I remember hating Nebraska in my younger years. I did not find anything of interest in the landscape. Funny, now that I drive professionally, I find many things that catch my attention. Now, Nebraska has turned into a treasure trove of inspiration. Here is a piece from the road inspired by one of those stretches of highway on the western side of the state I used to find boring.
Over the shallows of the Platte,
the Nemaha, the Dismal,
clouds descend into the sandhills,
wings spread, landing gear
touches down in water,
skidding across the surface,
bedding down in the riverbed
for a drink and a stretch,
shrill conversations,
perhaps over baggage carried—
issues better left in winter havens,
for this is just a stopover,
a chance to see the sights,
walk around, find some grub,
fatten up and finalize plans
to continue north,
rising again from the waters
in a cloud, in a thunder.
| Copyright © 2021 by Maik Strosahl Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He also dabbles in short fiction and may be onto some ideas for a novel. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there. In September 2020, he started the blog “Disturbing the Pond.” |
Much to like here--the rhythm, the way the poem is laid out--but I especially found pleasure in the first and last stanzas.
ReplyDeleteAnother bravo!
Maik, I admire the poem's simplicity, the analogy of an airplane landing, and the easy application of human occupations to the stop-over birds.
ReplyDeleteInspiration came from a picture of some sandhill cranes. Beautiful birds. And I thought they were called sandhill cranes because they lived in the Sandhills of Nebraska, but found out it was just a stopping point for them on their way north or south.
ReplyDeleteThis really speaks to me; we have Sandhill cranes all over in Florida. When I was in High School, about a hundred years ago, it was estimated there were only 23 breeding pairs in Florida. Researchers in Indiana (if the old hard-drive isn't fooling me) raised a flock of chicks, and one acted as "momma" and as happens, the chicks imprinted on him as such. He flew them around in an ultralite craft with a long "neck" with the characteristic red "head". When they were mature, he proceeded to fly them south, landing at appropriate spots along the way each night, literally teaching them how to migrate to Florida. There are now an estimated 4000-5000 permanent resident cranes in Florida, who are joined by no less than 25,000 migratory cranes every winter as well. They have become unofficial mascots of Floridians with their bold natures, echoing, stuttering calls you can hear for half a mile, and their regular mating dances that remind one of two people on stilts doing the Jitterbug! The spareness, simplicity Morris calls it, of the poem is a perfect analogy to the spareness of the Nebraska landscape, which I admit never held much to interest me either.
ReplyDelete