Kinnell at Butler U.,
Feb. 6, 1989
by Dan Carpenter
Perfect poet’s presence Galway
limp white dress shirt
dull brown hair finger-combed raking his brow
heavy hands and gentle voice
a seamy-faced Gus Hall drunk on angels
I drink in his beauty for free
in a lecture hall packed with lit students under duress
signed in penned
and I contemplate the abstract and the concrete
along a straight diagonal line –
at the far end Kinnell pawing his glasses
singing of swifts and frogs rescued
when one has been a long time alone . . .
at the near end a row ahead of me
within a hand’s reach
khakied knees raised to chin level
black hair rich with brown hints like chocolate cake
a third his age half mine
a freshly made human doing what Galway says a poem does
doing the job to be
leaving it to the apprehender
to make of her a lover daughter moment
Galway on course in the face of beauty
takes beauty he’s made and makes it new
while I serene sad by no means covetous
weigh his words and weigh
her black untroubled eyes
her wide tan cheeks pure as infancy
her enormous pantaloons denying her figure like a nun’s habit
all this I take in and feel poetry its ache
Bio: Dan Carpenter is a freelance writer and former newspaper staffer, living in Indianapolis. He has published poems in Flying Island, Poetry East, Illuminations, Pearl, Xavier Review, Southern Indiana Review, Maize, Tipton Poetry Journal and other journals.
by Dan Carpenter
Perfect poet’s presence Galway
limp white dress shirt
dull brown hair finger-combed raking his brow
heavy hands and gentle voice
a seamy-faced Gus Hall drunk on angels
I drink in his beauty for free
in a lecture hall packed with lit students under duress
signed in penned
and I contemplate the abstract and the concrete
along a straight diagonal line –
at the far end Kinnell pawing his glasses
singing of swifts and frogs rescued
when one has been a long time alone . . .
at the near end a row ahead of me
within a hand’s reach
khakied knees raised to chin level
black hair rich with brown hints like chocolate cake
a third his age half mine
a freshly made human doing what Galway says a poem does
doing the job to be
leaving it to the apprehender
to make of her a lover daughter moment
Galway on course in the face of beauty
takes beauty he’s made and makes it new
while I serene sad by no means covetous
weigh his words and weigh
her black untroubled eyes
her wide tan cheeks pure as infancy
her enormous pantaloons denying her figure like a nun’s habit
all this I take in and feel poetry its ache
Bio: Dan Carpenter is a freelance writer and former newspaper staffer, living in Indianapolis. He has published poems in Flying Island, Poetry East, Illuminations, Pearl, Xavier Review, Southern Indiana Review, Maize, Tipton Poetry Journal and other journals.