Ampersand. D. S. Martin

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      Ampersand

      Poems

      The Poiema Poetry Series

      Copyright © 2018 D. S. Martin. 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.

      Cascade Books

      An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

      199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

      Eugene, OR 97401

      www.wipfandstock.com

      paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-4769-7

      hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-4770-3

      ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-4771-0

      Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

      Names: Martin, D. S. (Don), author.

      Title: Ampersand : poems / D. S. Martin.

      Description: Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2018 | The Poiema Poetry Series.

      Identifiers: isbn 978-1-5326-4769-7 (paperback) | isbn 978-1-5326-4770-3 (hardcover) | isbn 978-1-5326-4771-0 (ebook).

      Subjects: LCSH: American poetry—21st century.

      Classification: PN6110.R4 T87 2018 (paperback) | PN6110 (ebook).

      Manufactured in the U.S.A. 03/06/18

      In memory of my father,

      Ernest William Martin,

      (1921—2017)

      & of my mother,

      Margaret Marie Martin,

      soon to depart.

      The LORD who created must wish us to create And employ our creation again in His service

      — T. S. Eliot — Choruses from ‘The Rock’

      &

      & (Ampersand)

      What I love about the ampersand is its compactness

      & the way it’s open to new & unexpected possibilities

      almost forming an eternal figure eight but not quite

      for when the sentence seems to be over

      or approaching its end the ampersand appears

      like the first of a hundred thousand well-armed angels

      emerging from the backseat of a Volkswagen & improbable hope

      erupts like a new sunrise sharply piercing the skin of dark night

      with radiating shards of light

      & despite the smug sleep of the ninety nine sheep

      when the wanderer’s gone the good shepherd appears

      with it draped across his shoulders & the lost coin

      is swept from the cobwebs

      & the prodigal stumbles home where his father watches

      & waits & refuses to lose hope scanning the horizon

      for his returning son & then he grabs the hem of his garment

      & runs & it’s then we recognize the continual pattern

      of conflict & resolution of estrangement & reconciliation

      & even of death & resurrection

      a pattern that is by no means inevitable but woven

      like the arms of a twisting ampersand

      into the fabric of the universe

      The Twelve

      I — Matthew

      Yes I knew Matthew

      the best tax collector Capernaum ever had

      I know that sounds more like an insult

      but it’s true It wasn’t his fault

      his skills were in demand & Herod

      was willing to pay a good price

      He wasn’t like the rest Rome usually employs

      vermin sell-outs whose pockets clink

      with the fishy stink of dishonest scales

      like a monetary meat-cleaver that hacks us

      When he threw parties he didn’t notice

      the wealthy tisk-tisking his guest list

      swelling with the names of the hoi polloi

      even those unable to pay their taxes

      I was one of the so-called sinners

      at his retirement party when he left

      his business to follow Jesus I laughed

      when I heard his young rabbi tell the Pharisees

      It isn’t those who think they’re healthy

      who are eager to get well

      II — Bartholomew

      Can anything good come from Nazareth from the sticks

      from that dotless hick-town on the edge of the map?

      I get you son of Talmai the one John called Nathaniel

      Nothing like that would drop in our laps round here

      How can anything good come from Nowhereville

      from СКАЧАТЬ