September 10, 2019

Devon Balwit

THE BAR-HEADED GOOSE

The bar-headed goose flaps on its wind-
tunnel tether. What can it teach us about breathing
where there is little air? Are we the kind
of creature that can learn to chill our blood, hugging

valleys as we sieve for oxygen? The scientist
does her best to stay in place. She is cold.
Her pants beat like wings that have the gist
of flight without its grace. She keeps hold

of the plastic tubing. Perhaps I could rejoice
if I didn’t fear our pushing further into places
we formerly couldn’t reach. The goose’s face
is masked, a machine that gives no trace

of what it wills as an ambassador of its clan.
How hard it flies without escaping man.

from Poets Respond
September 10, 2019

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Devon Balwit: “Ironic that so much of what we learn from animals ends up being used against them.” (web)

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June 2, 2019

Devon Balwit

HELICOPTERS OVER PORTLAND

Last night, helicopters churned overhead.
My husband shook me awake to listen.
The rotors chuffed disaster, bodies that bled,
but in the morning, we found no trace of them

as if we had summoned them from old age,
the fear that everything we love is slipping.
I got the paper, scanned each page
for threat, but there was only menace dripping.

Outside was fading Spring beauty, the few
birds left, the late rhododendrons,
the neighbor’s roses. So although it’s true
the helicopters unsettled, what won

was dailiness, those small pleasures that lull
us and make diminishing cups seem full.

from Poets Respond
June 2, 2019

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Devon Balwit: “Recently, my daughter visited and said she couldn’t sleep due to the sound of helicopters overhead all night. We were mystified. Last night, we were woken up to the same sound—not a small news helicopter or an emergency copter, but the large army copters I remember from my time in SoCal living near military bases. However, the internet/newspaper couldn’t enlighten me as to what they were doing or even whether they had been there at all. Like so much in life, there’s a background of menace, but the foreground is our comfortable habit and the beauty of whatever season.” (web)

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November 1, 2018

Devon Balwit

JEW

A squat, bald Jew … had stepped suddenly out of nowhere, wanting something, because that was the sort he was. He thought himself urbane and thought he had stepped away from his heritage as nimbly as he had skipped out of a doorway, whereas in fact everything he did, everything he wore or carried, and each affectation, revealed his nature, his background, and his ideals.
—Evan S. Connell
, Mr. Bridge

Everything we do, sooner or later,
exposes us—Jew—through and through.
We may as well sport ostentatious stars
of David, speak in the broad accent
of the shtetl, name ourselves Israel
and Miriam. Tuck our synagogues away
on the quietest street, and still
Swastikas appear, Cossacks
break down the door, the disgruntled
come after us with sharpened blades
and assault rifles. Someone at the office
passes around The Protocols of Zion,
asks Where are you from—really?
notes how good we are with money,
with words, but not in praise. We awaken
to our pictures plastering the campus,
schnoz exaggerated, all but quivering
with the rat-whiskers of the propaganda posters.
Even the Left doesn’t have our back,
“the Zionist oppressor” abandoned
in confrontations like a lost legion.
As with poor Avram of the epigram,
our human handshake, fleshy, moist, infectious,
awakens a shudder. What can survivors do
but survive? We say kaddish. We continue
the work of Tikkun Olam. Easy to kill,
we are hard to exterminate.

from Poets Respond
November 1, 2018

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Devon Balwit: “On the same day of the Tree of Life Synagogue attack I read an anti-semitic passage in the lovely novel, Mr. Bridge. It made me think: Media vita in morte sumus—In the midst of life we are in death—we Jews, always a hair’s breadth away from being scapegoated for something. But we’ve survived a long while. We’re tenacious.” (web)

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October 25, 2018

Ekphrastic Challenge, September 2018: Artist’s Choice

 

Back of the Beach by Karen Kraco

Image: “Back of the Beach” by Karen Kraco. “Beer, Buoy, Boat, Board” was written by Devon Balwit for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, September 2018, and selected as the Artist’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Devon Balwit

BEER, BUOY, BOAT, BOARD

Above it all or just apart, you watched
from the edges, a half-smile quirking
your lips, not a smirk exactly,
for you weren’t disdainful, merely
speculative, trying to figure out
what we called pleasure, the dumb
joy of the simple—a can shaken
and bubbling over, the chill of sun cream
down the back. We sensed you there
but stopped inviting you closer.
It’d been years since you’d said yes.
We let you remain our opposite,
like an afterimage on the retina, the sun
spangling the river before lazing beyond.
We sensed you wanted to follow its meander
but didn’t know how. We’d have rested easier
had you disappeared, no longer having to imagine
how we looked to one not joining in.
But you had a role to play before we,
grown resentful, finally splashed you
from the shallows or flicked a half-chewed crust
to send you home. Then we began
the earnest work of reassurance—
our castle, our towel, our girl, our footprints—
briefly clear in sand.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
September 2018, Artist’s Choice

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Comment from the artist, Karen Kraco: “Reading through these poems reminded me of the individual lenses through which we each view the world. Poets took this in so many different directions, with compelling voices. Picking just one was hard. I think I wound up choosing ‘Beer, Buoy, Boat, Board’ because it captures the otherness and separateness in the scene that led me to make ‘Back of the Beach.’ Although I had race in mind when I took the shot, the poem feels more universal, examining our discomfort in the presence of those who are different from or set apart from us, and our tendency to turn away from that discomfort.”

