Tuesday, 14 April 2009

Poetry: C. Albert

... but first, ANOTHER word from Sydney Nash:
This is a repost. It first appeared in March. It's a sign from the Universe you should read it again! Actually, it's just archival housecleaning. But you can read it again, if you believe in signs and omens.
-------------- And this is what we said: -----------------

Some of you are going to scratch your heads and wonder, "Poetry?"
Some of you are going to send me hate mail. I'm okay with that.
Some of you are going to send me your poetic impulse with the thought that it will find a home here at The Front View.
When the Hiss Quarterly was publishing, we focused on Poetry. The Rear View Mirror was a favorite and yes, we featured some outstanding poets during our five year odyssey. There is plotting and planning to relaunch The Rear View (Mirror) at some point in the not too distant future at The View From Here; good things take time.

In the spirit of things that are Hissy, and in the spirit of things to come, I accepted some pieces from three poets LAST year -- during the merge.

The first of these poets is C. Albert, and I shamelessly admit I'm a huge fan.
Very seldom do I read poems more than once or twice. If you hook me, and I start prowling around for other stuff you've done -- well, in my humble opinion, you're all that and a bag of chips. She hooked me. I prowled around. The link to her website is in the author bio.

To stay tuned for the latest at The View From Here and The Front View please subscribe using the links provided -- we'll let you know when The Rear View (mirror) happens. In the meantime, enjoy a sneak preview.

Now, to our regularly (sort of) scheduled program:


In a new city, I meet the arranged apartment
with green carpets in sad basement light.

When I take my first walk, a dog
rushes at me and barks for a long while;
I become stone.

In the Beacon Hill market, I ask for a bottle
of California Riesling because already
I miss the terrain I left.

The checker tells me that every morning
he thanks the saints he is alive
and eats eight eggs for breakfast.

For a moment, I am loved by his eyes.
This isn't home but another place
I will dream of coming back to.

Photo Credit: Billingham on Flickr

This Time She Wore Shoes

I helped her make three collages that day.
The bird had clipped wings.

Over fifty years old and afraid of them,
worried how would she be able to
get up early in the morning
to go to the cabin by Coos Bay.
She planned to sleep in her clothes.
I said it doesn't take long to dress.

My once passionate friend still dressed
in her purples, though her own spirit stripped.
The shock treatments couldn't reach
the deep bruise under forgetting.

She had to creep past everyone sleeping.
I keep seeing her rushing
over the rocks, in her swimsuit,
with her tennis shoes on, consumed
by dark voices,
a wild animal diving into the ice chill,
numb and sinking.

They found stacks of collages
and will frame some. Inside
the torn edges, just shapes,
fish turned sideways,

Photo Credit: polandeze on Flickr

Collage of Sky and Earth

Inside a city where books hang
from telephone lines,
paper wings flap empty,

words plunge
through open rectangles
between skyscrapers,

people dodge
thousands of phrases

splat onto a grey palette
of wet cement.

Orphaned and widowed
words ask for mending, meld
like socks with sleeves

unexpectedly–pants with a collar
smolder–engines on wheels,
arms without hands–themselves
streams of–beaks...

While above, the best lines escape:
kiteless strings in the wind.

Photo Credit: existentist on Flickr

About The Author:
C. Albert is a collage artist in Seattle, Washington. She began writing poetry when words appeared in her collages. Her collages and poetry have most recently appeared in Mannequin Envy, Women Made Gallery: Her Mark 2008 and Soundzine. For more information and a look at the collages & words, visit The Website.