"Tender History" -- three versions
My blog hasn't been very interesting -- largely because I'm in the middle of several large editing projects. Still, I feel guilty. I came across this file the other day and thought it was interesting. From earliest to most recent, here are three poem I eventually called "Tender History."
In a trench-cut tunnel at the Athens metro
the foreman kneels to curled bones while the backhoe
settles with a sigh. In this city rich in rubble
the smallest thing can stop a dig: a dog's grave,
clay stone bones and blue beads from the lost collar
still cuddled in the throat. What amazes us
about this? The smallness of the loss or
the smallness of the sweep of history,
which does not blur the love that built
the tiled tomb, or laid the patient jaw
on jumbled paw-bones.
In a trench-cut tunnel of the Athens Metro,
the foreman kneels to the small tomb
while the backhoe settles with a sigh.
In this city rich in rubble the smallest thing
can stop a dig: A dog's grave, clay stone bones
and blue collar beads still cuddled at the throat.
What amazes us about this? The freshness
of the loss, or that tender history has left
the patient jaw arranged on jumbled paw bones?
In a trench cut tunnel on the Athens Metro
the foreman kneels to a tiled grave while the backhoe
settles with a sigh. In this city rich with rubble
the smallest thing can stop a dig -- a dog's grave,
clay stone bones and blue beads still cuddled
at the throat. What amazes us about this?
The freshness of the loss, or that tender history
has left the patient jaw arranged
on jumbled paw bones --
Mostly line-break fiddles in that last stage. But some good ones.
