Episode 130: Anthropomorphic Imagination

The natural world and human nature provide a variety of jumping off points for three poems that contrast the ego and experience of each poem’s speaker with other perspectives, both observed and imagined. The discussion touches on the use of a strong opening conceit, lineation that cannily reflects breathwork, and leaning into specificity as strong poetic moves. Let’s not forget the role that taste plays! Kathy’s internal sommelier springs to life twice to flag questionable taste in wine and a discussion of the third poem under discussion highlights the role that direct experience and cultural awareness can play in appreciating the landscape of a poem. The discussion also briefly lingers on the question of whether singer Dionne Warwick is still alive and well and performing. At the time of writing these notes, she most certainly is!

 

Some links we think you might like: 

 

The Spin Doctors

Dionne Warwick, Do You Know the Way to San Jose (YouTube)

 

At the table: Kathleen Volk Miller, Marion Wrenn, Lisa Zerkle, Jason Schneiderman, Manuel López, Isabel Petry, Vivian Liu (sound engineer)

John Wojtowicz grew up working on his family’s azalea and rhododendron nursery and still lives in the backwoods of what Ginsberg dubbed “nowhere Zen New Jersey.” Currently, he teaches social work at Stockton University. He serves as the Local Lyrics contributor for the Mad Poet Society blog and has been featured on Rowan University’s Writer’s Roundtable on 89.7 WGLS-FM. Recent publications include: Rattle, Split Rock Review, Soundings East, West Trade Review, and The Ekphrastic Review. He is the author of the chapbook, Roadside Attractions: a poetic guide to American oddities. Find out more at: www.johnwojtowicz.com

 

Kolyuchin Island 

 

Polar bears have taken up residence 

within the marmalade walls

of an abandoned weather station,

the lone dwelling 

on a small island in the Chukchi Sea.

This unexpected sanctuary, 

strategically located 

between Russia and Alaska, 

has a post-apocalyptic feel 

like the Statue of Liberty scene 

at the end of the first Planet of the Apes, but cuter.

White-coated inhabitants 

can be seen sunning themselves 

on the front porch, 

poking frosty heads from turquoise 

window frames, wandering 

their 2.8 mile yard littered with rusted tanks 

and construction debris.

Pierre Boulle never wrote 

a sequel to the Planet of the Apes. 

Man loses. The End. 

And with earth’s history of ruling classes

and our self-destructive tendencies,

this is the likely scenario.

If by some grace, we go out without taking 

every living thing with us, 

it gives me pleasure to picture 

a sleuth of grizzly bears 

as the heirs to Buckingham Palace. 

As a whole, extraterrestrial 

anthropologists will have to assume, 

we cared very little 

about the arctic fox, musk ox, and polar bear, 

dooming these lifeforms 

(and then ourselves).

And even though I didn’t do much to stop it, 

I hope they’ll find 

the remains of my glacial wall calendar 

and arctic-themed necktie 

or better yet the yellowed receipt 

from a donation I plan on making

to the World Wildlife Fund

and conclude that I was one of the good ones. 

 

 

Wild 

 

The rugs haven’t been cut in a long while

and the shag is starting to tickle

my chin. It’s up to my neck

which is sometimes 

how I feel navigating the jungle of my life 

which germinated

from the garden of my childhood

and went mostly untended 

for the first quarter or so.

Yes, it’s been some time 

since I backpacked through nightclubs,

traversed the landscape of closing time,

tossed the map on an LSD trip.

Right now, I am dead-heading petunias 

on my back deck. My two kids 

are sleeping. The dog is chasing 

lightning bugs. My wife is finishing a glass

of Moscato and will soon be 

waiting for me in our bed. Earlier today 

I added boat-tailed grackle 

to my backyard bird list.

My zucchini is starting to flower

and so is (for the first time) 

the southern magnolia 

planted a few springs back. 

The groundhog I nicknamed Big Orange

is on his hindlegs 

taking in the evening news.

And as the sun moves to give someone else

a turn with the light,

I consider that this

might be the wildest I’ve ever been.