Volume 1, No. 6
These poems from Bart Edelman are asking all the right questions and speak of the restlessness and uncertainty in all of us.
Flounderer
Bart Edelman
Perpetually flummoxed, of course, Reason and direction aside. Can’t tell up from down, Or back from front, for that matter. Answers to assorted names, None which resemble hers. Regards a good day’s work, A bad omen, indeed. Catches the same fish each day, Simply for the lure of it. Dances the Texas Two-Step, On three left feet. Believes in a certain path, But has never tread it. Quotes one psalmist after another, Without grasping a word. Prays to an almighty God, Who’s run out of convictions. Considers marriage a farce, Yet weeps for a groom in her sleep.
Here to There
Bart Edelman
If it’s true and you find You can’t get there from here, Why consider taking the ride? Change your means of travel? Choose another route altogether? Claim a different destination? It’s the least you can do, Unless you’re engaged in pity— Locomotion of the worst kind. Here’s one novel idea. Tie yourself to a railroad track. Hope for the best outcome. Wait until a curious wind Dictates your final direction. That should set the record straight. But, no, your train isn’t due For, at least, a few more hours. So relax, take a deep breath. Count the sheep on the platform. Fall asleep before the engineer Realizes you’re even there.
Beat the Clock
Bart Edelman
When my shadow informed me, It was time to beat the clock, I let her have it. She had a pummeling coming, Whether she knew it or not. Surely, I was up for the task, Having planned the happy act For far longer than a mere thought. Yes, I sent her packing, After a series of right hooks Left the poor girl Damaged beyond repair, Retreating this way and that, Until she failed to resemble me, at all— A matter I found delightful. See, she’d been masquerading as me, Over what seemed like a century, And I needed her no more. Now I’m content to whoop it up. Play practical jokes at whim. Offend friend and foe alike. Cross streets without caution. Never glance over my shoulder.
About the Author
Bart Edelman’s poetry collections include Crossing the Hackensack, Under Damaris’ Dress, The Alphabet of Love, The Gentle Man, The Last Mojito, The Geographer’s Wife, Whistling to Trick the Wind, and This Body Is Never at Rest: New and Selected Poems 1993 – 2023. He has taught at Glendale College, where he edited Eclipse, a literary journal, and, most recently, in the MFA program at Antioch University, Los Angeles. His work has been anthologized in textbooks published by City Lights Books, Etruscan Press, Harcourt Brace, Longman, McGraw-Hill, Prentice Hall, the University of Iowa Press, Wadsworth, and others. He lives in Pasadena, California.
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