Valerie Coulton : Two poems (for Elizabeth Robinson

 from Report from the Robinson Society, Vol. 1, No. 1

 

 

 

 

 

for Elizabeth and in memory of Colleen

 

either I’m nobody or I’m a nation
inclined to prose, a measured apocalypse
difficult to spell
to twist around the finger

the myth of death was troubling
and seemed to inhibit the dance

either I’m a clock stroke or a dangerous character
black embroidered
weighed down by language 

here is the queen and now the jack of diamonds
shuffle again, let the measure begin

 

·

  

wind troubles the bright
installs a fractured umbrella
inside our art 

miracle, wreckage
everything that is

  

·

 

the buzz of a tiny sewing machine

 

·

 

nothing to say
belly against
need more light
oil on canvas

more light

 

·

  

a soul escaping
points to the numbers
finger painted next
to the door

the head is left
behind and the
body a messy
white blur

& now the speckled
black            mind
without mind

 

·

 

after all the losses

leaf mold, graffiti

a friend’s ghost
to stop with

 

·

  

a character
smudged, part of
a distant blur, or
one of a dream number
forgotten at the moment
of waking–worry the
words, the synthetic
fabric cold now in the
color draining time of
year, feet uncovered,
sock as metaphor for
something, life as it
is maybe, a truck parked
outside, work being done
inside a door, some
crosses, numbers to sum,
unintentional face
the beginnings of a small
fire–

 

·

  

fire season
yellow sky
leaves of all
a California
sonnet
in the making
when yellow leaves
or none
or few
soft & woven
maybe October
but look closely
green leaves
in the hands
of the old tree

  

·

 

gasoline & pancakes
the white lines of a parking lot
lost birds & signs
lines across the air
somewhere a phonograph
last lines of a song
long vowels in an ancient mouth
far south, farther
names of places stolen
returned without their skin
come inside now
it’s dinner time

  

 

 

Thinking of Elizabeth is collage work

 

I see her, so beautiful and alive. Her books, her words. And hear her voice. I remember meeting her and all the feelings that our knowing each other elicited in me over time. I remember that our conversations challenged me and made me think. And, of course, thinking of Elizabeth makes me think of Colleen, and of the generosity of both in their work on EtherDome, how they made me feel welcome and supported when I was getting started with my writing, like modernist attending good fairies. Now more than twenty years have passed. I see Elizabeth very seldom, but the collage is alive with her work and the sense of her being there. It was wonderful to have her be a part of the palabrosa project with her chapbook Three Efforts at Arrival and a Series of Departures, and to have her poems, and Randy’s, in parentheses. I don’t know what else to say. The sun is coming out and all I feel is gratitude.

 

 

 

 

 

Valerie Coulton’s books include still life with elegy, small bed & field guide (both from above/ground press), open book and The Cellar Dreamer (both from Apogee Press). With husband Edward Smallfield, she’s the co-author of lirio and anonymous (both from Dancing Girl Press). She lives in Barcelona and co-edits parentheses, an annual journal of international writing. She is also a co-editor at Apogee Press and she curates palabrosa.net, an online chapbook and interview series. 

 

Valerie Coulton : About still life with elegy

 

 

 

When rob invited me to put together a chapbook for above/ground press, I was delighted and a little worried, since I didn’t see myself in the midst of a project at the time. But I did have a big pile of work that had accumulated over the past year and beyond, so it seemed like a good opportunity to look through it. I found myself sorting pieces into smaller piles, and two of the most conspicuous piles turned into still life with elegy.

“Still life with orange Jell-o” was a potential title for the compilation, or at least for the “still life” section. It came out of a phone conversation with my mom, that epic cook, raconteur, political commentator, humorist, writer and arbiter of culture. Separated by COVID-19 since it began, we’ve been talking every week, and sometimes these talks spark a poem. Are the pieces in “still life” auto/biographical? Yes and no. They’re variations on the themes that keep coming up: food, memory, people we’ve lost, dreams, distance.

My father died in 2014. His death coincided with a mute period for me as a writer, which seemed to last a long time. Two or three years ago that muteness started giving way, and I found it easier to write again, and to write, occasionally, with my father in mind. I have a good deal of uncertainty about the “elegy” poems; there’s always the possibility that a blank page would do a better job. But it felt good to gather them and also to let them be in the same volume with “still life”. Somehow nice to reunite my parents, who parted such a long time ago and yet, when my father still lived, could often be found, miles apart, watching the same baseball game.

 

 

 

Valerie Coulton’s books include small bed & field guide (above/ground press), open book (Apogee Press), and The Cellar Dreamer (Apogee Press). With husband Edward Smallfield, she’s the co-author of lirio and anonymous, both from Dancing Girl Press. She lives in Barcelona and co-edits parentheses, an annual journal of international writing.