Vox Populi
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Richard Foerster: Aspens
Last night, the fool in me waking,
as if half-drunk, wanted to dance
when the wind came up, insistent as surf,
and lofted my bedroom window’s sheers
like veils about my shoulders. A wish,
a whoosh, a clacking like castanets
moved through the limbs of the aspens
.
that border my lawn, had set them
dervishing, the whole congregation,
moonlit, on tiptoes, as if in frenzied
praise of a god made manifest, riding
on a sweep of wind, and I felt certain
the aspens would endure again
the quaking current of that ecstasy.
.
In light it’s hard not to believe
optimism is just stubborn pretense.
This morning three trees lay felled,
the roots exposed like hacked bones
in opened graves. I’ve stood before
in the stillness of afterstorm,
the everywhereness of it, among litter
.
strewn from far corners of my brain—
the stutter and static of news, brittling
green torn from clichés of hope
and tides of war and brewing storm—
and stared into a wreckage of words
left abandoned on the page
as if I’d never been that god of weather.
.
And so I wield again the grumbling
bite of a chain saw. I’ll make neat cords
of nuisance. I’ll hitch the stumps
to a truck and yank them out
easy as teeth, easy as taking a rake
to smooth over what’s past, tamp it flat
with my muck boots in a foolish dance.
Copyright 2023 Richard Foerster. From With Little Light and Sometimes None at All (forthcoming from Littoral Books, 2023). First appeared in One.
Richard Foerster is the recipient of two National Endowment for the Arts poetry fellowships. His eighth collection, Boy on a Doorstep: New and Selected Poems (Tiger Bark Press, 2019) received the 2020 Poetry by the Sea Book Award. He lives in Eliot, Maine.
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I love the language of this rich, rambling poem–
“the everywhereness of it, among litter
.
strewn from far corners of my brain—
the stutter and static of news, brittling
green torn from clichés of hope
and tides of war and brewing storm—”
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Yes, rich language
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I love the innovative language and vivid imagery of this wonderful poem.
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It is a wonderful poem, isn’t it?
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Heartbreaking piece. His language, as always, musical and descriptive, inspiring. Foerster is one of a handful of poets who dares to use his vocabulary. I love that about his work. Who writes, “…set them/dervishing, the whole congregation,/
moonlit, on tiptoes,as if in frenzied/praise of a god made manifest…”? He does! And I am thankful for that…
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I couldn’t agree more. Foerster is a contemporary master.
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Such precise and chosen vocabulary — a poem with magic and cadence. And that second stanza!
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Thanks, Laure-Anne. I love Richard’s poems for their precise language and deep feeling.
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