No Man’s Land. Logan C. Jones

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ ection>

      

      No Man’s Land

      Poems

      Logan C. Jones

      No Man’s Land

      Poems

      Copyright © 2014 Logan C. Jones. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

      Resource Publications

      An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

      199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

      Eugene, OR 97401

      www.wipfandstock.com

      isbn 13: 978-1-62564-747-4

      eisbn 13: 978-1-63087-211-3

      Manufactured in the U.S.A.

      To Kelli

      We would rather be ruined than changed

      —W. H. Auden

      You must change your life

      —Rainer Maria Rilke

      Acknowledgments

      I thank the editors of the following publications in which the poems below previously appeared.

      Healing Ministry: “To Speak of Fire”; “End-Stage”

      Hobart Park: “Bach Will Be Enough”

      The Journal of Pastoral Care & Counseling: “The Antidote to Pain”; “James and Bessie Tate”; “God Bless You, Mary Oliver”

      Main Street Rag: “No Man’s Land”

      The Progressive Christian: “Revolution”; “Under a Full Moon on Christmas Eve”; “The Other Advent”; “Elvis Has Left the Building” (originally titled “Elvis is Dead . . . Really”)

      No Man’s Land

      The old farm house seemed huge,

      mansion-like in all its secrets and

      out-buildings with their weathered boards.

      His room was upstairs

      where it was hot and musty,

      bathed in a yellow haze of light.

      An old trunk kept his gas mask,

      cartridge belt, and helmet.

      The helmet carried a dent

      from a sniper’s bullet

      or so the story went in the family.

      These war relics made for great battles

      in the backyard where we would climb out

      of the trenches, going over the top

      into No Man’s Land. Artillery shells would

      burst overhead as tanks led the assault.

      There would always be a mustard gas attack

      which would leave us stricken and

      flailing on the ground where we would

      end up laughing. These battles

      were epic and we never ran out

      of tobacco sticks for rifles.

      Our casualties always got up for lunch.

      My grandfather was a sergeant

      in a machine gun company

      with the American Expeditionary Force

      in France.

      I never heard him speak of his war

      and I never speak

      of mine.

      The Antidote to Pain

      for Shannon Davenport

      The antidote to pain is not anesthesia.

      The antidote to pain is poetry.

      And poetry takes time and space

      and silence and dreams.

      But before there can be poetry

      there has to be stories:

      stories of hunger

      of craziness

      of shame

      of a father long dead

      of healing the sick

      of casting out demons

      of taking a stand

      of finding a long forgotten path.

      But before there can be stories

      there has to be mercy,

      sweet

      life-giving

      mercy.

      Questions at Mid-Life

      What am I hungry for?

      What is missing?

      What am I seeking?

      What do I need?

      Where can I find it?

      Do I want to be healed?

      More:

      Why am I ashamed and embarrassed by my own neediness?

      Why do I try to hide it?

      When will I stop living like I have something to prove?

      Why does mercy have to be so hard on me?

      Why do I feel so unworthy at times?

      Why do I settle СКАЧАТЬ