TWICE AT 4 AM
Heft of quilt layers
quiets my restless body
A partner’s calm breath
Worth getting up for
New word for last night’s haiku
Now go back to sleep
Jim Bodeen
29 December 2022
Storypath/Cuentocamino: : LOS HUESOS/TRES POEMAS//TRES CULTURAS
Storypath/Cuentocamino: : LOS HUESOS/TRES POEMAS//TRES CULTURAS: LOS HUESITOS, TRES POEMAS / TRES CULTURAS At this point the original poem no longer exists. No existe. In its original nacimiento, it arrive...
BELL CHOIR, CHRISTMAS EVE
BELLS ON CHRISTMAS EVE
Long drive to worship last night.
Dad and Father Hopkins in my head.
Roads dark, icy. I tell Karen
how the bells lift me up.
I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t ringing bells.
Bells ringing—and then she rings the bells.
Do you know Fr. Hopkins’ poem, Nondum?
We’re early so bell ringers
can practice and I sit close in the pew.
I’ve brought my notebook
and the poems of Father Hopkins
opening by chance to Nondum
with an epigraph from Isaiah,
Verily Thou art a God that hideth Thyself.
We read our psalms but get
no answer back. Bells are ringing now,
and Starla comes over to say hello.
She asks me how I’m doing
and I say, Thank God for the bells,
to which she, a bell ringer, says, Amen.
Her mother gave these bells to us.
Father Hopkins, I echo your poem.
My prayer seems lost in desert ways.
A woman tells me I’m reading the lessons tonight.
I’m off by a night. I thought I was reading at Christmas.
Reading for a service that doesn’t exist.
As we drive in the dark, I think,
I’m learning to make reports in the Notebook.
The choir is ringing a Ukrainian Bell Carol.
These reports to God. I’m learning.
They’re just reports. Daily reports.
I thank my dad for this, remembering
when he was sick. I learned how to report all of it
without wincing. You never got to see that, Dad.
After the bells ring,
I get to stand up and read from Isaiah,
For all the boots of the tramping warriors
and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned.
Karen’s place is in the front row on the left.
I take a picture of the choir and of Bart at the piano.
Bells ringing, they lift this line from Father Hopkins,
Yet know not how our gifts to bring.
Jim Bodeen
24 December 2022
THE IMMEDIACY, THE IMMEDIACY,
THE IMMEDIACY, THE IMMEDIACY,
AFTER SOLSTICE
Three degrees isn’t the low
on this walk, there’s wind
from the west. Pause
at Solstice, redemption
isn’t immediate
and it’s a darker snow
in the poet’s inclinations
as he, too walks helpless
before the frozen world,
hard gold to love,
a mother’s milk,
Dr. Williams reminds us
Come in out of the cold,
One can’t report this extreme
and your story-telling
during the year
can’t be improved upon
now, hard hard gold
Jim Bodeen
22 December 2022
LOS HUESITOS
LOS HUESITOS
LITTLE STICKS, LITTLE BONES
My walking stick, mi bicho palito,
mi bastón
punches through ice and snow,
perfora el hielo y la nieve,
chasqueando dos veses
hasta llegar al pavimento,
clicking twice reaching pavement.
Trabajadores rompiendo la tierra
Workers with post-hole shovels
take turns trying to break through the ice.
Los Huesitos, la empresa mexicana de vallas
tiene tres camiones, y una docena de trabajadores
rompiendo la tierra para vallas de plástico
Los Huesitos,
The Mexican Fence Company,
has three trucks and a dozen workers
breaking ground for plastic fences.
Los huesos.
Los huesos y los palos.
Los huesos, the bones.
Bones and sticks.
¿Es posible poner los huesitos
en la tierra fría, la tierra congelados?
Eh?
The old man who walks the development,
greeting them as he passes by.
El viejo caminando apoyado en una muletilla.
El viejo que camina por la urbanización
saludando a su paso.
The workers, excavadoras de postes.
Agujeros, stop to let him through,
The workers ask again--Eh?
I’m the stranger, here.
Soy estranjero en esta huerta arrancada,
this orchard turned housing development.
Soy el extraño en esta huerta arrancada,
esta huerta convertida en urbanización.
¿Ya sabes o ya no sabes?
There’s a plastic fence around my house too.
Hay una valla plástico alrededor de mi casa también
¿Es posible poner los huesitos en la tierra fria,
la tierra congelado?
Mi bastón está cortado de un álamo.
Más bicho palo que bastón.
Más muleta de torero exiliado.
El viejo caminante,
su bastón es su poema,
Walking stick of a poet.
My walking stick is cut from a cottonwood tree.
Más bicho palo que bastón.
Más muleta de torrero exiliado.
The old man walking,
his walking stick is his poem,
El Palo de Poeta.
Jim Bodeen
16 December 2022
AND THIS ONE / Y ESTE:
Palitos, huesitos
Mi bastón, mi bicho palito,
perfora el hielo y la nieve,
chasqueando dos veces hasta llegar al pavimento.
Los trabajadores con palas
se turnan para intentar romper el hielo.
Los Huesitos,
la empresa mexicana de vallas,
tiene tres camiones y una docena de trabajadores
rompiendo la tierra para vallas de plástico.
Los huesos.
Los huesos y los palos.
¿Es posible poner los huesitos
en la tierra fría, la tierra congelada?
¿Eh?
El viejo que camina por la urbanización
saludando a su paso.
El viejo caminando apoyado en una muletilla.
Los obreros, excavadoras de postes.
Los agujeros, paran para dejarle pasar,
preguntan de nuevo... ¿Eh?
Soy el extraño, aquí.
Soy extranjero en esta huerta arrancada,
esta huerta convertida en urbanización.
