“Flying Back to England That First Time” by Rose LennardPosted by Rattle
Image: “Aerial II” by Scott Wiggerman. “Flying Back to England That First Time” was written by Rose Lennard for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, November 2023, and selected as the Artist’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)
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Rose Lennard
FLYING BACK TO ENGLAND THAT FIRST TIME
from above there was something so tender
about the detailed tapestry of roads
and homes and gardens, each one different
and loved and tended, and it was like
seeing inside a body, all the organs
large and small, each with their own
precious unique purpose
and each unknowable, complex
and essential; all existing in conjunction
with the other parts but separate
and distinct. England so stewarded
and ancient, patterned by all the lives
that shaped it once, now buried under stones;
and all the lives that make it their own
and so patiently mow lawns, wash cars,
bring groceries home, take kids to football
and lessons on piano. People going
to lovers’ trysts, hospital appointments,
working shifts, nodding to neighbours over gates.
As the light faded the roads were traced
with streetlights and headlight beams, and each
little ordered patch of earth outlined below
with trim hedge or fence, each house set
quietly back on its plot; and over the engines’ roar
I could almost hear the night-feathered blackbirds
Comment from the artist, Scott Wiggerman: “I created a series of six colored pencil drawings with the title ‘Aerial,’ imagining different landscapes as seen from the air. ‘Aerial II’ is the only one focused on what I picture as suburbia. ‘Flying Back’ also starts from the air, and through exquisite images develops the closer and closer telegraphing of what is below—from the ‘detailed tapestry of roads’ to the extended metaphor of the human body—‘all the organs / large and small’—to the mundane activities of the inhabitants of ‘each / little ordered patch of earth outlined below.’ And then the lovely closing: aural blackbirds as night arrives, ‘spilling out their evening song.’ I found this poem very close to my own sensibilities. I only wish I had written it!”
“Pilgrims of the Mound” by Conal AbatangeloPosted by Rattle
Image: “Shadowland” by Arthur Lawrence. “Pilgrims of the Mound” was written by Conal Abatangelo for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, October 2023, and selected as the Editor’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)
Comment from the series editor, Megan O’Reilly: “I found the poet’s use of language so unexpected as to be mesmerizing–I kept rereading phrases to savor them, and to marvel at how artfully and accurately they capture aspects of Arthur Lawrence’s ‘Shadowland.’ The rich but muted hues of the image are reflected in the phrase ‘a rain like night / which swallowed all the colors,’ and I was moved by the description ‘a line of ghosts unburying itself’ in relation to the crowd of figures in ‘Shadowland.’ I think the phrase ‘a bomb speaks’ is the one which will haunt me most–the idea of a bomb having a voice and something to say is an unsettling truth. Truth is something neither poem nor image shy away from, and I think that’s why they create such a resonant harmony.”
“The Addiction Bird” by Agnes Hanying OngPosted by Rattle
Image: “Shadowland” by Arthur Lawrence. “The Addiction Bird” was written by Agnes Hanying Ong for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, October 2023, and selected as the Artist’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)
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Agnes Hanying Ong
THE ADDICTION BIRD
In a dream
someone calling your name
from a far sea. A sign
from Allah. Says the book
of which, oriole, people.
To Allah, I pray everyday
that you will find the way and live
a life without the drink. It is
the only speaker of an
anguish, anguish of
idyllic geese. How do birds say good
bye to their chicks? When
the black birds came, they wore
colors of a rainbow and
the colors fell off on
everything. Live like a bird I keep
having this dream of
school shooting, no, it takes
place in a drugstore, where
the usual girl, who is there, says
Look, look, that guy is
coming. Do you hear gunshots. What’s
that? Flickering in the distance?
Wait, that’s gunfire. Okay, so
what now? Are we supposed to
run out? He is outside. So
should we run in? In this literal
drugstore rimmed with aisles
of bottles to be
walking, where you
might think this is holy
temple of genies, we are
running past: genies or, jinn
or jaan, sentenced
to life as numerous
drinks in bottles all full, same
place where I once witnessed a
bird die, having flown
into glass, less than a minute
ago. Here, we arrive at: an empty
room, which has a lock, on the
metal door. So we ought to
be safe here. Just lock the door, lock
the door. I lock the door, realizing
there is another room inside this room
which has no windows. The room is
walled with just cold, concrete
surprising in this town, like it is a miniature
medieval castle. It is like, nightly, we can
warm our hands here, stay low and close
to the ground, while setting a pile of
silverfish on fire and say: This is living. This is
Comment from the artist, Arthur Lawrence: “This poem is chock-full of poetic imagery and delightful word play like ‘the usual girl, genies or, jinn or jann.’ The line spacing is purposeful and not stressed. The painting that I provided is somewhat nightmarish and surrealistic, qualities this poem elicits. The poem begs the question, what are we addicted to … guns, war, drugs, mindless violence, mindless adherence to doctrine? From the war in Gaza to the war in our schools, and on our streets, this is the nightmare our children and grandchildren live with every day. Just ask the young and they will tell you that you are too old to understand.”
