Steppingstone Poem by Andrew Hudgins
Steppingstone
Home (from Court Square Fountain—
where affluent ghosts still importune
a taciturn
slave to entertain
them with a slow barbarous tune
in his auctioned baritone—
to Hank Williams' headstone
atop a skeleton
loose in a pristine
white suit and bearing a pristine
white bible, to the black bloodstain
on Martin King's torn
white shirt and Jim Clark's baton,
which smashed black skulls to gelatin)
was home, at fifteen: brimstone
on Sunday morning, badminton
hot afternoons, and brimstone
again that night. Often,
as the preacher flailed the lectern,
the free grace I couldn't sustain
past lunch led to clandestine
speculation. Skeleton
and flesh, bone and protein
hold—or is it detain?—
my soul. Was my hometown
Montgomery's molten
sunlight or the internal nocturne
of my unformed soul? Was I torn
from time or was time torn
from me? Turn
on byzantine
turn, I entertain
possibilities still, and overturn
most. It's routine
now to call a hometown
a steppingstone—
and a greased, uncertain,
aleatory stone
at that. Metaphors attune
our ears to steppingstone,
as well a corner-, grind-, and millstone—
all obtain
and all also cartoon
history, which like a piston,
struck hard and often
that blood-dappled town
scrubbed with the acetone
of American inattention. Atone
me no atoning. We know the tune
and as we sing it, we attain
a slow, wanton,
and puritan
grace, grace can't contain.
I remember the lunatic is on the grass... The lunatic is in my head... (Pink Floyd) . Excellent poem. Congratulations.
As we learn the ways of life. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
i am trying to find something in this poem... maybe when i read it second time
This is brilliant Mr. Hudgens - the quality is very high, been a while since I've seen ANYTHING close to this level of quality and intellectual depth, substance and sophistication. Kind of Eliot-esque in some ways but definitely modern/edge of post-modern. BTW, not a fan of Eliot's, consider ur style much better actually.
This is brilliant Mr. Hudgens - the quality is very high, been a while since I've seen ANYTHING close to this level of quality and intellectual depth, substance and sophistication. Kind of Eliot-esque in some ways but definitely modern/edge of post-modern.
FROM...Skeleton and flesh, bone and protein hold—or is it detain? —my soul. TO- - Atone me no atoning. We know the tune and as we sing it, we attain a slow, wanton, and puritan grace, grace can't contain. ~~~This poet pens literature not just a style of poem or a rhyme - -this is challenging as good literature should be. Into my fav
Metaphors attune our ears to steppingstone, as well a corner-, grind-, and millstone— all obtain and all also cartoon history, which like a piston, struck hard and often that blood-dappled town scrubbed with the acetone of American inattention. A beautiful piece of poem anthropologically nostalgic.
“Often, as the preacher flailed the lectern, the free grace I couldn't sustain past lunch led to clandestine speculation. Skeleton and flesh, bone and protein hold—or is it detain? — my soul. ” My favorite lines show the contrast between mind and soul. The poet is truly a sharp observer and profound thinker.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 12:54:59 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I am in awe of the talent of Andrew Hudgins, He awakens a sense of history in our souls to give us a look at where mankind has been and where we are going if we do not heed the warnings history is liberally strewed with.- - - - Look at this monumental display of talent- - - - - - Metaphors attune our ears to steppingstone, as well a corner-, grind-, and millstone— all obtain and all also cartoon history, which like a piston, struck hard and often that blood-dappled town scrubbed with the acetone of American inattention. Atone me no atoning.