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Secrets of Weather & Hope
Cumulus These are the carriers.
Their large, mild bodies make us think
of domesticity, of milk. Mammalian
they hold the rain in their bellies, a generous
temperament. They too are susceptible
to time, but more graceful than us.
Unafraid, they will let go
when they must. They breathe
more deeply and know something
of sadness. Their bodies are sympathetic.
Rain is what they know best and least.
Sue Sinclair's poems speak from that precise place where our perception of the world and our capacity for language meet and embrace, where our sense of experience goes to get sharpened and refreshed. That experience might involve the inner lives of clouds, the flourishing and passing of a tulip, the evocative scent of wolf willow, or the intricate arts of Bach and Virginia Woolf. These poems are deft, musical, and quick in the moment, alive to the sensuous surface and the meditative depth, their antennae fully extended.
Their large, mild bodies make us think
of domesticity, of milk. Mammalian
they hold the rain in their bellies, a generous
temperament. They too are susceptible
to time, but more graceful than us.
Unafraid, they will let go
when they must. They breathe
more deeply and know something
of sadness. Their bodies are sympathetic.
Rain is what they know best and least.
Sue Sinclair's poems speak from that precise place where our perception of the world and our capacity for language meet and embrace, where our sense of experience goes to get sharpened and refreshed. That experience might involve the inner lives of clouds, the flourishing and passing of a tulip, the evocative scent of wolf willow, or the intricate arts of Bach and Virginia Woolf. These poems are deft, musical, and quick in the moment, alive to the sensuous surface and the meditative depth, their antennae fully extended.
- GenresPoetry
92 pages, Paperback
First published July 1, 2001
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
January 28, 2022
It is winter.
The room is white.
Do not strain your voice.
We can make do.
Light is hard and clean
but not unsparing
as we had thought.
The angels have not
forgotten. Close your eyes.
You have gotten used to silence.
* * *
Nothing to cast a shadow
up there, building pale
and glittering, fascinated
by themselves and a little
ashamed. Far back in their minds
they know they have arrived empty-handed
but pretend they're not yet
where they want to be, wherever
that is. Sometimes, watching a pair
of starlings swoop and duck, they almost
admit it, give in to doubt. A kind of vertigo.
It's the heat, we say, that makes them
waver, and they ignore it too, wait
for it to pass. Be taller,
they say to themselves,
be taller, because that is the only way
they know how to think.
* * *
Too small to worry.
Asking not why
but when. A garden
of underdeveloped
shapes. Hydroponics
in the sky, vegetables
in their first flower:
white: albino squash,
starry-eyed cucumbers,
pea blossoms. They form
in regular rows, peer
down from the sky
wondering what they will do
when the time comes.
The room is white.
Do not strain your voice.
We can make do.
Light is hard and clean
but not unsparing
as we had thought.
The angels have not
forgotten. Close your eyes.
You have gotten used to silence.
- Bone, pg. 28
* * *
Nothing to cast a shadow
up there, building pale
and glittering, fascinated
by themselves and a little
ashamed. Far back in their minds
they know they have arrived empty-handed
but pretend they're not yet
where they want to be, wherever
that is. Sometimes, watching a pair
of starlings swoop and duck, they almost
admit it, give in to doubt. A kind of vertigo.
It's the heat, we say, that makes them
waver, and they ignore it too, wait
for it to pass. Be taller,
they say to themselves,
be taller, because that is the only way
they know how to think.
- Toronto Skyline, pg. 49
* * *
Too small to worry.
Asking not why
but when. A garden
of underdeveloped
shapes. Hydroponics
in the sky, vegetables
in their first flower:
white: albino squash,
starry-eyed cucumbers,
pea blossoms. They form
in regular rows, peer
down from the sky
wondering what they will do
when the time comes.
- Altocumulus Undulatus, pg. 57
Displaying 1 of 1 review