MARY RUEFLE
Long White Cloud
How did the bare-bummed child crawling
on the beach in a pink sun-bonnet
learn how to walk by watching seagulls?
on the beach in a pink sun-bonnet
learn how to walk by watching seagulls?
How did my mother decide to marry
my father by buffing her nails
then staring at her hands?
my father by buffing her nails
then staring at her hands?
How did so many unpronounceable words
come into being? And how many more words
whose meanings are unclear or obscure?
come into being? And how many more words
whose meanings are unclear or obscure?
Why do seagulls cry
while landbirds sing?
while landbirds sing?
How did the Agitator of the Soul
become himself so violently agitated?
become himself so violently agitated?
How could someone crying out
a cloud, a white cloud, a long white cloud
be naming a country?
a cloud, a white cloud, a long white cloud
be naming a country?
A country is not a cloud
A cloud is not a country
A cloud is not a country
Only the Agitator of the Soul
would have you believe it
would have you believe it
Seabirds cry to be heard over the waves
Landbirds sing to let everyone know who’s king
Landbirds sing to let everyone know who’s king
A silky cornel of red osier
makes good kinnikinnick
makes good kinnikinnick
My mother gave simple advice to all:
Do not grow up to become a baby
Do not grow up to become a baby
And the baby stood
And the baby took a step
And then another
And the seagulls scattered
into a cloud, a white cloud,
a long white cloud
And the baby cried
And the baby took a step
And then another
And the seagulls scattered
into a cloud, a white cloud,
a long white cloud
And the baby cried
Welcome to the land of the living
The Good Fortune of Material Existence
Without bringing any more people
into the planning loop, I have decided
to have breakfast. I have made cautious
inquiries, and finally learned it is
Thursday. My attention sets out
in a cheerful mood on a memorable
expedition to the sink.
Oh blank and hopeless days!
Oh long sleepless nights!
They are forgotten now
as I turn on the cold clear
water of the stream.
All the rivers of the world
convene in me. They rush
over my hands, they enter
my mouth, they cover my face.
I am compelled to drink my own
tears, as you too will be
when you wake.
into the planning loop, I have decided
to have breakfast. I have made cautious
inquiries, and finally learned it is
Thursday. My attention sets out
in a cheerful mood on a memorable
expedition to the sink.
Oh blank and hopeless days!
Oh long sleepless nights!
They are forgotten now
as I turn on the cold clear
water of the stream.
All the rivers of the world
convene in me. They rush
over my hands, they enter
my mouth, they cover my face.
I am compelled to drink my own
tears, as you too will be
when you wake.
Think Snow
I believe milk is melted snow.
I believe I went sledding once,
hit a tree and shattered my glasses.
Worse things have happened,
to older people.
Birds don’t know where to go in a snow
and so go very deep inside of themselves.
Newly fallen snow, the world’s
worst jigsaw puzzle.
Dirty snow welcomes everyone,
like the poverty train.
A woman in furs is a statue of snow.
After a conversation that was useful
in the beginning, snow becomes useless
and, finally, worthy of blame.
We were now hoist by our own snow.
There is no harder work
than not snowing.
Snow has time on its hands,
never afraid of dying
but always in a hurry to.
Snow, the first séance.
We thought about it for a while
and then looked up.
I knew there would be a picture
of a samovar in the dictionary,
and there was.
I believe I went sledding once,
hit a tree and shattered my glasses.
Worse things have happened,
to older people.
Birds don’t know where to go in a snow
and so go very deep inside of themselves.
Newly fallen snow, the world’s
worst jigsaw puzzle.
Dirty snow welcomes everyone,
like the poverty train.
A woman in furs is a statue of snow.
After a conversation that was useful
in the beginning, snow becomes useless
and, finally, worthy of blame.
We were now hoist by our own snow.
There is no harder work
than not snowing.
Snow has time on its hands,
never afraid of dying
but always in a hurry to.
Snow, the first séance.
We thought about it for a while
and then looked up.
I knew there would be a picture
of a samovar in the dictionary,
and there was.
Banshee
The day my mother almost died
I hid in the basement
because our dog had run away
and no one cared, at that moment,
to go after her.
It was harder than I had ever or even
thought, not that I thought.
I wailed like a living corpse,
I wailed like a banshee
down there near the washing machine
and the indoor clothesline
and the extra yellow refrigerator
(my mother came back,
the dog came back).
Down there on my hands and knees
near death.
I hid in the basement
because our dog had run away
and no one cared, at that moment,
to go after her.
It was harder than I had ever or even
thought, not that I thought.
I wailed like a living corpse,
I wailed like a banshee
down there near the washing machine
and the indoor clothesline
and the extra yellow refrigerator
(my mother came back,
the dog came back).
Down there on my hands and knees
near death.
Are we not right now
outside on the tundra
harnessing the sled dogs,
three of whom have already died?
outside on the tundra
harnessing the sled dogs,
three of whom have already died?
Banshee was the dog’s name,
she was named after a plane,
a plane named after
a terrible Irish female fairy
who forbodes by wailing
a death in the family,
for naming is a terrible thing
such as naming one thing
when you mean another.
she was named after a plane,
a plane named after
a terrible Irish female fairy
who forbodes by wailing
a death in the family,
for naming is a terrible thing
such as naming one thing
when you mean another.
Now Mary Lorraine they said
you are crying for your mother
not for the dog can’t you see that?
I could see I never really liked that dog
but I never really liked my mother either.
you are crying for your mother
not for the dog can’t you see that?
I could see I never really liked that dog
but I never really liked my mother either.
Daddy said when he was coming in low
he could see the faces of the enemy
wailing as they ran for the tram.
What a good dog he was.
I could see why he ran away.
I wished I were an igloo.
I ate a turkey leg.
I lay on my waterbed
and ground my teeth,
counting my fingers
instead of the days.
he could see the faces of the enemy
wailing as they ran for the tram.
What a good dog he was.
I could see why he ran away.
I wished I were an igloo.
I ate a turkey leg.
I lay on my waterbed
and ground my teeth,
counting my fingers
instead of the days.
Are we not right now outside on the tundra
harnessing the sled dogs,
throwing the meat of the dead to the dogs,
I mean feeding the ones
who are left?
harnessing the sled dogs,
throwing the meat of the dead to the dogs,
I mean feeding the ones
who are left?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mary Ruefle is an American poet whose latest book is Trances Of The Blast (Wave Books, 2013).