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Transcript

Poetry on Tape 1.8.25

Welcome to Analog August!

We read poems about family life today! Starting again from the Rag and the Bone Shop we read from the section about fathers. Then we went into my Father went to Funerals by Howard Nelson. Then I played the trumpet to get us to slow down and be ready for the poetry.

Our substack poetry this week included Stephanie M. Vargo with:

Stephanie’s Poetic Trance
Rickety Old Chair
RICKETY OLD CHAIR Can I climb into your rickety old chair? The one that creaks and wobbles It makes the sounds of Ancient rheumatism With its smooth worn wood And folded Native American blanket. A grandfather’s chair, it is big And has a seat built for two To share with another adult Or with children who gather round For…
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A great poem to set the tone with this love for a grandfather. Not to exclude Grandmothers Andre Mazzo posted:

Andre’s Substack
For Yaya
For Yaya Yaya, your hands smell of chopped onions, bar soap and sewing thread. They smell like my childhood. In the kitchen, that sofrito that starts before dawn, the oil that sizzles and you, barefoot on the cold floor, stirring the wooden spoon as if conducting an orchestra only you can hear. Your rice never sticks…
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There are some really lovely lines in there. I liked the son-in-law the best :)

Mahdi Meshkatee returns with:

Perhaps Yesterday
I Missed a Key
This poem was first published in GASThe stains on the page are your tears. (you haven’t shed them yet) Last night in the great theater hall The crowd gave me a huge standing ovation An encomium I deserved after years of struggle To be able to express myself. They cheered me on as I approached The grand black piano at the center stage, spotlight on me…
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This poem has layers. Both musically and metaphorically.

Justin Wong keeps the heat next with:

Justin’s Substack
The Street
I heard that it all means nothing, That we are the child of chance, Beyond the cars that go by rushing A crazed old lady does a dance. I was told we should have no hope – Against the hour there’s no defence, A man lights a drug and smokes, The street air fills with strange incense. It was said that planets move by In the harmo…
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I felt a strong sense of a person learning the differences between real and shared experiences with this one.

Lastly, Casey Bolt had:

Casey Bolt
Brian’s first practice
Upon the sun’s retiring hour, the boys come out to play. Their parents sit shaded beneath the old elm tree. In her heart of timbers, knowing the old when young, roots deep where cleats sink, under the retiring sun…
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A simple but beautiful poem about kids. Perfect way to end the day. Thank you to all the poets, have a great weekend everyone!

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