Saturday morning in Brattleboro, VT. It’s brightly sunny and blue and green. I’m still amazed daily at the natural vibrancy here. A community meal is being served outside the local food co-op. $5/plate for local burger, vegie kabob, potato salad, watermelon, chips, beverage and ice cream, all the same local goodness you get inside. Proceeds go to the local food shelter. A band plays a Jamaican beat and dogs wander around with their owners. I’ve been by twice today and the food keeps coming and the people keep talking.
In the middle of the festivities, a young man sits cross-legged on a bench, punching typewriter keys. Who uses a typewriter anymore?? I have to know more, so I move closer and then I see his small, faint sign that says, “POEMS. NAME YOUR TOPIC. NAME YOUR PRICE.
This is irresistible, right? So, i introduce myself, and ask for a $5 poem about ‘creative destruction’. He smiles largely, repeating the phrase thoughtfully and replies, “That’s right up my alley.” Of course, I knew that, somehow, and I tell him so. He instructs me to return in 10 minutes. I’m impressed already since I’ve never written anything worthwhile in less than 20.
When I come back, I ask him to read the poem to me, which he does happily. (Have I mentioned yet how happy people seem around here?).
I don’t know if I’m as much impressed as I am just happy about the whole experience and what it says to me. He gets it. All of us are starting to get it, right? I give him another $5, completely certain this is a $10 poem…and that there’s a lot to be happy about.
Here’s the poem —-
topic: creative destructionÂ Â Â by: michael haydenÂ Â July 11, 2009, 11:35am
the beauty of a thing is in its unknown, its underside,
for instance, the song, as shown recently by rock and roll
and also jazz, even baroque…
themes build and establish pillar of harmony.
tension is incarnated and embellished.
themes returned, anew and revisited.
moments of sublime chaos, disaster, struggle for breath
it is then, the memory of melody grapples with
the inevitable decay of all,
train wheels crushing pennies
in joy, houses falling on mud cliffs
then, when nature of decay meets urges of order
in this there is a dance, of travesty and love.
and sometimes triumph, as song returns
transformed by the waterfalls, fires
and frenzies of time.