Frances Sjoberg
September 26, 2009
Recitation for Marlon Evans
from his self-introduction in Red Ink
Taking a poem from beginning to end
With a story in between
In a non-Indian world many times
I was the only brown-skinned person around
With a story in between
My poetic approach is to ensure to the audience
I was the only brown-skinned person around
I tell stories with very uncomplicated language
My poetic approach is to ensure to the audience
The Tumamoc Hill hiking experience
I tell stories with very uncomplicated language
At 4 a.m. in the morning
The Tumamoc Hill hiking experience
To the east, the warm city lights of Tucson
At 4 a.m. in the morning
To the west, the overwhelming
To the east, the warm city lights of Tucson
I am seeking the dynamic within
To the west, the overwhelming
A discipline and environment
I am seeking the dynamic within
A sensitivity that will ignite a flashpoint
A discipline and environment
Emotion, passion, perception
A sensitivity that will ignite a flashpoint
In a non-Indian world many times
Emotion, passion, perception
Taking a poem from beginning to end
Hinge
the pluck (heart liver pancreas liver lung) of a brute
valve
the axis of the earth and by extension the four cardinal points
two movable parts upon each other
to me and more also if even
Nothing is higher than these mysteries . . . . They have not only shown us the way to live joyfully, but they have taught us how to die with a better
hope.
– Cicero, on the Eleusinian Mysteries at the Temple of Demeter
at the beginning of the barley harvest
and there I will be
exilic, of Moab
pray let me glean and gather
as the awn adheres to the rachis
entreat me not to leave you
hordeum spontaneum
such ploughings bestow
I draw off my sandal
the ground put in apt condition
I draw off my sandal
and give it to you, thus
where you die I will die
and here I will be accounted
less than nothing
here I will be accounted
emptiness, and more also if even death
parts me from you
the awn adheres to the grain
a great sound, a gratification
hordeum spontaneum, brittle rachis
may wind disperse this seed
a blessing in the midst of the earth
and wild there
and there I will be
Squall
:
Without saying anything else
The sky opens up and looses a pounding
As tympani upon the desert
The sky goes purple and looses a pounding weight of rain
As a means of insistence
On the desert floor the water flowing
Swift as a means of insistence
The storm of sound and light
More than becomes all but
::
An extended choral rest
Dust beat down from rain
A sharpness to the edge of color
Gray-green or blue-green still
The light strikes unallayed
Here is where the piccolo enters
From the hill of the saddest moment
The high pitch charming the stalk of a blue agave
The stalk as it rises more than a foot this morning
:::
A mourning dove atop the stalk leans into the sudden wind
The stalk a series of jerks
Recurring again and again
The mourning dove holds steady
A sudden wind again
On the desert at Sacaton, hallucination
On the desert at Sacaton, synesthesia
That basic ambiguity
The scent of a night blooming blossom
following Mary Leader, “Series as Opposed to Sequence”
Hinge
brass pin
together
held fast
let go
Frances Sjoberg was born in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan and raised in Globe, Arizona. She holds a B.A. in English and an M.F.A. in Poetry. She is now a law student at the University of Arizona College of Law where she is Articles Manager for Arizona Law Review and Chapter President for the American Constitution Society for Law and Policy. Before law school, she was the Literary Director of the University of Arizona Poetry Center. While at the Poetry Center, she coordinated symposia on Indigenous Language & Poetry and on Conceptual Poetry & Its Others. A chapbook of her poems, Outcrop, was published by Chax Press. Her favorite things are silent Ks and homonyms.
Frances‘s friendship with Marlon extended from collaboration at the University of Arizona Poetry Center to early morning hikestogether on Tumamoc Hill.
