Editing *Ghost Maps*
I've spent most of my writing time the last few days editing my book of poetry about World War II,Ghost Maps.
I haven't had it out in about two months. It's beginning to be possible for me to read a poem and see what's really there, instead of just what I intended to put there. As with all true seeings, this is hard: it's much easier to see what you expect. But for a few hours today, I did manage, and in the
process saved two pretty marginal poems, including this one:
A Light
Ardennes -- January 1945
Once, on night patrol,
they came nose to nose
with German scouts.
Fog snaked
through thick trees.
The moon shone
like a newsreel.
What was there
to say?
They
exchange cigarettes
and silence. The moon
slips on.
The stars take up
their fixed positions.
1 Comments
Did you ever read “the Forger” by Paul Watkins? In it is a powerful scene: The main character is an American caught in about to be occupied Paris in WWII. He’s walking down the streets late at night, and a German spy plane lands on the bridge he’s about to cross. The pilot gets out, takes a look around, as if he can’t believe he’s here. The two men stare at each other. The german leaves a cigarette for the painter, gets back in his plane and leaves. Although tobacco has been very scarce, the American leaves the cigarette on the edge of the bridge.