As If From Letters Of Surveyor Samuel Maclay Poem by Brian Teare

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Brian Teare

Athens, Georgia

As If From Letters Of Surveyor Samuel Maclay



sent for you last week dogwoods
a swansong white flowers
on whitewater weather continues
~
cloudy but little rain intelligence
with its attendant circumstances
embarrasses me much no word
~
from something to do patience
exhausted dear shaved myself
and then returned the word
~
pluvial the maple a map
of the river's tributaries rinsed
glistening province of inquiry
~
my black nets set past cattails
dredge drawn up leaves
alluvium grasp and clatter
~
of crawfish all hunger
could gather this morning I saw
a deer fording the river
~
to a small island I felt unable to work
full proof having nothing
the mind destroys everything careful
~
the world is
the river brims first the few
roads go
~
under but this is a letter weather
the shine of water on nouns

let it be remembered
~
I made a plum pudding
in a bag as fine a one as I ever ate
this with a dish of tea
~
concluded the month of May obliged
to spend the morning baking
bread things I admire their industry
~
water folds the arms
of a host of brown coats shine worn
whitely into each elbow
~
I write I fancy I hear canoe poles
returning this not only keeps me
uneasy for the moment but in pain
~
in consequence as I am in want
of word I imagine your letter corn
stubble troubling the flood fields
~
no geese riding the river's stir
and fervor what you sweep from
the porch pine needles berry
~
stains click of seed husks things
birds leave I leave you too
and send what facts I can sunken road
~
refracted bent branch made heavy
with wet black bark a clot of leaves flood
plain and waterline my loneliness
~
a season when the bank's given the river
rising everything it had here I am
in country unsettled without either
~
canoe or horse a field remarkable
for the great number of bones found
in it I write to report
~
they all appear in good humor

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Brian Teare

Athens, Georgia
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