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Ray Bradbury’s Writing Table

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Ray Bradbury’s Writing Table

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I hope it’s true

He showed it to us,

Talked us through it

Right before each

Episode;

So many toys and

Other things, reminders

Of this world

And other worlds;

There was a metal

Spaceship, the old kind

You wind up; and

There were toy dinosaurs

And many other things,

Curios and totems

Any of which

Might become

Dandelion Wine,

A Martian chronicle

Or Something Wicked

This Way Comes

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I hope it’s true

And not a set piece,

Though I suppose it doesn’t

Matter; the writing

Table, writing place

Has been lodged in

My brain, coming

Up as memory

Every now and then,

Evocation of

Evocation, and of course

I have my own symbols

Now around me, and

I trust that

You have yours

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C L Couch

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The Ray Bradbury Theatre was a show first broadcast in the 1980s.

Ray Bradbury was a writer who created many monumental works, among them Fahrenheit 451, The Martian Chronicles, Dandelion Wine, and Something Wicked This Way Comes.

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Photo by Charl Folscher on Unsplash

Part of a series of concept photos I took during lockdown using drawing mannequins.

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Grace Shall Abide

(x = space)

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Grace Shall Abide

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What is grace

But surprise

Wrapping us

Inside a storm,

Bringing us to

Unnoticed shelter

Where there’s

A song to sing

Through thunder

And a light

So much steadier

Than lightning

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The ground

Might tremble

But we are held as

Much as we

Need to be for

Safety until morning

When should the

Storm rage on

Or anyway,

Grace shall abide

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(fine)

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coda

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Not a human

Agency; we do not

Dispense it and

Should not

Deceive ourselves

Nor about cost

Or which

There’s none:

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We ask,

We receive;

Maybe it comes

Anyway,

A wild and loving

Trickery, fit for

Storms and then

In quiet moments

When a song

Rather than a curse

Can be,

Might be

Heard or

Received through

Other senses

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d. c. al fine

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C L Couch

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Photo by Pascal Bernardon on Unsplash

6 Boulevard du Palais, 75001 Paris, France, Paris

Concert à la Sainte Chapelle

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Imposition of Immortality

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Imposition of Immortality

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The tree outside looked as if it were leaning toward the window.  I mean big parts, think branches and the bow.  Black against a gray sky, it all looked dramatic.  Worse, a little scary.  Trees have fallen down before.  In the back, a large one, bringing many wires with it.  In the backyard of the house I grew up in in Pittsburgh, a tall and wide willow.  Fell in the night, covering the backyard to be seen in the daylight.  The first big thing to fall in my nascent awareness.  Will the new tree fall?  I don’t know.  Who does?  The squirrels and dogs walked by?  Qué será, será, the Spanish say (and Doris Day).  It is what it is, we say these days.  All we are is dust in the wind.  I guess that goes for imposing trees as well.

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C L Couch

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Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

By William Wordsworth

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45536/ode-intimations-of-immortality-from-recollections-of-early-childhood

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Photo by Diane Helentjaris on Unsplash

Purcellville, Virginia

Old carved tombstone of a weeping willow tree in a cemetery in the countryside near Purcellville, Virginia in Loudoun County. The cemetery was integrated with the graves of African American and white Americans as was the nearby church.

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The Necessary Shadow

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The Necessary Shadow

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If we

Turn toward light,

We’ll need some shade

Not the kind to throw

But that kind that is

Provided by

Glasses or

A hand over our eyes,

Better still by

Trees inspired by

Craters on the moon

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Unmoored,

The light might take us far

If our eyes will need contrast

Even shadows

Providing shapes

Familiar or strange

Along the way

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I’m not sure that

This is death

When it might be something new

That will bring us home,

Afterward

The end of an exhausting day

As at work

Or an amusement park

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Light and darkness

Shape and shadow

Strenuous meditation

And there is such a thing

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The quiet life is not

An easy one,

Given the world

And our natures

While listening

Is hard as well

And nothing automatic

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Listen for the litany,

Expression and response

Between root and branch,

Wing and song

Listen for the turn of

Earth and the stretching

Of the band with

Its own satellite

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We are part of all this interaction

The universe a living place

For us

Life in life

All loves excelling

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C L Couch

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Photo by Thomas Richter on Unsplash

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“Love Divine, All Loves Excelling,” a hymn

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Reading Romance, Gothica (two poems)

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Reading Romance, Gothica (two poems)

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Reading Romance

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Standing there,

Waiting for approval,

The ingenue wonders

If she should

Enter the room

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Strangers, unaware,

Are dancing to a

Waltz she’s known

Since childhood

Always listening

From the stairs,

A risky place for

Children, though with

Darkness behind

And light pouring from

The party floor,

Sneaking a look at

Parties was

Irresistible

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I’m sure you understand

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Now she’s here,

Inside the first

Arc, grown up

Into her story:

Does someone wait

Inside?  Should

She remain inside

The question mark

Or take another step

Step toward

Confirmation,

The start of

Act 5, then

Resolution?