¿Ya sabes o ya no sabes?
También hay una valla de plástico alrededor de mi casa.
¿Es posible poner los huesitos en la tierra fría,
la tierra congelada?
Mi bastón está cortado de un álamo.
Más bicho palo que bastón.
Más muleta de torero exiliado.
El viejo caminante,
su bastón es su poema,
El Palo de Poeta.
Jim Bodeen
AND THIS ONE:
LOS HUESITOS
LITTLE STICKS, LITTLE BONES
for Jacqueline and Alexi
My walking stick, mi huesito, mi bicho palito,
punches through ice and snow,
clicking twice reaching pavement.
Workers with post-hole shovels
take turns trying to break through the ice.
Fuertes Los Huesitos,
The Mexican Fence Company,
has three trucks and a dozen workers
breaking ground for plastic fences.
Los huesos, the bones.
Bones and sticks.
¿Es posible poner los huesitos
en la tierra fria, la tierra congelada?
Claro que es posible.
Eh?
The old man who walks the development,
greeting them as he passes by.
El viejo caminando apoyado en un baston.
The workers, excavadoras de postes.
Agujeros, stop to let him through,
ask again--Eh?
I’m the stranger, here.
Soy estranjero en esta huerta arrancada,
this orchard turned housing development,
to give me a better life,
to make my dream come true
¿Ya sabes o ya no sabes?
There’s a plastic fence around my house too.
¿Es posible poner los huesitos en la tierra fria,
la tierra congelada?
Claro que es posible.
My walking stick is cut from a cottonwood tree.
Más bicho palo que bastón.
Más muleta de torero exiliado.
The old man walking,
his walking stick is his poem,
his poems make him feel alive,
El Palo de Poeta.
Jim Bodeen
16 December 2022
TOO ICY
TOO ICY
Too icy to go out
where will steps come from today
Stay in clean kitchen
Jim Bodeen
13 December 2022
SIX BIG YELLOW ROAD GRADERS WITH BIG BLADES
SIX BIG YELLOW ROAD GRADERS WITH BIG BLADES
City trucks huddle in Walmart Parking Lot
under the lights,
Sunday before seven
Snow expected any time
Two trucks with gravel
Safe underfoot to walk
Ancestors will let us know
when they’re good
when all that stuff
they took with them is gone
Jim Bodeen
11 December 2022
NEARING MY HOME
NEARING MY HOME,
the old fashioned question,
surfacing,
What are people for?
I walk around the short block
saying to myself,
Keep going
You’re not ready to come in
Jim Bodeen
11 December 2022
AFTERWALKING
AFTERWALKING
Cookies for friends
Spicy Raisin, Raisin Puffup,
followed by Carrot Cake Cookies
with three-and-a-half cups carrots
Walking the development, taking pictures
in the near dark, afterwalking even walking,
even, like landscaping, a bobcat
camoflaged with a motor running
I telll my friends I like a dangerous cookie
Karen asking as I walk out the door,
Are you walking the development
Out there--
I re-tie my boots
tighten things up
kneel in the snow, take my gloves off,
walk back to that sold house
and take that one picture
before fitting my fingers
back into the gloves
frozen notes too thumb-written
on the iPhone
Afterwalking I say to my friend in a letter
Afterwalking is a noun
it’s a practice, it’s ovenwork
Jim Bodeen
10 December 2022
WALKING AFTER SHOVELING SNOW
WALKING AFTER SHOVELING SNOW
Two and a half miles this morning in the driveway
One set of tire tracks is what I’m looking for
If I’d put on snow shoes neighbors would understand
You could put on skis today!
Ancestral prayers are not timed or tied
My mother is with me this morning
She’s here without a sign
I don’t hear or see a thing
No voices in this snow
On this walk I can’t figure out my own sadness
this edgy-like anger disturbance
while this quiet beautyway
This Blessingway knows
I’ve forgotten how many times I’ve circled this block
where they’ve yet to build houses
My legs are stiff and cold
My jacket and pants are wet
Snow is turning to rain
One day this sadness will not be part of this walk
Ancestors heal one at a time under different conditions
One day my mother will no longer suffer
Jim Bodeen
10 December 2022
WINTER QUATRAIN
WINTER QUATRAIN
Let’s see where this walk takes me
Connecting the dots like I change my shoes
Now that I’ve quit writing poems
I’m a much funnier man
Jim Bodeen
8 December 2022
STAPLE GUNS ARE RATATATTATING
STAPLE GUNS ARE RATATATTATING
On Crown Crest up to 62d
There’s a Spanish radio station
broadcast from inside the hollow garage
Workers still in orange sweatshirts
listening to World Cup
a skill saw sings and shouts go up
when Brazil scores
It’s early half light and snowing
Trucks still warm the workers
An onan running
roofers already clacking away
Walking the development
where no houses were
Where grandchildren gleaned pears
in the orchard
These big belts carrying worker’s tools
hang heavy on the hips
Must weigh 20 pounds
Wound one around the waist
working on a Habitat House this spring
Still no houses on Whitman Avenue
street sign although a raven
sat on top of it during yesterday’s walk
Jim Bodeen
6 December 2022
MID-MORNING SNOW WALK
MID MORNING SNOW WALK
Finding the right notes
Practice won’t hade your weak song
That ice under foot
Jim Bodeen
5 December 2022
FALL ASLEEP READING
*
Fall asleep reading
Lose my Parker pen in bed
Wake stressed at midnight
Jim Bodeen
4 December 2022
SATURDAY, 17º
SATURDAY, 17º
Feeeling the bone in my foot
while still in bed
I wonder about walking
into the kitchen
to put on the coffee
Lacing my boots
after putting out the candles
I look out the window
at the gray sky
Jim Bodeen
3 December 2022
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