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Blacker Pacific
Travel this glass canyon
on your back, on a sled
pulled by dogs blue with fear.
As long as the blankets
are thick, and the medicine
takes, you may arrive at base
without having lost it all.
Don’t tumble or drag
a finger through the snow.
Even the smallest arch
is a figure of strength, bending
its back to hold the load. That
scratch of the runners on glass can’t
come to seem musical, but with luck
it can be polished out
until what is reflected,
clear as a bell, is the journey
itself, the tale you’ll tell.
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Beth Baruch Joselow is the author of numerous books and chapbooks, including Excontemporary (Red Hen/ Story Line) and Begin at Once (Chax Press). Her poems have appeared in dozens of magazines and in several anthologies. Joselow has collaborated on artists’ books with visual artists in the U.S. and Ukraine. Born in Baltimore, Joselow spent most of her adult life in Washington DC, where for many years she was on the faculty of the Corcoran College of Art + Design. She now lives in Lewes, Delaware, and works as a psychotherapist. [For a recent interview, click here.]
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I really enjoyed this wintry, taut, & mysterious poem. Thank you, Terence.
Posted by: David Lehman | December 27, 2020 at 02:01 PM
Pure music on ice. And a beautiful cautionary poem which promises a happy ending if we obey beauty.
Posted by: Grace Cavalieri | December 27, 2020 at 02:39 PM
WOW! I love it. Tina Darragh
Posted by: Tina Darragh | December 27, 2020 at 02:44 PM
Thanks, David, but where have I heard that apt description before?
Posted by: Terence Winch | December 27, 2020 at 02:51 PM
Thanks, Grace. (But it's okay to disobey beauty once in a while, right?)
Posted by: Terence Winch | December 27, 2020 at 02:53 PM
Thanks, Tina. I love it too.
Posted by: Terence Winch | December 27, 2020 at 02:54 PM
ah, the subtle brilliance of Beth's rhythms and breath in her lines, and deep images...how satisfying to savor...
Posted by: lally | December 27, 2020 at 03:22 PM
when I read Beth's poems I often think she's written them just for me. This one is no exception.Thank you.
Posted by: Nancy Zimler | December 27, 2020 at 04:02 PM
Beautiful and haunting. Wonderful poem!
Posted by: Paul Genega | December 27, 2020 at 04:02 PM
The perfect poem for a cold Sunday afternoon while waiting for the fire to catch in our cast iron stove.
Posted by: Judy Kirpich | December 27, 2020 at 04:07 PM
For me, this poem is rich with deep purpose that may bring hope fulfilled and lived.
Posted by: Raya Bodnarchuk | December 27, 2020 at 04:10 PM
Beautiful! A mysterious journey as if I were there feeling both the cold and comfort.
Posted by: William Willis | December 27, 2020 at 04:11 PM
Lovely poem.
Posted by: Jim Werkowski | December 27, 2020 at 04:29 PM
Beth Joselow's poems always enchant. They paint a picture in words so vivid and clear. Wonderful work!
Posted by: Terry Braunstein | December 27, 2020 at 05:20 PM
I love the way you write Beth. How sweet to see this on a Seattle Sunday morning. When one really great poem leads to to another (see below) I know life is good. So good to see your lovely face. Ti amo! Onward!
SVT
It's wonderful
Everywhere, so white
The river has frozen over
Not a soul on the ice
Only me skating fast
I'm speeding past trees
Leaving little lines in the ice
Cutting out little lines in the ice
Splitting, splitting sound
Silver heels spitting, spitting snow
There's something moving under
Under the ice, moving under ice
Through water
Trying to get out of the cold water
(It's me)
(It's me)
Something, someone help them
(It's me)
Writer: Kate Bush
Posted by: Scott V Tuzzolino | December 27, 2020 at 05:23 PM
I love the promise of a tale to tell. Did the picture inspire the poem, or the poem the pix?
Posted by: Christy Briedis | December 27, 2020 at 07:43 PM
The photo was something I pulled off the Internet this morning.
Posted by: Terence Winch | December 27, 2020 at 07:46 PM
This resonates with me during this chilly year as I, too, feel like I'm being ferried over a glass canyon hoping to make it across while carving out a story worth telling.
Posted by: Chelsea | December 27, 2020 at 07:48 PM
Not fear so much as determination to exist, as safely as possible, in the moment, until the terrible beautiful journey is in the past. Yes. Resonates.
Posted by: Leila Daw | December 27, 2020 at 09:24 PM
I love this poem, and many of the comments made about it here. The poem brings me into a specific instant moment smoothly, and in the background, I wonder where, and how, and why.
Posted by: Anne Langley | December 27, 2020 at 10:48 PM
I loved all the feelings this poem evoked, Beth, the frigid beauty, the power of the dogs, the vulnerability of being alone at the mercy of the journey. I could even imagine the stars above as I read it, even though there is no mention of time of day.
I also enjoyed all the comments. Brava!
Posted by: Suzanne Codi | December 28, 2020 at 08:35 AM
Beautiful poem
Posted by: Eileen Reich | December 28, 2020 at 09:39 AM
Beautiful Beth.
Posted by: jim denvir | December 28, 2020 at 10:03 AM
All things winter. Stillness. Fear. Depth. Holding of breathe...waiting to exhale in spring. Cautionary tale... inspiration. Possibilities. Barren and beauty.
Posted by: Sally Laux | December 28, 2020 at 10:24 AM
Beth!!!!
Posted by: James Huckenpahler | December 28, 2020 at 10:29 AM