Image: “Yellow Flowers” by Carla Paton. “For a Robot” was written by Alison Bailey for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, September 2023, and selected as the Artist’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)
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Alison Bailey
FOR A ROBOT
to write a poem
first
it must survive a kindergarten schoolyard trauma, a sunburn on an overcast day,
bury, in a small paper box that once held a bar of soap,
the thumbnail-sized frog that was once a polliwog it caught at Mrs. Anderson’s
pond whose tail fell off and hind legs emerged like quotation marks & had
been kept in the rinsed Best Foods mayonnaise jar
must worry a tobacco-stained grandfather’s hand
run over a jackrabbit on I-40 in the Arizona desert
get divorced
burn dinner
confess its sins
suffer food poisoning
refuse to eat blue M&M’s
hang, on a sweet-breezy July, laundry in Fishtail, Montana—eye the distant Sawtooth
Mountains & hum “Waltzing Matilda” which it learned from Miss Vineyard
in second grade
must fear thunder
rush to focus its binoculars on the wintering Lazuli Bunting
tell white lies to be kind
shout “Heavens to Betsy!”
be part of a standing ovation
endure recurring nightmares
question the crossing guard about the origin of “fingers crossed”
develop calluses as it learns to play the twelve-string banjo
have its hair smell of campfire smoke
swat, during a humid-summer dusk, at mosquitoes on a dock full of splintered
cypress wood at Half Moon Lake in Eau Claire, Wisconsin
forever dislike Brussels sprouts because it overcooked them and they smelled like
Comment from the artist, Carla Paton: “‘For a Robot’ is intriguing and evocative, melding together the realm of human experience with the concept of machine cognition. What makes it so captivating is its detailing of poignant, sometimes mundane moments that cumulatively shape a human life. The poem ponders on the prerequisites for authentic creation, suggesting that a robot must undergo a multitude of sensory and emotional experiences before it can truly create something as intimate as poetry. The assortment of events, from the whimsical refusal to eat blue M&M’s to the somber note of watching the wind weep at a funeral, emphasizes the vast spectrum of human emotions and experiences. It also subtly hints at the idea that even with sophisticated technology, certain depths of feeling and understanding will likely remain exclusive to humans. The poem’s fragmented structure, jumping from one scene to the next, mirrors the fragmented nature of memory and experience, offering a powerful meditation on what it means to be sentient, to live, and to create.”
“To the Child Watching His Grandmother Sew” by Bradford KimballPosted by Rattle
Image: “Seamstress” by Lily Prigioniero. “To the Child Watching His Grandmother Sew” was written by Bradford Kimball for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, August 2023, and selected as the Editor’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)
Comment from the series editor, Megan O’Reilly: “There is a profound sense of warmth, both emotionally and visually, in this beautiful image, which is reflected in ‘To the Child Watching his Grandmother Sew.’ The simple yet extraordinary idea of a grandmother’s sewing as a child’s first music is elegantly executed, never overdone or heavy-handed. I also love the way the poet uses light: The grandmother waits until ‘the lights burn out’ to run the sewing machine so she doesn’t wake the child, which for me conjures a picture of the child listening to this ‘music’ while in a dreamlike state in another room—a deeply resonant image. There is a great deal of love in this poem—it makes me miss the ‘steady hum’ of my own grandmother.”
“My Wife, Sewing at a Window” by Eithne LongstaffPosted by Rattle
Image: “Seamstress” by Lily Prigioniero. “My Wife, Sewing at a Window” was written by Eithne Longstaff for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, August 2023, and selected as the Artist’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)
Comment from the artist, Lily Prigioniero: “Although the seamstress in my painting is my mom, I related to this poem in many ways, especially regarding the passage of time, a major factor in choosing this one among many. The images at the beginning are vivid and easily approachable in their present-tense setting; then there’s the transition into a past memory with the simile, ‘Time stretches like / the elastic she holds / and I recall a trip / to Rome …’ We are then brought back to the present by tying the Caravaggio experience of light to ‘Now she is the old / master ….’ This time around, however, the passage of time feels heavier and more mysterious, not only because the rose fabric is ‘stippled with thorns,’ but because we are given a glimpse into the future with the poem’s powerful last line ‘and dare not look / to the room’s dark corners.'”
“Aphorisms Thrown into the Eye of the Blizzard” by Tamara RaidtPosted by Rattle
Image: “Here I Go” by Elizabeth Hlookoff. “Aphorisms Thrown into the Eye of the Blizzard” was written by Tamara Raidt for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, July 2023, and selected as the Editor’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)
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Tamara Raidt
APHORISMS THROWN INTO THE EYE OF THE BLIZZARD
1. A girl walks into a blizzard of waltzing lights.
The other end of the tunnel is not as near as you think.
2. If you stare at the sun you’ll see a Cyclops face.
Ulysses and Nobody are the same person.
3. A girl doesn’t need to introduce herself to strangers.
Men often forget to ask for permission.
4. A girl disappeared next door and was never found again.
That is not true. She was found in a park.
5. She was found dead in a park behind buzzing bushes.
Words and their order matter.
6. At mass the priest made everyone stand up and pray.
Her coffin smelled like cheap wood.
7. Someone told me she now lives in the sky.
I do not believe they got it right.
8. So Ulysses said Nobody with the confidence of a lying man.
And the witnesses saw nobody, they saw nobody in a park.
9. I’m almost sure where she lives now.
Please let it not be behind baseboards of sprung floors.
10. The sun is as round as bellies can get.
There are as many stars as versions of what happened.
11. One version is my favorite and it goes like this:
Comment from the series editor, Megan O’Reilly: “When I chose ‘Aphorisms Thrown into the Eye of the Blizzard’ as my winner for the Ekphrastic Challenge this month, I knew I’d have to give a disclaimer: I love this poem but I’m not sure I’m equipped for it, and that’s partly because–brace yourselves–I’ve never read the Odyssey, which the poet clearly references with great significance. While I can’t do justice to the layers of meaning here, I am very compelled by the profundity I can sense, if not fully grasp. I enjoy the way this poem unfolds, the language and content becoming more open and revealing, and the way most lines are strong enough to stand alone–‘The sun is as round as bellies can get’ is a poem in and of itself. The facelessness of the female figure in the painting and the abstract nature of the swirling circle she exists within are elements that strike me as dark and haunting, and I find ‘Aphorisms …’ to have that same sense of evocative unease.”
