Bolivia Series, School Girls, Pastel, by John Cummings
Fears, Feelings, Desires
There are certain weekends and holydays
when I feel somewhat insecure.
I worry if walking ghosts have occupied
the void of empty streets and closed doors,
looking at me as an intruder or suspicious
on their walks.
I miss hearing the sound of hammers and
hoes, the strident come and go of saw blades,
the brushing of pens on paper or keyboards
being typed throwing feelings to the world.
I love the imprecations of painters and artists
when they can’t find the pure art they look for.
I love children screaming through the sidewalk,
running endless races only they are capable of. |
I love the noise of people in the streets and alleys,
corners and places,
as they move to destinies only they are aware of,
hard struggling to make their lives a story.
I love hearing someone making something,
even if it is the buzzing of bees.
____________________
Edilson Afonso Ferreira
Review by Muriel Nelson
I’m drawn to the longing for sound here, and feeling of dread that the everyday streets have become ghostly. I remember such a scene in a town in the former East Germany where everyone was frightened of being apprehended by police. Ferreira fills in what he longs to hear and see beautifully. The wish to hear bees is unexpected in a street scene, but a lovely way to conclude with just a small wish that is also loaded with meaning.
Review by Jared Pearce
I think the title’s fun because it notes not just what is being missed in the poem, but also that what the missing things are is because of what is being noted.
Review by Nathan E. Lewis
I am one, who values work, believing we are often at our best when we are engaged in productive labors. And so, I agree with Edilson, whose message is straight forward enough for a poem. It’s the subtle uniqueness of Edilson’s language moving me – go of saw blades… brushing of pens…imprecations of painters…children screaming through the sidewalk…I’m left wondering whether or not Edilson has to work hard to craft this language or if it comes naturally. That’s the thing: Work comes naturally to us, even the laboring to get it right.
Review by J. S. Absher
This poem is about weekends and “holydays’ haunted by the ghost sounds of the absent workaday world. But the poem moves from expressions of loss to expressions of love for noises indicating work, play, socializing, and people “struggling to make their lives a story.” It’s a fine companion piece to “Stumbles, Pitfalls, and Spells,” with a different, happier take on the world we share. Read together, they function a little like Milton’s “Il Penseroso” and “L’Allegro.” The final two lines are splendid.
Review by Kathryn de Leon
I thought maybe “holydays” was a typo intended to be “holidays,” but I’m hoping the intention is “holydays.” I like the way it sounds and it makes me think the speaker feels insecure because they are not spiritual enough, therefore causing the ghosts/spirits to give them dirty looks. Regardless of “holidays” or “holydays,” I like all the sounds that the speaker misses while they are surrounded by “empty streets and closed doors.”