[stylist] Poem - "Archaeology" - First Draft

[William L Houts]

HI Shawn,

First of all, thanks for giving "Archaeology" a chance;  that's a lot 
more than many poets ever get, or even deserve.  I think I can lend a 
little editorial help on the poem, if I'm not really keen to do a line 
by line explication.

Basically, it's about the passage of time, and how it wears on our 
physical environment.  I think it says that old things, even plastic 
combs for instance, are lent a kind of grandeur by their submersion in, 
and eventual extraction from the time stream. I think the key line of 
the second poem in the series indicates that dolls, sham children though 
they may be, teach us something about personhood that's a little hard to 
explain. They're just a little bit maddening, dolls, for that reason. 
And the last section tries, and probably fails, to encapsulate something 
as large as a building in terms of history and archaeology.  It says, 
among other things, that something so grand as the building described 
here is like a living thing --thus the "dog of stone".  "Ship of rains" 
to me says something about the simple physical fact of a building's 
stone being worn down by the elements.  But it's also a bit 
metaphysical, comparing the tower to a much-weathered ship at sea, and 
also to some imagined ark of suffering; the latter not being anything 
I'd expect a reader to get after the third or even sixth reading.  And 
to summarize it all:  I think the poem signifies a certain development 
in my work as a poet.  I think that in general there are two kinds of 
poets:  some weigh in on the sense side of the scale, while others are 
heavily balanced on the sound end.  As for me, I seem to be heading for 
a place between these two extremes.  I used to favor Wallace Stevens, as 
I think I may have mentioned here before.  Nowadays, I favor poets like 
Eliot and Frost, at least in their approach to meaning if not to their 
actual works. I used to swear whole litanies on top of Stevens's "The 
Emperor of Ice Cream";  nowadays, I find myself irritated by him.  I 
mean, he uses words like "fabliaux".  What the fuck is a "fabliaux"?  
Anyway, if you have any questions about all of this, I'd be glad to 
answer them.  Thanks again, Shawn, for giving "Archaeology" a chance.


--Bill






On 4/30/2014 12:04 PM, Jacobson, Shawn D wrote:
> William
>
> I like the imagery "rocketstone" "dog of rock" "spire of greening glass" but I'm not sure I get the whole poem.
>
> I think I get the first verse (what will future beings make of our everyday things?), but verses 2 and 3 lose me.
>
> These poems make me wonder if I am that truly dense (or is the emperor naker)?
>
> Anyway, thanks for sharing.
>
> Shawn
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William L Houts
> Sent: Wednesday, April 30, 2014 2:43 PM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: [stylist] Poem - "Archaeology" - First Draft
>
> Hey Most Fab of Blinxes,
>
> Here's my most recent completed poem.  It's probably not to everyone's taste, but I feel proud of it, and I think there's a lot of tasty rhyme and word play here.  Comments welcome, as always. Poem commences below my signature.
>
>
> --Bill
>
>
> ---
>
> Archaeology
>
> 1.
>
> What will they infer from the yellow combs
>
> which kept her sea-dark braids?What deduce?
>
> Will students toeing henceward sands know how joying
>
> fingers loosed those locks to flow like melting
>
> chocolate down her sun-sloped neck?
>
> 2.
>
>
> O suffer doll, your birth from weft of dooms,
>
> your womb of earth as dry as brick
>
> and cry so sharp, as if your ruined skin could win
>
> our tears. And yet bestows, our soul,
>
> a certain lurch to cradle you in stupid arms,
>
> and shake all hurts, all hates, all harms
>
> from infant form. You charlatan, you sham!
>
> But by you, O henceward spade, our heart is played
>
> and sings we are, she is, I am.
>
> 3.
>
> All Hail our spire of greening glass,
>
> he's bright of sun, so sky he lights
>
> the moonwise mind.O rocketstone
>
> you tower bridging stars to earth, O dog
>
> of rock, you ship of rains,anchor down
>
> and root, some splendid pine, that students hoisting
>
> henceward spades may sweat and sing to know
>
> your joyful vaults, so rich and dark
>
> the basement floor of heaven's park,
>
> thou trumpet played by time.
>
>
>
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-- 
"Let's drink a toast now to who we really are."

           --Jane Siberry