painting by Karin Best.
Egress Denied
“A man’s ingress into the world is naked and raw.
When his progress is stifled by trouble, his egress
may lead to nowhere.” --John Edwin.
I am standing in a mountain meadow, deep into the
Cascade foothills. The glen is dotted with a floral
rainbow of wild plants--clover, Indian Paintbrush,
Crimson Columbine, Hooker’s Balsamroot, Mariposa
Lilies, Fireweed, Pipsissewa, Lady’s Slipper, and
Chatterbox Orchids.
I bury my face into the wild mint and chives. I chew on
all the yellow plants, painting my lips and teeth golden,
or to you it might seem like a crone’s mustard molars.
I traveled here to momentarily mantle my Trumpitis.
Corona fears, and my emotional fatigue.
But alas, the 2020 fissure still bursts open from my
bowels and my mind. I still find myself bereft. I moan
like an autumn wind in the lonesome treetops, belaying
the late July I crouch within. I scream Civil Rights
epithets and confusing political malarky. There seems
to be no escape from the grievous wounds to this
world.
Glenn Buttkus
Prosery
Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub
14 comments:
I love the opening paragraph, Glenn, a beautiful setting and fabulous flower names, especially Hooker’s Balsamroot and Chatterbox Orchids! You appealed to my sense of smell with the wild mint and chives, a true balm for someone suffering from Trumpitis, Corona fears and emotional fatigue. I agree, there seems to be no escape from the grievous wounds to this world.
Love that you went the first person route. The detailed list of the flowers sets the scene. And oh yes.....we are in the midst of this absolute craziness on so many angles. I spoke with a cousin for 90 minutes this morning on the phone....she is particularly religious but still a common sense kind of person. She wondered aloud if this was an apocalyptic biblical scourge. I jokingly said something like "yes - we're just waiting for the locusts." She responded absolutely seriously, "oh they're already here. They're in Iran....or Egypt? I can't remember but I read it." Yep -- sometimes in this covid age when the occupant says such brilliant statements as "drink bleach", I also feel like moaning like the autumn wind! Great take on the line, Glenn!
OMG this is gorgeous, Bravo on a well crafted Corona dystopia
Happy Monday
much :) love
Big Juju at so many levels in your poem. You know your plants, Glenn, which also felt like a metaphor for the pub. The yellowed molars of the crone is a phrase that will not soon be forgotten. You're right, no attempts at distraction can get one far enough away from this mess.
Very great images Glenn. I feel the pain and the need to get away from all the termoil of these cooped up days! Well done!
Oh, so say we all, but none so eloquently! Every time he opens his mouth he seems to be shooting himself in the foot. One can only hope!
So much how many (most?) of us feel. Though it's the beauty of nature that is helping me to get through this nightmare. "moaning like the autumn wind," indeed.
It is hard to get away from it all. But the way you ground this piece in the minute particulars gets us close to it. Love the image of a "crone’s mustard molars." I still believe Thoreau's dictum: In wildness is the salvation of the world.
I love the meaning behind this. Times are crazy and we all need our own escapism; it shows how we cope in different ways. Also:
"I am standing in a mountain meadow, deep into the
Cascade foothills. The glen is dotted with a floral
rainbow of wild plants--clover, Indian Paintbrush,
Crimson Columbine, Hooker’s Balsamroot, Mariposa
Lilies, Fireweed, Pipsissewa, Lady’s Slipper, and
Chatterbox Orchids."
This is the most beautiful paragraph I've ever read. It is so reminiscent to the poets from before us that it's just chilling to read in its execution. What a beautiful, passionate piece. It evokes so much emotion.
Oh so wonderfully done. The naming of the plants, the scents and tastes - we all need something to help us get through this crazy.
This is perfect Glenn. Yes, we can forget for a while but no matter what, it all comes flooding back to us.
I started this year with high hopes for a 2020 clear vision but... I can't see anything clearly anymore. Love your beautiful flowers
Like a primal scream to Nature the Healer.
Love the imagistic intensity, and the pathos of realizing how futile attempting to escape from the current dystopia is. Well done!
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