47th ave, north/32nd st, east/river road, north/river road, south
humidity: 95%/ dew point: 72
Rained last night and early this morning so everything was dripping when I went out for my run. I didn’t feel the water so much as hear it coming off the trees, trickling off the gutters, gushing through the sewer pipe above the ravine. Several puddles on the sidewalk in the usual spots. Because the rain had only recently stopped, there weren’t too many people out near the river. When I finally reached it, just past the aspen eyes, I was able to run right above it. I even saw it a few times through the thick green. Running up the hill from below the lake street bridge I kept running on the trail that veers away from the road and right above the rowing club. I haven’t run on this part of the path for months! Ended my run climbing the hill near the tunnel of trees. In other summers, when I can safely run on the trail, a mist gets trapped here after it rains in the mid-story canopy. On the road this morning, there was mist too, but not as thick. It felt strange and dreamy to run through it.
Yesterday I began reading a thesis about Lorine Niedecker and how her vision problems shaped some of her poetry. The author focuses on this poem in particular:
Wintergreen Ridge /Lorine Niedecker
Where the arrow of the road signs lead us: Life is natural in the evolution of matter Nothing supra-rock about it simply butterflies are quicker than rock Man lives hard on this stone perch by sea imagines durable works in creation here as in the center of the world let’s say of art We climb the limestone cliffs my skirt dragging an inch below the knee the style before the last the last the least to see Norway or “half of Sussex and almost all of Surrey” Crete perhaps and further: “Every creature better alive than dead. men and moose and pine trees” We are gawks lusting after wild orchids Wait! What’s this? — sign: Flowers loveliest where they grow Love them enjoy them and leave them so Let’s go! Evolution’s wild ones saved continuous life through change from Time Began Northland’s unpainted barns fish and boats now this — flowering ridge the second one back from the lighthouse Who saved it? — Women of good wild stock Stood stolid before machines They stopped bulldozers cold We want it for all time they said and here it is — horsetails club mosses stayed alive after dinosaurs died Found: laurel in muskeg Linnaeus’s twinflower Andromeda Cisandra of the bog pearl flowered Lady’s tresses insect-eating pitcher plant Bedeviled little Drosera of the sundews deadly in sphagnum moss sticks out its sticky (Darwin tested) tentacled leaf towards a fly half an inch away engulfs it Just the touch of a gnat on a filament stimulates leaf-plasma secretes a sticky clear liquid the better to eat you my dear digest cartilage and tooth enamel (DHL spoke of blood in a green growing thing in Italy was it?) They do it with glue these plants Lady’ Slipper’s glue and electric threads smack the sweets-seeker on the head with pollinia The bee befuddled the door behind him closed he must go out the rear the load on him for the next flower Women saved a pretty thing: Truth: “a good to the heart” It all comes down to the family “We have a lovely finite parentage mineral vegetable animal” Nearby dark wood — I suddenly heard the cry my mother’s where the light pissed past the pistillate cone how she loved closed gentians she herself so closed and in this to us peace the stabbing pen friend did it close to the heart pierced the woods red (autumn?) Sometimes it’s a pleasure to grieve or dump the leaves most brilliant as do trees when they’ve no need of an overload of cellulose for a cool while Nobody, nothing ever gave me greater thing than time unless light and silence which if intense makes sound Unaffected by man thin to nothing lichens grind with their acid granite to sand These may survive the grand blow-up the bomb When visited by the poet From Newcastle on Tyne I neglected to ask what wild plants have you there how dark how inconsiderate of me Well I see at this point no pelting of police with flowers no uprooted gaywings bishop’s cup white bunchberry under aspens pipsissewa (wintergreen) grass of parnassus See beyond — ferns algae water lilies Scent the simple the perfect order of that flower water lily I see no space-rocket launched here no mind-changing acids eaten one sort manufactured as easily as gin in a bathtub Do feel however in liver and head as we drive towards cities the change in church architecture — now it’s either a hood for a roof pulled down to the ground and below or a factory-long body crawled out from a rise of black dinosaur-necked blower-beaked smokestack- steeple Murder in the Cathedral’s proportions Do we go to church No use discussing heaven HJ’s father long ago pronounced human affairs gone to hell Great God — what men desire! — the scientist: a full set of fishes the desire to know Another: to talk beat act cool release la’go So far out of flowers human parts found wrapped in newspaper left at the church near College Avenue More news: the war which “cannot be stopped” ragweed pollen sneezeweed whose other name Ambrosia goes for a community Ahead — home town second shift steamfitter ran arms out as tho to fly dived to concrete from loading dock lost his head Pigeons (I miss the gulls) mourn the loss of people no wild bird does It rained mud squash willow leaves in the eaves Old sunflower you bowed to no one but Great Storm of Equinox