
Four of them, cousins.
Fourth and fifth graders now,
getting ready for middle school.
Skiers. Good ones. They ski the steeps.

My wife and I were in the mountains
with immigrants celebrating Las Posadas
when we heard about the children at Sandy Hook.
Kindergarten. First Grade. We knew what
kindergartners looked like, and first graders.
They were like our grandchildren.

I won't show you photos of them now.
As they are. It would be too cruel.
So much has happened in our country.
We can't keep up with violence
or bullies or elections.
Four years ago my wife made a vest

for the children of Sandy Hook.
She put the names of the children
in the lining. The week she made it
one of our granddaughters was home
from school, sick, staying with us.
That week I made a little movie

of my wife making the vest.
They're in the movie as they were.
Those were some pretty dark days.
You know, America.
It's called The Chief Joseph Children's Vest.
The vest that no longer fits the grandkids.

Jim Bodeen
14 December2016



Vest Maker and Art-to-Wear Artist, Karen Bodeen creates a vest for the children of Sandy Hook Elementary School, while caring for a granddaughter recovering from a virus. Both threads honor children everywhere. Karen witnesses, listens to, and honors the children she sews for, as well as the child at her feet and in her lap.