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January 25, 2018

Ekphrastic Challenge, December 2017: Artist’s Choice

 

Cinderella Doesn’t Live Here Anymore by Barbara Graff

Image: “Cinderella Doesn’t Live Here Anymore” by Barbara Graff. “Cinderella Doesn’t Live Here Anymore” was written by Devon Balwit for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, December 2017, and selected as the Artist’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Devon Balwit

CINDERELLA DOESN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE

Her princely marriage blighted mom. It wasn’t
what she thought, just different walls. She found
herself drawn to windows, parapets, the round
moon-face pulling her, asking why she hadn’t
left yet. So when we awoke to find her gone,
we weren’t surprised—although to father’s questions
we played dumb. We let him search, pursue notions
of re-wooing. We kids found traces on the lawn,
bare footprints in the dew, swatches of mistletoe
twining, bags of simples, bird skeletons hung
from lintels. Mother was about, still among
us—just changed. No scullion, no Highness, no
one but her deepest self, luminescent and wise.
We learned new ways to see her, not just our eyes.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
December 2017, Artist’s Choice

[download audio]

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Comment from the artist, Barbara Graff: “Of all of the wonderful poems I read, I was drawn to Devon Balwit’s ‘Cinderella Doesn’t Live Here Anymore.’ This poem with its lovely imagery, gently touches the soul of what I tried to bring forth in the painting.”

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October 19, 2017

Agnes Was Here by Jody Kennedy

Image: “Agnes Was Here” by Jody Kennedy. “Saved or Spared” was written by Devon Balwit for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, September 2017, and selected as the Artist’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Devon Balwit

SAVED OR SPARED

No meek Agnos dei those
Catholic girls, plaid-skirted

and ready to fight as we huddled
on their turf awaiting the bus

that would ferry us across town
to our school. Above our heads,

in a shatter of stained glass,
hung our poor relative, their

Christ, as trapped as we,
all of us inheriting our stories,

red-letter, calfskin, skinned
knuckles, the slam of a shot-

glass, the kick of a shotgun.
Still womb-wet, we found ourselves

on hostile ground, did our best
to identify the threat, then stood

shoulder to shoulder with those
closest at hand. Befuddled,

we aped furious, anything to stay
behind the punch. We envied

their uniforms, they, our freedom,
neither able to state our creeds

to save our lives. Each day when
the airbrakes hissed, and the doors

swung open, we sighed, unsure
if we’d been saved or merely spared.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
September 2017, Artist’s Choice

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Comment from the artist, Jody Kennedy, on this selection: “I really appreciated all of the poems I read (thank you poets), but in the end this writer’s interpretation of the image won me over. It was one of several poems with, surprisingly, a Catholic theme, which I loved. There is a beautiful back and forth tension and in the end we aren’t quite sure, as the title implies, ‘if we’d been saved or merely spared.’”

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September 17, 2017

Devon Balwit

THAT FEELING

The falling man falls through the feed while, beneath him,
female soldiers serve in a bunker. Then, someone reposts,

and the order reverses, the women behind the blast door
now above the man who plummets. Both make the heart

hammer: the dead man, not yet dead, and the women, living,
but standing ready to dispense death. They are not the same,

yet they are juxtaposed. Coming upon them, our fingers
hover a moment; how much do we want to know, and what

will it cost us? For sixteen years, the falling man has triggered
panic: his knowing, his choosing, his leaping. We carry his death

like a burden we can never put down. We did nothing to stop it.
We think by not watching we are somehow absolved, but he falls

regardless. So too, the missiles. We will not launch them. Neither
can we stop them. Yet we are implicated in our Age, born into it;

its hectic pulse hammers within us. We shake. We tremble.
Our lines quiver across the page. No one wants to claim

the falling man. We refuse him, his helplessness, his nakedness
before our lenses, the wind pulling the clothes off his body,

our eyes doing the same. So too, the women, deep underground.
It was better before we knew they were there, each with her half

of the code, ready to key in the launch, ten missiles on standby.
Maybe their fingers will hover forever, poised for our generation

and for that of our children. We hope our hearts will quiet.
We have that guilty feeling as if we have done something wrong.

from Poets Respond
September 17, 2017

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Devon Balwit: “Oh, the images from 9/11. The feed pummels us. To log on is to ask for a beating.”

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