Three Poems by Frederick Pollack
Return
But say he came back - that
somehow the system kept
his place for him, and all its dust,
which, with an attitude, he swept and wiped;
cans in a cupboard, beer in the fridge,
a view that only told the weather.
Being of a culture that makes plans
or pretends to, his first thought
was a dog, his next imagining
one needy, small, and loving, then
one noble, big, and cruel on his behalf.
Thus the first hour
till he realized, not in so many words
or any, that he who had left
the sleeping bag on the couch
and bottles under it was dog enough,
and spent an hour trying to extend the view.
The past is energy; it has
no need of ghosts, it storms between
two rooms and a john and back, and only wanes
toward evening. Almost in words,
he realized this place was no place,
and wondered what they had in store
for him, and who they were,
and felt immense resentment that
each mystery fronts for another.
Dig
I’m so far back that I’m scarcely
historical any more. Wide-hatted, white
with sunblock (that technology doesn’t change),
kneeling she draws the latest GPR
across the dust to find some part of me.
The words I read and those I wrote are gone,
but I insanely, non-negotiably
believe they’re not, that we will talk.
She weeps at the lack of progress, the ambiguous
walls, the flies, the depths of broken glass,
the waste. But now she strokes me
with a brush, and photographs and raises – what?
One can’t evoke the rock one will become.
Years later, clean, alone in the sort of bed
I insist on for the future, she dreams
we’re face to face and asks disappointing,
quotidian questions. (She’s so young;
they would all strike us as young.) I explain
what she already knows better than I,
adding some hopefully useful private grief.
She’s curious, though handling the word with tongs,
about the religions that roiled my time;
the category in her soft mouth seems
to include nearly everything.
My faith, I tell her, was a narrow drain
through which the filthy cosmos trickled out.
Poptart
Pretend I’m not here. That’s what I tell them
in the inevitable, regrettable second phase.
Before that, for a brief nice moment
they think I’m with them and just happened
to wander in here first. They examine
the fridge, the cupboards. “It’s all high-carb crap,”
I say disgustedly. But they’re hungry
and take out sodas, junk food – luckily
there are two microwaves. Then they choose
plastic chairs and say and do
predictable things: from guys, belligerence
or a too-obvious holding it together;
from women desperation, curiosity.
Ghosts of old traumas gather,
and phobias. They speculate, i.e., fantasize.
In twenty minutes, from half of them
the past is pouring out; from the others, hate.
Then someone says, “I wonder
if this is being recorded.”
However often I eat or go
to the john to maintain an innocuous cover,
I can’t pretend for long – too quiet.
They turn on me and are no longer useful;
I don’t so much vanish as am not there.
One time an old-school, amused professor
mentioned the Search for an Author. “I’d drop
the caps,” I said, “too many overtones.”
“And do we ever leave here?” “No.”
Featured art: "Untitled” by Jordyn Smalling
Frederick Pollack is the author of two book-length narrative poems, The Adventure (Story Line Press, 1986; to be reissued by Red Hen Press) and Happiness (Story Line Press, 1998), and two collections, A Poverty of Words (Prolific Press, 2015) and Landscape with Mutant (Smokestack Books, UK, 2018). In print, Pollack’s work has appeared in Hudson Review, Salmagundi, Poetry Salzburg Review, Manhattan Review, Skidrow Penthouse, Main Street Rag, Miramar, Chicago Quarterly Review, The Fish Anthology (Ireland), Poetry Quarterly Review, Magma (UK), Neon (UK), Orbis (UK), Armarolla, December, and elsewhere. Online, his poems have appeared in Big Bridge, Diagram, BlazeVox, Mudlark, Occupoetry, Faircloth Review, Triggerfish, Big Pond Rumours (Canada), Misfit, OffCourse and elsewhere.
Jordyn Smalling is a lifestyle and portrait photographer based out of Nashville, TN. Graduate of the University of Tennessee, she earned a degree in Fine Art and Photography. Jordyn is passionate about global human rights, orphan care, preservation of families, building relationships, trying new things, and spontaneous adventures. Time spent in Peru, Haiti, Honduras, Uganda, Dubai, Guatemala and Mexico has opened her eyes to see souls that are unlike her own and given her a heart to share their stories. In her current practice, she is pursuing collaboration and partnership with nonprofits, small businesses and like-minded creatives to make work that tells stories and evokes emotion.