A Letter to Hart Crane
Dear Hart: two saltwater-sodden
bundles of newsprint arrived
today, all that remains of you
after your interrupted voyage.
I scan the headlines: MAN -EATING
SHARK exclaims one front page; SHARK-
EATING MAN reads the other.
Whoever sent me these bundles
expects me to make a papier
mâché mannequin of you
from this briny muddle of news
from the Twenties when you roamed
waterfront bars with Emile,
the love of your lovelorn life.
No one in this grizzled town
reads poetry except pale women
recently smitten with Robert Frost.
The mannequin will represent you
as Walker Evans portrayed you—
serious, almost sober enough
to challenge small-town rhetoric.
You can shout everyone down
by working consonants so hard
they crack underfoot like snails.
You can describe your drowning
in the most vulgar terms and earn
the pity of men who served in wars
and had lonely sex in foxholes.
Not that a sculpted paste statue
is likely to speak loudly enough
for everyone to appreciate.
But you and I will converse
in sundown colors too subtle
to impress anyone who hasn’t
lived a long time under the sea.
About the Author: William Doreski has published three critical studies and several collections of poetry. His poetry, essays, fiction, and reviews have appeared in many print and online journals. He has taught writing and literature at Emerson, Goddard, Boston University, and Keene State College. His most recent books are A Black River, A Dark Fall and Train to Providence. He has a blog at williamdoreski.blogspot.com.
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