Devon Balwit

December 14, 2021

“Birds Aren’t Real Abecedarian” by Devon BalwitPosted by

Devon Balwit

BIRDS AREN’T REAL ABECEDARIAN

Admit it. There’s always one outside your window
bobbing on a wire, wearing one, broadcasting back to
Central Command: You in the coffeeshop
dissing POTUS while a crow dithers by the dumpster,
evanescing as soon as you emerge. A cloud of
finches follows as you stroll with a friend
griping at the grim state of the union. Or those geese
hovering in the park at the BLM protests, hashtag #
inching closer, faking a grab at some
Jack in the Box scraps while measuring jawlines beneath
knit balaclavas, stooges of the kakistocracy.
Lilliputian hummingbirds locking in on your subletters,
making note of who and how many enter and leave.
Note the ridiculous number of robins next time,
one under every tree, openly
provoking with that repetitive peeping.
Question the downward judder of the flicker—QED,
radio equipment is heavy. There you have it,
spies to a one. Even the peacocks, how they seduce you
to scrutinize, to lean in close to the iridescence,
unaware of the pupils measuring your own.
Very clever, I say. And look at the vast supportive armature, the
ways they mask artifice—David Attenborough, posh in the water,
XXL t-shirts of the “national bird,” Audubon “birder’s” Xing off examples.
You don’t want to be a sap, do you, filling feeders while the Feds
zero-in on your whereabouts, readying to zap your whole cul-de-sac?

—from Poets Respond
December 14, 2021

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Devon Balwit: “My head whipped around the first time a saw a Birds Aren’t Real bumper-sticker. I appreciate Peter McIndoe’s intricate and playful attempts to call attention to conspiracy theories.” (web)

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August 3, 2021

“Pulsar” by Devon BalwitPosted by

Devon Balwit

PULSAR

for Jocelyn Bell, astronomer

Back then, we girls were taught homemaking
while the boys bent over Bunsen Burners,
cheering as chemicals burst into flame
and catcalling any of us who entered the room.

She, though, had always hungered
after the vastness of space, willing to be a freak
if she could work with the stars, even
hauling cables and spooling through charts.

When she found the anomaly,
her boss told her it was nothing, but women
are used to finding something
in the nothing we are left.

She found a second one and watched
the Nobel go to her lab director.
The visionary skipper differs from the crew,
he said, explaining the oversight.

But minus the nobody in the crow’s nest,
no shout would galvanize the ship. Only a girl,
trumpeted headline after headline. What
was her bra size, her preference in men?

Decade after decade, she persisted
in doing what she loved. The wonder,
she found, came in tipping her head back,
not bowing it under a silken ribbon.

—from Poets Respond
August 3, 2021

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Devon Balwit: “In high school, I remember having to fight to be allowed to study drafting and aerodynamics rather than cookery and what it was like to be the only girl in those classes, so Jocelyn Bell’s story resonated. How lucky that she persisted for those who received scholarships from her $3 million dollar much-belated award. ‘It’s important that girls have role models,’ she said. Indeed. Hurrah to Fred Hoyle as well for championing her cause.” (web)

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March 25, 2021

“Faces in the Clouds” by Devon BalwitPosted by

Ekphrastic Challenge, February 2021: Artist’s Choice

 

Cloud Dance by Claire Ibarra, photo of birds and trees in silhouette against a lake, mirrored on the surface of the water

Image: “Cloud Dance” by Claire Ibarra. “Faces in the Clouds” was written by Devon Balwit for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, February 2021, and selected as the Artist’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Devon Balwit

FACES IN THE CLOUDS

Each day, we wake again if we are lucky,
reassembling with only minor variations.

Too many, and we are no longer ourselves.
Too few, and we despair, the symmetry
uncanny. Like fractals, we fissure

at regular intervals, blind to our beauty,
the larger patterns we are part of. We must look

outside ourselves to discover what we are, to see
our lungs in the naked maples, our faces

in the clouds. Small, we are no small thing
as we wake again daily, lucky,

at almost regular intervals, beautiful and blind
to our honeycomb, our nautilus chamber,
our bowed self and its Chladni patterns.

We mustn’t worry if we cannot make it out.
Our beauty doesn’t depend on our knowing.

—from Ekphrastic Challenge
February 2021, Artist’s Choice

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Comment from the artist, Claire Ibarra: “For me, the theme of renewal as an integral part of our human condition is portrayed in ‘Faces in the Clouds.’ It reveals the struggle, but also recognizes the beauty in that effort. As the poem states ‘finding perfect symmetry,’ the image and the poem seem in harmony with each other. The idea of fissure and reassembly adds a sense of motion to the image. Also, I’m struck by the last line of the poem, somehow heartbreaking and yet hopeful at the same time.”

