Hovercraft
Damndest thing you could imagine,
your last visceral memory being
that flash,
that concussive sledge hammer,
with the lingering taste
of figs and falafel
on your torn lips,
hearing staccato rifle fire
between the Farsi beats,
the amplified calls
to prayer pounding through
the terrible heat,
seeing the blood sun setting
majestically behind a minaret,
bleeding day into the murk of the Tigris,
a quick glimpse of
two dogs chasing a feral cat,
two boys playing soccer,
two crows dueling over something dead,
the pungent smell of sewer nearby,
goat frying, gun oil,
some forgotten chocolate—
all passing in review on fast forward
as you rise effortlessly
from the operating table,
from ripped up heart shards barely beating,
between the big silver clamps
holding your chest open, up and up to
above the doctors,
above your own body, just this
whiffed smear of ambient light
listening
to the higher self saying
to the soul,
“You have no place in the world.”
Glenn Buttkus March 2010
3 comments:
Oh yeah.
One reason I like your poems is that they do unexpected things. From the title I was thinking Florida swamp transportation. LOL
Judy
i feels sadd for the cat the dogs wuz chassing.
xo
Hovercraft - the accumulation of detail is wonderful, Glen, recreating a specific place and mood, and, at the same time, reinforcing a sense of what has been lost from this life. I don't know if you're familiar with the short story 'Bullet in the Brain' by Tobias Wolff? If you're not, try googling it. It explores, like you do here, 'brain-time' where so much is recollected in such a miniscule amount of time.
I think you could get way with cutting:
all passing in review on fast forward
because you set up the scene and lead the reader through what's happening very well. So there's no need to be so explicit. And, personally, I'd like the end to be more understated... the mention of 'higher self' and 'soul' might be overcrowding and edging towards a bit of a drum roll ending. And, for me, the poem is powerful enough without that. One last thing - I love the synesthesia in:
whiffed smear of ambient light
and it feels particularly appropriate for this moment. Not that I have any evidence that the senses can merge at the point of death, but it still makes poetic sense. Great poem. Do you think there's a better title though? I think there probably is.
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