Wendy Videlock

December 24, 2023

“The Truth Is a Nimble Little Creature” by Wendy VidelockPosted by

Wendy Videlock

THE TRUTH IS A NIMBLE LITTLE CREATURE

Gratitude, too.
The only flippin’ truth
is everything moves
 
says the moon, hovering
over every mantra,
every sparrow,
 
every dollar, every
Congo, every nation,
every little good intention.
 
The more difficult the world
the greater the imperative
toward blame,
 
toward distraction,
toward impossible heights
and humble strings
 
of twinkle lights.
My love, let us vow
that through the winter
 
we shall pause by the river
where below the frozen surface
surely tiny fish are feeding.
 
Let us make a practice
of coming to bear
the weather,
 
of gathering by the fire,
of reading to one another
as the sparrow wears
 
her feather, as the moon
resolves to move,
as the body knows
 
surrender, as the leaves
believe September,
as rhyme succumbs
 
to reason, as the pause
to remember
descends upon the season.
 

—from Poets Respond
December 24, 2023

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Wendy Videlock: “I guess I’ve come to believe the more wars that pile up, the more destructive things appear, the greater the imperative toward service, wisdom and the creative impulse.” (web)

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August 3, 2023

“Of You” by Wendy VidelockPosted by

Wendy Videlock

OF YOU

You’ve been the wolf, you’ve been the bear,
you were the grass when I was air,
the hush of the lake, eyes and lips,
a shyness at my fingertips,

a motion that knew when to slow,
the forest where I always go;

and now you are the windowsill
I rest my elbows on until
the night grows dark and I can’t see
these silhouettes of you and me.

—from Rattle #42, Winter 2013
Rattle Poetry Prize Finalist

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Wendy Videlock: “I know nothing about poetry except that it is good medicine for what ails us, gives meaning to what shadows us, and adds weight to what assails us. I am grateful it is persistent.” (web)

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May 28, 2023

“Lights Turn Off in May at the Gateway Arch to Assist Migratory Birds” by Wendy VidelockPosted by

Wendy Videlock

LIGHTS TURN OFF IN MAY AT THE GATEWAY ARCH TO ASSIST MIGRATORY BIRDS

It makes sense in every sense
of the word
to turn the lights off
 
for the song bird,
that she may find her way.
True, too, for the waterfowl,
 
the barn owl, the cactus wren—
even the mouse prefers
a darkened house
 
in which to nibble her grains.
It’s even true
the fiddler’s tune
 
will only begin to dance
when under a subtle
crescent moon.
 
If not for the dark, no spark,
says the sparrow and
the meadowlark—
 
beware the ones
who fear the dark, who refuse
to look a shadow in the eye,
 
who have no interest
in the sky unless it’s rendered
itself so blue
 
it won’t reveal
the distance between it
and you. It isn’t the moral
 
but the heart of the story:
the raven’s claw, the falcon’s beak
the eagle’s scree,
 
the rotting little memento mori.
There is no wing,
no blissful flight,
 
no finding your way,
no resting gently in the nest
and nuzzling your little egg
 
without the calling
of the rest: the grief song,
the suddenly wan,
 
the fallen star, the weight of loss,
the lights that flicker,
and turn off.
 

—from Poets Respond
May 28, 2023

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Wendy Videlock: “I was recently asked why poets seem to be so fascinated by birds. I thought for a moment about how I could carry on at length about the bird as metaphor, as symbol, as guiding star, as constant companion wherever we go—about beauty itself—about life itself—about death itself—and then I finally just said, we can learn a lot about birds …” (web)

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March 18, 2023

“Merchant Culture” by Wendy VidelockPosted by

Wendy Videlock

MERCHANT CULTURE

What’s the going rate for a poem these days?
—JM

I’ll trade you a drop of snow

for a lyrical poem,
a parking lot
for a river stone,
a soldier’s heart
for a kettle of gold,
the justice card
for the nine of swords,
a Persian word
for an off-chord;

a thousand tears,
a thousand tomes
and a drop of snow
for a lyrical poem.

—from Rattle #40, Summer 2013

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Wendy Videlock: “A friend recently scolded me for never having written a manifesto. ‘Here’s my manifesto,’ I said: ‘Everybody’s got their own egg to hatch.’” (web)

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September 21, 2022

“On the Practice of Opine” by Wendy VidelockPosted by

Wendy Videlock

ON THE PRACTICE OF OPINE

So many blessings,
 
so many complaints—
Let’s 
 
be honest if
opinion
were a religion
 
we’d all be saints
 

—from Rattle #76, Summer 2022

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Wendy Videlock: “I think I am a devotee of poetry in large part because it refuses paraphrase, has little interest in good manners, and doesn’t have a dress code.” (web)

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February 20, 2022

“Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Yellow-Headed Blackbird” by Wendy VidelockPosted by

Wendy Videlock

THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A YELLOW-HEADED BLACKBIRD

Hundreds of birds fall dead in shocking footage, sparking wild conspiracy theories.
—Newsweek

I

The sky is falling.

 

II

Across a dozen hungry nations
it was a large part
of the conversation.

 

III

In the small northern town
of Chihuahua nothing
is falling
except a thousand
yellow-headed
blackbirds.

 

IV

I was of ten thousand minds
and twenty
thousand wings.

 

V

The yellow-headed blackbird
and the fall and the melting sun
swept across
the inside of the eye’s horizon.

 

VI

I do not know which is more
disturbing, the murmur or
the sudden slaughter, Moses
or the water parting.

 

VII

Said the falcon in Chihuahua
there was only one
yellow-headed blackbird.

 

VIII

Said the sweeper of the street
in Chihuahua
there were fifty thousand
yellow-headed blackbirds.
Said the merchant there was no
time to process three
thousand bolts of electricity
or the scraping sound
that came from the satellite.

 

IX

Said the yellow-headed blackbird
there is the question
of the sky,
the answer of the earth
and the fiery swoop
of following the leader.
Said another, there is also
the unforgiving pavement
and its unquiet people.

 

X

O peering little
hungry ghosts,
why do you steep
in your gardens filled
with grievances?
Do you not see
you are the yellow-headed
blackbird,
the water
that is parting,
the starving
conversation?

 

XI

I cannot stop thinking about shadows
as the yellow-headed blackbird
stammers and pitches and wings
out of sight. The falcon
has filled his belly.
We watch from our gardens,
remaining piqued and hungry.

 

XII

The winter is dying.
The spring must be dreaming
of yellow-headed blackbirds.

 

XIII

It was auburn all afternoon
and all the trees were purple.
The words had turned to scarlet
and the story crept under the bed.
The yellow-headed blackbird,
wet-feathered and sky-laden,
lay curled inside her egg.

—from Poets Respond
February 20, 2022

__________

Wendy Videlock: “I apologize. I could not resist.” (web)

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March 16, 2021

“Dear Universe” by Wendy VidelockPosted by

Wendy Videlock

DEAR UNIVERSE,

In all this calm,
in all this mist,
these vague shaped

continents

begin to drift.
A finger lifts,

falls again.
A foghorn sounds,

passionless.
Do you wonder

what we are
in all this calm,
in all this mist.

Wolf prints.

Red clay.

A slender wrist.

Murder. Magic.

Ballet.

—from Rattle #31, Summer 2009

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Wendy Videlock: “I think I am a devotee of poetry in large part because it refuses paraphrase, has little interest in good manners, and doesn’t have a dress code.” (web)

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