Poet Republik-Brian Henry
Brian Henry is a poet who likes to play. In the following piece, you will note lines of precisely 5 syllables in length. He once told me he wrote a sonnet a day for a year for fun, I think. Or maybe it was a story Hayden Carruth told about Ezra Pound who once wrote a sonnet a day for a year and then threw them all away. Carruth told the workshop he was guest-teaching, “and if you can’t do that, then you’re not a poet.” Either way, as the wondrous Tomaž Šalamun would say, it’s good mythology. In this vein, I am asking my poetry students to write their own small offerings, inspired by Mr. Henry’s piece (Brian might say here, Mr. Henry is my father), of 5 syllables per line, and at least 5 lines in length. You can play along too…
Thanksgiving
Revenge is no dish
and should not be served
at all, much less cold.
But as a guiding
principle, revenge
can cast quite a light.
Although it begins
in darkness, it breaks,
so timely, toward
any little shine:
may your object of
revenge be standing
or, better, kneeling
in front of you when
that light breaks to sun.
Poet, translator, and editor Brian Henry earned his BA at the College of William & Mary and an MFA from the University of Massachusetts-Amherst. His collections of poetry include Astronaut (2000), American Incident (2002), Graft (2003), Quarantine (2006), In the Unlikely Event of a Water (2007), The Stripping Point (2007), Wings Without Birds (2010), Lessness (2011), and Doppelgänger (2011). An advocate for Slovenian poets and poetry, he has translated Tomaž Šalamun’s Woods and Chalices (2008) and Aleš Šteger’s The Book of Things (2010). Henry’s translation of Aleš Debeljak’s Smugglers received a 2011 Howard Foundation fellowship.
Henry edited the collection of essays On James Tate (2004). He is the cofounder and coeditor, with Andrew Zawacki, of Verse Magazine. Henry and Zawacki also coedited The Verse Book of Interviews: 27 Poets on Language, Craft & Culture (2005).
Henry’s poems, essays, and translations have been published widely in journals such as Jacket, the Georgia Review, the Iowa Review, and elsewhere. He has received fellowships for translation from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Fulbright Program, the Slovenian Ministry of Culture, and the Slovenian Academy of Sciences and Arts. His honors and awards include a Distinguished Educator Award, a Cecil B. Hemley Memorial Award, an Alice Fay di Castagnola Award, and a George Bogin Memorial Award. He teaches at the University of Richmond.
In the early morning a tempered man rises
as he gets ready for the day
he starts to shiver and quiver
dreading over his timely task
the bearded man throws on a jacket and heads for the door
taking heavy steps towards the shed
the bearded man comes to a halt
seizing deep and long breaths at the reminder
the bearded man continues in a forward motion
diving for the rake
he gazez upon the crumbled leaves in the beautiful autumn season
suddenly the man that once had a temper
cracks out a gracious smile
he surly knows where his place is.
There was an abduction of sight
the look before my eyes turned to black
I crumbled the blunt in my hand and smelled the aroma of sickness before me
when I touched the ground I shrugged in agony for I can only taste the left overs feeling a simmer in myself. I wrangle the day I was abducted of true sight yet the only sound was the one in my head telling me what I did wrong.
It was on that time,
when maple flowers
are red and the wind
makes you feel live,
when I was wearing
my jacket, waiting
for her.Two glasses
of wine, ready on
the table; noone
wants to drink them. The
oxygen is not
enough to be here
alone. The time has
shriven loud to me,
that she’ll never come.
Infinite amount
of information
traveling in space
racing to get to you
to tell you “hello”.
Technology we admire
pumps us full of rads
as we lose countless hours
shortening our span.
Hear the roaster crow
Wake up at first light
Grab your keys and drive,
Never get to smell ,
The sizzling beacon.
Maybe, if only,
Earths rotations was
Thirty two hours
And not twenty four
One could be driving
With a full stomach
And with no worries
No time to slow down
Enter the highway
With new rubber shoes,
Gripping the concreate
Doing nighty five
Life feels like a race,
Let the day begin.
Walking through the forest
as I see a horsefly
I shrug in disregard
attempting to rake
the vine to build a
path for warranty
I shrug my shoulders
when I get asked a question.
I just want to put my
jacket over my face
when i get embarrased.
I wish I could control my temper.
The oxygen is decreasing
while i take this math test.
I wish my parents weren’t
so strict about getting a degree.
I wish I could turn
up the battery in me.
Is there a life time
warranty if my
parent’s dream goes wrong?
A bungle of vines
Numinous in sight
A smudge oil
Wrangle turns surly
A horsefly takes flight
Feel your body bend
as the wires pull back.
Cut them all away.
Stop counting the days.
Dust off the chalk marks.
Temper your resolve.
Respond, react, display
some alacrity.
I rake all the leafs and tomatoes began to drop
A vine full of tomatoes just waiting to be pluck
the blast of cold wind
can use another jacket
The water has been brought to simmer for some tasty hot soup
In the early morning a tempered man rises
as he gets ready for the day
he starts to shiver and quiver
dreading over his timely task
the bearded man throws on a jacket and heads for the door
taking heavy steps towards the shed
the bearded man comes to a halt
seizing deep and long breaths at the reminder
the bearded man continues in a forward motion
diving for the rake
he gazez upon the crumbled leaves in the beautiful autumn season
suddenly the man that once had a temper
cracks out a gracious smile
he surly knows where his place is.
There was an abduction of sight
the look before my eyes turned to black
I crumbled the blunt in my hand and smelled the aroma of sickness before me
when I touched the ground I shrugged in agony for I can only taste the left overs feeling a simmer in myself. I wrangle the day I was abducted of true sight yet the only sound was the one in my head telling me what I did wrong.
It was on that time,
when maple flowers
are red and the wind
makes you feel live,
when I was wearing
my jacket, waiting
for her.Two glasses
of wine, ready on
the table; noone
wants to drink them. The
oxygen is not
enough to be here
alone. The time has
shriven loud to me,
that she’ll never come.
Infinite amount
of information
traveling in space
racing to get to you
to tell you “hello”.
Technology we admire
pumps us full of rads
as we lose countless hours
shortening our span.
Hear the roaster crow
Wake up at first light
Grab your keys and drive,
Never get to smell ,
The sizzling beacon.
Maybe, if only,
Earths rotations was
Thirty two hours
And not twenty four
One could be driving
With a full stomach
And with no worries
No time to slow down
Enter the highway
With new rubber shoes,
Gripping the concreate
Doing nighty five
Life feels like a race,
Let the day begin.
Walking through the forest
as I see a horsefly
I shrug in disregard
attempting to rake
the vine to build a
path for warranty
I shrug my shoulders
when I get asked a question.
I just want to put my
jacket over my face
when i get embarrased.
I wish I could control my temper.
The oxygen is decreasing
while i take this math test.
I wish my parents weren’t
so strict about getting a degree.
I wish I could turn
up the battery in me.
Is there a life time
warranty if my
parent’s dream goes wrong?
A bungle of vines
Numinous in sight
A smudge oil
Wrangle turns surly
A horsefly takes flight
Feel your body bend
as the wires pull back.
Cut them all away.
Stop counting the days.
Dust off the chalk marks.
Temper your resolve.
Respond, react, display
some alacrity.
I rake all the leafs and tomatoes began to drop
A vine full of tomatoes just waiting to be pluck
the blast of cold wind
can use another jacket
The water has been brought to simmer for some tasty hot soup