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January 31, 2021

“Botticelli’s Maybe-Medici Sells for $92 Million,” by Devon BalwitPosted by

Devon Balwit

BOTTICELLI’S MAYBE-MEDICI SELLS FOR $92 MILLION,

serene, a little haughty, as if posing for this portrait
were someone else’s idea. With a face like any
well-appointed heir, sure of his estate—
a sinecure in politics or law, a favor his daddy

can call in whenever—the young man holds
a portrait of a saint as if to suggest his family’s
power rests with God himself, a bold
claim, which the saint’s face seems to deny,

his eyes darting beyond the gilded frame.
The princeling would be stunned to learn of his clan’s demise.
Three hundred years, but its end came.
Remember that when looking into the eyes

of the mighty. They believe they have it all,
but any high thing is poised to fall.

—from Poets Respond
January 31, 2021

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Devon Balwit: “A beautiful painting of a lovely young man. The fact that we’ve no idea who he is makes the painting even more poignant. Great enough to be painted, human enough to be forgotten.” (web)

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August 9, 2020

“What Is Marriage Like?” by Devon BalwitPosted by

Devon Balwit

WHAT IS MARRIAGE LIKE?

What is marriage like?
my children ask, and I think
of the anglerfish, deep
in inky ocean, the female
groping her way with a torch
grown from her own body,
an iridescent lure for prey,
the male searching, searching, searching
perhaps his whole life long
without finding her, but if he does,
biting deep into her back or belly
and fusing until his organs
fade away, until he becomes little
more than a bulbous pair of testes
fringed with gills, protruding sack-like
as she plies her lantern.
[Therefore, shall he cleave
unto his partner, and the two
shall be one flesh] no immune response
one to the other, all that she has his
and vice versa until death.
Such teeth, my children,
you have never seen
              such teeth.

—from Poets Respond
August 9, 2020

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Devon Balwit: “Ask me the same question on a different day, and I’d give a different answer.” (web)

 

Join us this morning for Poets Respond Live! Click here to watch …

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January 28, 2020

“A Conversation in Which We Seek to Baffle the Overlords” by Devon BalwitPosted by

Devon Balwit

A CONVERSATION IN WHICH WE SEEK TO BAFFLE THE OVERLORDS

The air is full of sighs today. Indeed,
the streets wail from tight canyons. And what
of the clouds of black-clad gnats? We need
face-nets to stop inhaling them, shutting
the windows does little good. Hazards abound.
Yesterday, a neighbor tripped on a rock in the road
and bloodied herself. Be sure to check the ground
about you. A truck may have lost its load.
Have you been eating well? We find ourselves
experimenting with stone soup, casseroles
from skimmed shelves. Yes, the art of halves
and have nots, no bouillon in the bowl.
Well. Good to see you. Say hello
to our friends and wish them a finer tomorrow.

—from Poets Respond
January 28, 2020

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Devon Balwit: “’Strangers would be able to listen in on sensitive conversations, take photos of the participants and know personal secrets.’ I guess we’ll have to learn to speak in code as people did to evade Stasi or the NKVD.” (web)

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October 22, 2019

“A Member of the Jury” by Devon BalwitPosted by

Devon Balwit

A MEMBER OF THE JURY

Last night, I couldn’t will the Cardinals a hit
although I tried, beaming smack after smack
through my eyes. Each was swung through,
the ump’s HIKE punctuating the batter’s grimace.
The guys with the best uniforms, two bright birds
perched on a bat, deserved not to be swept,
but swept they were. I had better luck
at jury duty at willing my name to be called,
unlike most others in the room who wanted
nothing more than to go home. In Voir Dire,
my bored peers lofted one disqualification
after another—relatives in law enforcement,
strong opinions on the matter at hand.
What stance would increase my chances,
I wondered. As if the judge had read my thoughts,
he admonished: Don’t tell us what you think
we want to hear. I’d give anything to know
what the lawyers saw in me to seat me
in the twelfth chair. Today, the Astros
face the Yankees. After performing
my civic duty, I’ll watch the slow duel
between batter and pitcher, willing
homers that never happen and cursing
the other team’s outfielder as he snags
a would-be run or makes the double-play.
My decision will have helped
exonerate a man or punished him.
The defendant will have kept his eyes on me
as if our willing could make anything so.

—from Poets Respond
October 22, 2019

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Devon Balwit: “I stare as if the power of my mind could influence things in the world.” (web)

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