David Day, A LETTER FROM THE HIVE.pdf

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David Day
A LETTER FROM THE HIVE
LIST Z ULA
Przekład:
Jacek Świerk
T. M. Sobieraj
Editions Sur Ner
Biblioteka „Krytyki Literackiej”
http://krytykaliteracka.blogspot.com
Copyright © by David Day
Copyright © for Polish translation by Jacek Świerk
& Tomasz Marek Sobieraj, 2018 - 2020
All rights reserved
Projekt okładki/graphic design: Tomasz Marek Sobieraj
Wydanie pierwsze, 2020 r.
Editions Sur Ner
ul. Szkutnicza 1
93-469 Łódź
ISBN 978-83-952582-4-4
A Few Words on David Day’s Latest Collection of Poems
In this latest collection from the long-time poet, David Day surveys
more than 50 years of a life lived from one extreme (“The chicken’s
body/ Detached itself from the head…And landed in the dust”)
to another (“…humming the music/ and reciting my own “Ode
to Joy.’’)
It’s a collection divided into thematic chapters that begin with birth
(“Nativity”) and early childhood (“A Bowl of Dust,” and “Rainbow
Vowels”) and elicits history lessons (“Learning the Love of
Slaughter” and “Himmler”) and wise advice (“An imperfect match”),
along with tributes (“Copernicus,” and “Tribute to Wang Wei,”) life
lessons (“Advise,” “Wild Things”) lamentations (“Rolling Stone
Blues,” “Beggar’s Lament,” “Frozen River,” “Afterthoughts,”
“A Letter from the Hive” and “Soldier Boy”) one success story
(“Recipe for a Memorable Caffeine Experience”) before culminating
in a pitch-perfect “Recessional.”
Although many of his poems are 10-20 lines “Recipe for
a Memorable Caffeine Experience” is at 100 lines an exception,
as well as a standout in other ways in this collection.
Although its putative subject is hobo-ism in the American Southwest
in the 50’s, it shares the bravado, large spirit, and style of Walt
Whitman and “Leaves of Grass.” And although this poet narrator in
this autobiographical treatment is down on his luck in a hobo jungle,
there is a goldmine of irony, intoxication, and dark humor.
In a footnote the poet tells us:
“A hobo jungle is a campsite for homeless men called hobos. They are, for
the most part, vagrants, vagabonds and migrant workers who wander from
place-to-place and job-to-job riding the railcars of freight trains. Although
this mode of transportation is illegal and highly dangerous, it is usually
tolerated by the railroads and local authorities.”
And then he tells us the rewards of this lifestyle are truly worthwhile
because, while fictional, their autonomy is never relinquished,
“If you’re lucky the night will stay warm and you’ll have a nice wet dream
to keep you company, perhaps one with a beautiful nymphomaniac
who owns a liquor store and falls in love with a handsome young
hobo that just happens to be you.”
Like a life well-lived, the best is left for last. And it is “Recessional,”
the last poem in this collection that is a jewel and shows the poet at
his finest. As a combination of colliteration and sonic and semantic
symmetry, it culminates in a resignation that is both self-effacing and
perhaps beatific:
“There is a place where the sky meets the sand…/and silence fills the air…
There…/The wind will blow, the sky will darken/and everything will
disappear.”
Jon Stout

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