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Charles Northfrom "Day After Day the Storm Mounted. Then It Dismounted." Suppose I am not the uplifter of all I uplift, in the same sense that the coal-black sky, scumbled and showing a few red streaks, doesn't exactly equal space. The air is thick. Now it swirls. It isn't air. As in the Iliad, death is continually swirling over the bravest warriors from its source in some tornado cellar or storage bin of death and never in a straight line -- as though it were embarrassed to be seen for what it is and chose the devious route. Not that it can't directly target those whom it chooses, but that it chooses not to. A roughly trapezoidal shadow has swirled up the side of the building opposite, making its sooty brick facing darker than normally. Some cars emerge from its insides. One is making a left turn from the extreme right lane. When you think of the truly instinctual moments, crying out when the door slams on your foot, or breathing deeply of spring, it seems only natural to imagine an opposite way of behaving. And when instinct is visible, as clear in the air as leaves and water tanks, it isn't inconceivable to suppose an infinite number of possible worlds, bargained for, grasped, and finally let go at the moment the situation becomes clear, like storm clouds illuminating a herd of cows nestled against coal-black tree trunks - n'est-ce pas? And in composing for wind instruments and putting the same or nearly the same chords into two different pieces, you are not likely to hear the same concert at noon as at dusk - unless, of course, the performances are all illusion and those in attendance merely marking time within their own private band shells. Certo. An example of feeling not quite taking the place of thought, although memorized by it. The house I live in. The block of wood and the wood chips, the surrounding proof that things exist outside the self despite constant weeding. A waterfall of selves. The mice are a nice touch, they don't have to speak in complete sentences. Also the sawhorses. One, sprinkled with life force, took off a few minutes ago. Stung by its freedom, whirling to gain a sense of direction, it hovered over New Jersey for several seconds before making a U turn. No, you turn. (From The Nearness of the Way You Look Tonight by Charles North, published by Adventures in Poetry. Copyright 2000 by Charles North. By permission of the publisher.) excerpt read by the author
Author's Statement
The excerpt reproduced here represents approximately one-fifth of "Day After Day the Storm Mounted. Then It Dismounted." The title came from a Looney Tunes cartoon on TV - I think it was Woody Woodpecker - but the poem as a whole is quite serious.
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Charles North was born in New York City and began writing poetry in his middle twenties. An active musician in his youth, he played clarinet with his first orchestra at the age of thirteen and spent summers at the music program in Interlochen, Michigan. After receiving degrees from Tufts College and Columbia University, he worked briefly in publishing before turning to college teaching. He is the author of eight collections of poetry, most recently New and Selected Poems (Sun & Moon, 1999) and The Nearness of the Way You Look Tonight (Adventures in Poetry, 2001), and a book of essays on poets, artists, and critics (No Other Way: Selected Prose, Hanging Loose, 1998). With James Schuyler he edited Broadway: A Poets and Painters Anthology (Swollen Magpie, 1979) and Broadway 2 (Hanging Loose, 1989). In addition to this NEA Fellowship, which is his second, he has received three awards from the Fund for Poetry and an award from the Poets Foundation. He is Poet-in-Residence at Pace University.
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