Daily Archives: July 23, 2017

Arrow Site

thunged

undefined distaste
not thumb-thunged
skeptic flight
raspberry flesh
raspberry blood
torment where tongue
invents wound and
flavor at arrow site

Young Girls Bring Parsley to My Shop

Wikipedia Poem, No. 537

w537sm

“… and (watch) as I (grind) / coriander, garlic and calves’ hearts.” August Kleinzahler

poetic form he searches for solace in the poetic     form 
arches for something like constant discovery outside    
e poetic form he searches for something like           cons
  discovery outside of the poetic form he searches for so
n the poet's understanding or comprehensionnt discover
side of the poetic form he searches for something like co
t discovery outside of the poetic form he searches for    
olace in the      poet's understanding or comprehensionn
overy       outside of the poet's     understanding or comp
sionnt discovery outside of    the      poet's understandin
 or comprehensionnt           discovery outside of the poet
     he searches for solace in the poet's understanding or
ehensionook for something   like constant discovery outs
he poetic     form he searches   for solace in the poet's un
nding or comprehension or comprehensionnt discovery o
of the poet's understanding   or comprehensionnt discove
ide       of     the poet's understanding or comprehensiono
omething like constant discovery outside of the poetic for 
 searches for solace in the poet's understanding or   com
siontanding or       comprehensionke constant discovery 
of the poet's understanding or comprehension comprehe
discovery outside of the poetic form he searches for som
ike       constant discovery outside of the poetic form he s
 for   solace in the poet's understanding or comprehensio 
very outside of the poet's understanding or comprehensi
covery outside       of the poet's understanding or compre
nt discovery outside of the poetic form he searches for s
g like constant discovery           outside          of the poeti
e searches for something   like constant discovery      out 
e poet's    understanding or comprehensionnt discovery o
 the poet's understanding       or comprehensionnt discov
de of the poet's understanding or comprehensionnt disco
side of the poetic form he searches for something like co
iscovery       outside of the poetic form he searches for s
 the poetic form he searches for solace in the poet's und
ng or         comprehensionke constant discovery outside
oetic form         he searches for     solace in the poetic for
arches      for solace in the poetic form he searches for so
he          poet's     understanding or      comprehensi the p
derstanding or comprehensiontanding or comprehension

“The Sausage Master of Minsk” by August Kleinzahler

        I was sausage master of Minsk;
young girls brought parsley to my shop
and watched as I ground
coriander, garlic and calves’ hearts.

At harvest time they’d come with sheaves:
hags in babushkas, girls plump
as quail, wrapped in bright tunics,
switching the flanks of oxen.
Each to the other, beast and woman,
goggle-eyed at the market’s flow.

My art is that of my father:
even among stinking shepherds, bean-
brained as the flocks they tend, our
sausages are known. The old man
sits in back, ruined in his bones, a scold.

So it was my trade brought wealth.
My knuckles shone with lard, flecks
of summer savory clung to my palms.
My shop was pungent with spiced meat
and sweat: heat from my boiling pots,
my fretful labors with casings,
expertly stuffed. Fat women in shawls
muttered and swabbed their brows.
Kopeks made a racket on my tray.

But I would have none of marriage:
the eldest son, no boon,
even with the shop’s renown, was
I to my parents. Among mothers
with daughters, full-bottomed, shy,
I was a figure of scorn.

In that season when trade was a blur,
always, from the countryside, there was one,
half-formed, whose eyes, unlike
the haggling matrons’ squints, roamed
and sometimes found my own.
And of her I would inquire.
Before seed-time they always returned.

Tavern men speak freely of knives,
of this, of that. Call me a fool.
For in spring I would vanish
to the hills and in a week return,
drawn, remote, my hair mussed,
interlaced with fine, pubescent yarn.

Source: Kleinzahler, August. Live from the Hong Kong Nile Club: Poems : 1975-1990. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2003. Print.