One of My All-Time Favorite Poems

pangwins dansing in the

wotr     with sweet sun shin

shinyn on it   and butiful

butrflis     dansing in the ear

and a wodrful wind flooing

with a ror          and me

woching it all

[Carolan R. Coughlin, early 1990s]


What I love, besides the wonderful invented (and unashamed) spelling of a child, is the sensual description--employing sight (butrflis  dansing in the ear), sound ("ror"), and touch (the heat of the "sweet sun shin shinyn on it" and the feel of the "woderful wind flooing"). Yes, that is haiku-like sense description and imagery.

The clincher for me, though, is the end: "and me / woching it all." That is what a poet does. The poet is both an actor and an observer. So in a way, this is a meta-poem, written by a little kid, a poem about poetry and about being a poet.

Carolan's Poem about Autumn in Northeast Ohio

The other day I found an old poem Carolan wrote (some 9 years ago, when she was a Freshman at Ohio University) about autumn in Northeast Ohio. Our area, especially parts of Lake, Geuaga, and Cuyahoga Counties, have unsurpassed color in mid to lake October. I can't imagine that New England is even more beautiful. It's because of our climate, our soils, and the mix of trees (sugar maple, red maple, tulip poplar, tupelo, sassafras, etc.). Anyway, here is Carolan's beautiful poem:

in northeast ohio

                        the buckle of the snowbelt

                        does not rust slowly into

                        the freeze and gloom and white permanent winter.

                        it Explodes.

                        crimson orange flames bursting from the branches

                        fireworks, a sunset, a campfire

                        the glory and celebration and excitement

                        sustain the hidden embers of Warmth

                                                                                of Color

                                                            of Life.

                        when the snow doesn’t stop falling

                                                and the sun forgets to visit

                        we will grasp tightly to the fire of fall

                        and the eternal glow will keep us strong.

Carolan Coughlin

October 27, 2003

                                                                            

Holy Saturday Prose-Poem by Carolan

Carolan wrote this to me in an email:


Here is what I wrote on Holy Saturday. 

I just watched the most beautiful moon rise over the valley, edged by the mountains that hide the vastness of The Bob Marshall from the curious masses.  I stood under a huge Ponderosa, feet mounted in crusty snow, hands pocketed, eyes reverent to the hungry moon.  He devoured clouds on his proud rise, bit one right in the middle, a snack en-route to all things miraculous.  

"Jesus Christ," I whispered in wonder, and I remembered, hey, that's right, Jesus Christ rises from the dead in a few hours, just like this magnificent moon, and there will be a curious light in the darkness and all shadowy things will take on a grand beauty to stage the rise.  

Let me glow in the light of the moon, the God, the Savior, the love and the soul of the mountainous sky.  

Too much?  But my heart overflows.

That's all!  As I read over it, it seems a bit dramatic ... it was glorious.  Right behind the Rich Ranch. 

Couple Poems by Carolan

We are moving into autumn in Northern Ohio--no doubt about it! Here are a couple of poems by my daughter Carolan on fall and the coming winter:

in northeast ohio

the buckle of the snowbelt
does not rust slowly into
the freeze and gloom and white permanent winter.
it Explodes.
crimson orange flames bursting from the branches
fireworks, a sunset, a campfire
the glory and celebration and excitement

sustain the hidden embers of Warmth
of Color of Life.

when the snow doesn't stop falling and the sun forgets to visit
we will grasp tightly to the fire of fall
and the eternal glow will keep us strong.

(Carolan Coughlin
October 27, 2003)




October Morning on the Yellowstone

The sky was overcast, bearing down, pushing
The wind, spattering raindrops.
Our kayaks slipped
Darkly over the undulating waters of the Yellowstone.

Cottonwood trees lined the river and with steady splatter
They dripped butterscotch,
Decadent and heavy,
Glowing against the melancholy of the day.

Leaves swirled down,
Scattered with the raindrops,
Drifted carefully,
And then with one quick flick and flutter
They changed into birds and flew.

(Carolan Coughlin
May 2007)

Photo above shows Carolan in her kayak on the Yellowstone River in Montana, Fall 2007.

New Poem from Carolan

Carolan mailed part of her New Zealand journal and a new poem to us recently. Here's a poem called "Breathed Mountain, Dolly Sods Wilderness, West Virginia."

Pushing, swishing, whirling the grasses in wisps, scooping and
Lifting, flattening, stomping. The wind taunts, the grasses cower,
Then,
The breath.

We felt the breath around us, licking at our bodies,
Flickering wind-flames rushing by from every direction.
Heavy smoke exhaled from the knobby peak, pouring
Over the rock-cluttered hilltop meadow.
Breathing down in whispers and then
Whipping, wisping, slipping.

Breathe it, engulf it, gasp for more.
Breathe this mountain, this land, consume this
Hazy dream of a mountain, gulp down the grassy meadows
And rocky ledges with frantic asthmatic drags.

Breathed Mountain
Just a hushed murmur, a sigh,
A wispy wind of a place.
Fleeting--
Breathing--
Breathless--


Carolan’s New Zealand Journal Entry for March 15, 2008. I will place it in lines, as if it were poetry. The only things I’ve changed: lines and capitalization.

Saturday, March 15

Camping, tramping, a durn good toe stamping!
This is a girl who likes her some backcountry!
Hello and welcome to my tent home
On the mountainside above Lake Ruby.
Today we hiked about 6 hours over rock and cliff
And stumbly grasses and steep steep steep
Holy moly I might blow off the mountaintop.
It was hard and huffy-puffy
And my smile nearly popped off my face,
As it exceeded normal dimensions.
The view is sing and dance beautiful,
Little cupfuls of blue sparkles splashed over the craggy rocks,
Grass that glimmers red when swaying in the light,
Spiny backbones of the mountains

Rising up and up.

[This posting of Carolan's poem does not constitute publication. She owns the copyright, with all rights reserved to her, Carolan R. Coughlin.]