Category: Writing


Mesa Verde

Mesa Verde National Park Anna Montgomery

‘What’s she doing?’
‘She’s sketching, she’s an artist.’
old men fondly remember
proper women
telling tales of the War
sons who don’t listen
bemoan generations without values in America

‘Was machst du?’
‘Excuse me, when will
the 10:30 Long House tour return?’
I’m not wearing a park ranger uniform
this happens all the time at Target
I have a customer service face in America

crowds of eager eyes and restless voices
little myth making for me here today
paucity of material
meets 100 degree heat
melting the initiators
global warming’s a gift from America

no room for thought
society’s lost its silence
can’t read Black Zodiac in peace
The Appalachian Book of the Dead
‘Go in fear of abstractions’
Charles Wright was born
in Pickwick Dam, Tennessee
here in America

returning to sketching
I try to make marks
meaningful in my privacy
so awkward with an audience
trespassing at the Ancestral Puebloan site
Utes got a corner, whites got a park
(archaeologists named them Anasazi,
Navajo word for ancient people
or ancient enemy)
method of loci, utterly American

retreat to the car
inner dialogue
(chattering monkeys)
we are having a very disparate
experience of this America

I worry I am a creature made
only for the hearth
open to the vast landscapes
of the mind and nature
so little at home
in this narrow, confounding ‘America’

the breeze soothes
nested in the tail gate
interrupted only by traffic, bird calls
my solace is won, art lives,
making the world real again
escaping America

the mark must be made
it must be fixed
time to draw the line
an infinitely nuanced touch
like the potent power of naming
this line must be drawn
with curves and crooks
from a fleshy hand
New Amsterdam descendent, all American
since 1640 before she had a name
I’m awaiting the alternative reality of America

Notes: Mesa Verde (‘green table’ in Spanish) National Park was the first park founded under the Americans Antiquities Act of 1906 is located in the SW corner of Colorado near the Four Corners area. This is where the state lines of Arizona, Utah, New Mexico and Colorado join. It is on a high stone cliff (7000-8000+ feet in elevation). Long House is on top of Weatherill Mesa and is one of the many sites where the Ancestral Puebloans or Ancient Pueblo Peoples lived between 600AD and 1300AD. The Utes, whose reservation is in the area of Mesa Verde, are not descendants of the Ancient Pueblo Peoples. Anasazi is a Navajo word meaning ‘ancient ones’ or ‘ancient enemies’ an odd choice for archeologists to make, the modern Pueblo Peoples, who claim them as ancestors, prefer the name Ancestral Puebloans.

‘Was machst du?’ is ‘What are you doing?’ in German.

Target is a US corporation: ‘Our mission is to make Target the preferred shopping destination for our guests by delivering outstanding value, continuous innovation and an exceptional guest experience by consistently fulfilling our Expect More. Pay Less.® brand promise. To support our mission, we are guided by our commitments to great value, the community, diversity and the environment.’

The Ute Indian Tribe consists of more than 13 historic groups that included the Capote, Cumumba, Moache, Moanumts, Pah Vant, Parianuche, San Pitch, Sheberetch, Taviwach, Timanogots, Tumpanawach, Uintah, Uncompahgre, White River, Weeminuche, and Yamperika. They were forced out of many areas of the West after the Ute War and now hold the Uintah & Ouray, Southern Ute, and Ute Mountain reservations. Today they are self-governed, ‘domestic dependent nations’, with many sovereign powers retained from the pre-contact period. There are currently 500 tribal governments recognized in America.

Charles Wright is an American poet who won the Pulitzer Prize for Black Zodiac in 1998. ‘Go in fear of abstractions’ is from his The Appalachian Book of the Dead. Pickwick Dam is a hydroelectric dam on the Tennessee River in Hardin County.

New Amsterdam, from 1614-1644 part of the New Netherland Territory, was the settlement that became New York City. It grew up to provide security to the Dutch East India Company’s fur trade (a megacorporation). The land was purchased from the Lenape, Algonquin Native Americans, for 60 guilders. The Lenape tribe mostly ended up forced into the Oklahoma Territory, within the Cherokee Nation, in the 1860s. My ancestors, 11 generations back, Michael Paulus Van Der Voort (later Vanderford) and Marritie Joris Rapalje came to New Amsterdam in 1640. He was from Dermonde, Flanders, Netherlands. I’ve traced most of my ancestors back 10-11 generations to the first immigrants arriving in the 1600s from Scotland, Ireland, England, Wales, Germany, Netherlands, and France.