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Questions demand

Answers; they

Crawl along the

Bannister; she’ll

Take the step

So we might breathe

Into the

Final chapters

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Gothica

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Tarn,

A Gothic word

For swamp

(try moor

in the British Isles)

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I look up through

The window

At black branches

Fronting a sky of unformed

Cloud, tunneling

Everything to gray

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November’s tilting;

We head

Toward winter’s reign,

Cold and gloomy

All our storytelling

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There might be a

Ghost—there certainly

Will be ghosts

Inhabiting one place,

One will or another

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The house that

Has a crack in it,

Ready to descend

With all the

Failing generations

(I think you know

the one I mean)

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But there’s

A house of every heart,

A sprit calling

At the door or, when

Unattended,

Wailing like a banshee

Uncommissioned

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Everything will

Open and then close up

At the last

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A deserted house—the

Tarn shall have it

(the swamp, the moor)

From which may

Emerge new

Heroes to try

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C L Couch

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Photo by Tim Rebkavets on Unsplash

Eltz Castle, Wierschem, Germany

We woke up at 3am so we could drive to Germany. We arrived just in time for sunrise and that’s how this shot came to live. The reflection was made with the reflection of the screen of my phone.

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Favors

(x = space)

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Favors

(in pandemic time)

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The toilet’s broken

Thank me for sharing

Since I rent,

It’s up to someone else

And someone else to fix it

Meanwhile, I wait

As best I may

And all my systems

It’s not as if one can run

Down to the gas station and

Use the loo, since

The disease is keeping many things

Locked up (as it should)

It’s not the worst of things

I’ll tell myself as I

Keep waiting through the day

My brother’s home from the hospital

To rest and improve

From what was diagnosed

To say the least,

He is more important

And I’m thankful

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C L Couch

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Photo by Gilles Desjardins on Unsplash

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Jitters

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Jitters

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Too many things

To contemplate

That are unpleasant

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My brother’s health,

The exit of a losing

President (You’re fired!

were he a contestant

in that show),

A broken bedframe

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Heart health generally and

How do I renew my

Driver’s license in

The lockdown? How

Is the rest of my family?

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Well, I make too much

Of each thing,

I suppose, and

Altogether let the

Weight press down

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This is maudlin (sorry)

As I’m sure there

Are good things

Everywhere and

Even here; maybe I

Can find some; maybe

They will remind me

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C L Couch

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Photo by Pete Nuij on Unsplash

British Columbia, Canada

Porcupine with flowers.

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News about My Brother

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News about My Brother

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Something’s wrong

She says it’s not COVID

Maybe something

With his heart

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They’re waiting for a bed

As all hospitals are

Currently, especially

Challenged

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This is my brother

The ablest of us:

Muscled

Well-groomed,

Building a life

From the Army to the factory

To executive positions

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Then when corporate-raiding

In the ‘80s ruined so many

Lives, he built a business

Helping children

Learn

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He married Beth

They have two children,

Sons (nephews) who

Are themselves husbands

And fathers now

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This news is not about me

But him and them,

And they are far away

Though hearts string us together

And certain rituals

From time to time

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Not me

But I am shaking with the news

And the frightened parts

Of my imagination

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Earlier this morning

(before the news),

I threw salt over

My left shoulder;

If it could help

Or a voodoo doll

Or a contract with a witch,

Then let it

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In the mean time

I’ll be praying

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In the mean time,

Please be praying for your own

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C L Couch

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Photo by Dušan Veverkolog on Unsplash

Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain

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Indian Summer

(x = space)

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Indian Summer

(in 2020)

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It’s hot now

In the Northeast, and it’s

November

I recall something called

Indian Summer to explain

It

I don’t know if

That’s an offensive reference

I always thought that

It spoke to knowledge that

Native Americans had that

Those of us who only

Knew suburbia

Did not have,

Could not

Maybe not a secret knowledge

But a close knowledge of the land

And all the agencies

Of nature

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I could look it up

But today some Republicans are

Fighting the results of elections

That were won by millions

And their surrogates

(where applicable)

And I’m worn out over biases,

Even though they tell us who

We are on a good day

Without the evil platform

Others try to make of them,

One side or another

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So I’ll keep the second summer

For a little while,

Get smarter tomorrow

Issue apologies, if need be

My bias, by the way,

Is for a return

To chilly autumn

And wanting to believe

In election

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coda

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Okay, I looked it up

It is a term applied

By colonizers

(so is evident)

But so is Indian

That, I must admit, even

As a child seemed odd

To me:

Once the mistake

Columbus and the Europeans

Made was understood,

Why didn’t we change

The term?

And here’s a thought—we didn’t we

Ask them?

And why don’t we now?

They’ve got a term

An understanding

They refer to all of themselves

As “the people”

(translating and transcribing)

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We the people,

Fancy that

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C L Couch

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Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

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