Household Songs: The Brief and Unremarkable Life of Joseph Clarence Strauss/I

Supple pink lips stretch boldly
towards a breathless,
iron-streaked sky to capture slender morsels
of air.

What haunting songs will make
their indelible marks
on this child’s untouched life?  Soon, time
shall speak.

————————————————————————————-

In July, I wrote a short poem entitled Household Songs.  A few weeks later I wrote another poem in the same format and ended up naming it Household Songs: II because at the time, I couldn’t think of a better name for it.  I have now decided to expand those pieces into a longer narrative poem which will consist of thirty short sections.  Household Songs is about the life of Joseph Clarence Strauss, who was born at his father’s homestead in 1867 in Lehigh County, Pennsylvania.
There are two elements of this poem that are not fiction.  The homestead in question is modeled after an abandoned two-story home–built in 1860–that is roughly a ten minute drive from my childhood home.  In 1865, a Thomas Strauss did in fact purchase that house as well as a grist mill that was on the property, however Joseph Clarence Strauss is merely a figment of my imagination.  That house has always fascinated me, even to this day. I have often wondered what its walls would say if they could talk and so for me, the Strauss home seemed like fitting subject material from which I could construct a longer poem.
The respective sections of Household Songs depict a moment from each year of Joseph’s life, in chronological order.  I intend to post one section every week
.

neither/nor

I am just a body,
framed neither by
light nor by darkness,
flowing through long
corridors with sweet
beasts of burden
while shouldering the
ashen narratives of
faces who have
already fallen.

I am merely a hand,
neither open nor
closed, beating
steadily against a taut
bolt of time, in spite
of myself, trying to
keep pace with the
all-embracing rhythm,
which shall undoubtedly
break me in the end.

Sweet Claudine

Ensconced upon a throne
of emerald threads, sweet
Claudine cocks one petite,
pearl-adorned ear towards
a majestic plane tree, absorbing
the bonny verse of the chestnut
caped delegate through every
parcel of her slender, Sunday
morning frame.  Delight permeates
the air, plunging from the sky in
broad, even strokes until the paint
on his tenacious throat runs dry.
My sun-drenched siren turns her
almond eyes down to the tome
which she clasps between citrus
spattered palms, unaware that our
fashionable guest has abandoned
us in order to uncover his own
kingdom.

Masan Bound

Sweat and old rain seep
out of cherry blossomed
flesh, mingling with legions
of shivering, noisome bodies
on a wind-tossed April evening,
gelatinous kneecaps disintegrating
under harsh light.  Memories of another
train–equally overflowing–and of
another spring, distant and bitter,
briefly spark in these otherwise
vacant eyes.  As high-pitched
screams fill my guilty ears,
salt stained mouths whisper
softly, eager to go home.

Just One Number

Many memories,
difficult to pick,
will still be written.
Three best friends
A souvenir photo
To take such a picture
in blue, not only in an
elegant style.

Two weeks later,
we cried, laughing
at the same time.
Picture is symbol.

You will still laugh.

I never forget
that one day
living.

———-

Sometimes, a poem unintentionally emerges through preparing for the writing portion of the TOPIK Exam.

::now I lay me down::

at the cinema, it sounds like
a whip striking taut
leather

flying through the air
regally with pompous
grandiosity

exquisite and clean

the workmanship of a master

in this house, it sounds like
a ferocious closed fist
belting brittle bone

flying through the air
rashly with thoughtless
execution

horrifying and coarse

the workmanship of a savage

convergence

Our home, which protects
us from society but not from
ourselves, acknowledges the
conversion of speech to action.

Four walls tumble down
every night, falling upon
cold, firm faces that have
not yet learned how to break.
They reassemble themselves
at dawn.

The heart that cannot remember
is condemned to repeat mistakes.
As a result, incongruous chambers
plug away despite the fact that their
desires will forever be at odds
with each other.