From Paradise Refunded, by Kevin Griffith, which won the 1998 Backwaters Prize.
This book is available through the Press and on-line through Amazon.com. Supplies are limited.
Michigan
How to describe the sky?: a varicose vein. An x-ray
of a surgical instrument sutured in the gut by mistake.
There are cars, of course. And giant tires. Hell
is a black star provided by Triple A, free of charge.
Michigan. The word hops off a combine
like a farmer with one leg. Shot it off in a rage.
It will take you all day to hit a golf ball off the highest dune
and into the lake. The tourists all try, their bald spots gleaming.
People say they live on a thumb. How do they define friendly?:
When an airliner crashes, at least one person must survive.
Variations on a Poem by Rimbaud
Maybe you can control a river. But you can
never beat it. I surrender.
--Flood Victim
I will float down the flooded rivers;
no longer do I need a guideman's hands.
I have nailed them to a road sign
like targets for the restless play of hunters.
I have no need of a crew, no need for barges
hauling the gimcrack of endless factories,
no need for commerce or refuse of northern towns.
I let the waters carry me free.
In the roil of the current, in that summer,
I lived, my mind emptied like a child's,
and great continents that shifted long ago
never understood a greater chaos than I.
I have seen the dawn rise into itself
like a hundred doves, seen all the things
anyone would hope to see, but I have had visions,
terrible and mystical: I have known clouds
unhinged with lightning which raises its violet arms
like an actor in some distant play, seen the hammer-blows
of summer tear down the blue of the sky,
seen water snakes drop from the black hair of trees.
Creation Myths
I.
The world was stolen and sold to a pawnshop.
The owner has a persistent cough,
which explains thunder. Sometimes a customer
lifts the world in the earthquakes of his hands.
If he buys it, the day of judgment will arrive.
II.
The world was meant to hold down papers
but kept rolling off the maker's desk.
He put it in a drawer next to some spare change
and a few loose stars. He opens the drawer
regularly to buy coffee and replace staples.
Thus we have night and day.
III.
Night and Day sleep on a magnificent bed.
The world tried to jump up and join them once,
but was beaten with a rolled newspaper.
That's why heaven is so far away.
IV.
In the beginning there was the chaos
of the water. The world was washed
along a gutter toward an open grate.
Luckily, a young boy found it.
When he keeps the world in his pocket, it is night.
When he shows the world to his friends, day.
V.
With his net, a fisherman drew the world into the light.
Realizing it would not be good to eat,
he threw it back. The world has been
sinking ever since.
VI.
Night, in love with Day, wrapped the world
in blue paper and gave it to her as a token
of his affection. Day, not wanting to hurt night's
feelings, seemed pleased when opening the gift.
However, soon she will secretly exchange the earth
for something more suited to her tastes.
VII.
A poor woman found the earth
and hoped to return it for five cents.
Regrettably, she was homeless in a state
without deposit laws, so the earth wobbles
through space in an old grocery cart.
VIII.
The maker uses the world as a bookmark.
Before She goes to bed, She reads a little,
giving us day. Most of the time, though,
the earth remains pressed
between galaxies of words.
About Kevin Griffith
Kevin Griffith is Associate Professor of English at Capital University in Columbus, Ohio. His book of poetry, Someone Had To Live, won the American Book Series award in 1993, and was published by the San Diego Poets Press. He is the recipient of grants from the Ohio Arts Council and Capital University. He has won a Robert Penn Warren Award, The Salt Hill Journal Award, and The Hart Crane Award from Icon. Mr. Griffith had two poems nominated for the 1997 Pushcart Prize.
This page last updated: November 26th, 2001