for rita dove (31)

one narcissus among the ordinary

for laureate rita dove

one narcissus among the ordinary beautiful
flowers, one unlike all the others! She pulled,
stooped to pull harder—
when, sprung out of the earth
on his glittering terrible
carriage, he claimed his due.
it is finished. No one heard her.
from “persephone, falling”

yet again, another on a shortlist of african
american literary firsts, u humbly bowed
yr head to receive the nation’s laurel

wreath; making apollo rainbow smile in

spite of himself. where h.d. unearthly

necromanced the common object, wryly

wrote greek statues to life & vivified an

exanimate imagism; yr fey magic, laureate,

framed the common middle-class experience,

made it coruscate, sparkle & twinkle…

[in for shiny copper pennies more than ezra

pound] made it so universal that folk forgot

u were black; so sometimes idiomatic that

the same folk were shock/shamed into

remembering that u were, writing in

whatever form that just suits u, whatever u

might want to say, in & thru’ voices not

normally heard. write on ms. dove, splendidly

spin yr words, figures & tales, be they mythic

oedipal plots in antebellum big houses,

or verse dramas u recite aloud to make

their music bud & bloom; yr lissome

poetics pleasurepush the lyrical boundaries

of grace. u ooh hoo got that magic

laureate’s touch, that special sumpin,

sumpin.


© Joseph McNair; 2009