Warm June sits upon the river
its sunlight always and all at once
upon the cold, clear water of the river.
You glide on oppositions, of temperature
of mountain and basin. Between friction
is a middle that moves downstream easily.
It is the glassy tongue of the river
speaking a vernacular of smooth stones.
It is midge and stonefly stumbling between banks.
What perceives them also moves
between the bars, slipping forward easily
a silent interlocutor, time’s looking glass
that orients itself by arrangements
flanked by groves of coyote willows and cottonwood
borne along by meltwaters, warmed by June.
R. Charboneau
Robert, I like this one. You’re getting closer to finding your voice. Two suggestions: The first bit, Warm June sits upon the river, is a little cliche. The second part of your fist line is much stronger. And maybe personalize “what perceives them” to “I”. Overall, a good poem-paints the picture.
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Thanks James. I appreciate the advice. The impersonality is probably Wallace Stevens’ fault, but I don’t blame him for it.
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Wonderful, slippery imagery, Robert. There is something towards the end that eludes me… and I initially thought it was my English failing me again. Until the thought simmered in the back of my mind and I finally realized: it has Wallace Stevens vibes!
Did you take the photo?
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How impressive! I let you read some Stevens and you’ve already figured out his style and essence. You’re totally right, too. I’ve been working on a paper on Stevens, and his work always seems to rub off on me.
I didn’t take the photo. It’s from the Truckee River Almanac. It’s a bit blurry, but it captures the feeling I had floating downstream.
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It’s a very nice poem
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Thank you Jarah!
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