Endophytic Incursions (click to hear this poem read)

Synchronicity ensconced reveals nugatory variables
apophenia of writer invariant: subversive hallucinatory crippled vessels
their mesostic corrugated tentacles of substantive poetic egests
may mask irreplaceable profundities

pinned in unpersecuted opposition they create borderline synaesthesia
presenting artists as warped furled fecund hosts
suffering endophytic incursions
jostled oubliettes of bulbous traipsing ladders connecting

twining implosions arch upon the oeuvre and ignite nesting charges
of gravitas and blather a mulled kinship born perniciously or merely neurologically
they may illuminate or obscure, form a gestalt or dissociate
matters of quiddity hoisted upon ontological backtracking
accelerating dilatory insights

atomic breakdowns, each quark mensurated
in reductionist monochromatic gatherings
stultify creative impulses
dense joyous words weighted with luscious delectable gustation
visual fields dripping with chords of music inviting
xenologic etiquette of intertwining nebulae
lilting effluvia

Singularly Immense Experience

Intersocial Volition is a section in the 1960s Roget thesaurus.
One of those combinations of words you may only run across once
like quiddative or zadruga and you think where do I file that?
Is there a synapse that would lead me back to xanthi’nuria?

It could win a game of Scrabble™ but first
you have to remember how to spell it.
It may not be in an abridged college dictionary –
the likely source handy when you play.
And the probability you’ll have all the letters,
to place on an area of the board not occupied with cat
or some other sad compromise is quite small.
If you have some free time you could calculate your chances.

There are words that we neglect for many reasons,
they sound old fashioned, they are hard to spell or
even harder to say, they’re pedantic or showy,
they require our friends to have a degree in Neuroscience,
or honestly, we’re simply too lazy to use them.

There are other words, sumptuous nouns,
crackling adverbs, apt adjectives.
Sirens of literature laid in shallow graves
mourned by logophiles which never conjure images
of achievement testing or superciliousness.
They remain words that are luscious,
connotative, delectable, and not at all sententious.

These are precious, deserving of repeated use
They illuminate human experience,
enliven our senses, capture nuance, enrapture our being,
create longing, adoration, and become cherished.
These are words poets dream of finding
when they must express a singularly immense experience.
Mythic creatures believed to only live in
music or visual art – suddenly alighting on a page!

Theological Suppositions

Anna Montgomery, Chromaphilia, painting

An Inevitable Process of Biology

The angel, immobile,
Serenely gazes from her rest
In the well of an old Underwood Number 5
While I try to connect to Sylvia Plath
Find my own dear words
And avoid the black dark.

If I am to believe
The Four Noble Truths
Then my practice, the process, is all
Yet I cannot help but feel
The undertow of time
The burden of ignorance.

When she speaks with me
All is multilayered meaning,
Possibility and exploration.

When I am alone, the judge,
Renders all immaterial, fading
No true bastion of immortality.

If these words, my words
Are no more fixed in human hearts
Than the fleeting whispers of the wind,
Then I have nothing more
Than time, alone in a room,
Under the angel’s ceramic visage, reflecting nothing.

Sense impressions intermingled
With a coruscant intellect
Create vivid imaginings – connectedness

A thousand flashes of memory
Rest stops, fragments of homes
The smell of mountains
I cede these visages
Imagery sung by loquacious tongues

In the shadowed corners
All the fears, debts, atrocities are piled up
There’s no escape from responsibility
We’re all complicit, culpable

Our wellspring of shame
Familial bonds and human failings
Mythologies reveal the hidden dangers
Of archetypal activism as we lose ourselves in
Over-identification, righteousness, or doubt

Each moment of conjunction
Reciprocity – when my embodied self
Ameliorated the suffering of another
Or my own is a gift
This rare moment of communion

Intertwining insights
Deeply held convictions
Passions of the mind
Emotive effusions of art
Papered meanings
Visual striving, resolution
Melodic companions
I weep, overwhelmed by sheer beauty

These offerings, sacrifices pointing toward
Divine grace and awe
Genuflections and contrition
All lead to promises of an immortal soul