Praying to Broken Gods
Wander in the desert enough
you’ll find the land fill
An arroyo (as our own dispersed
might say, but you can call it a wash)
Ephemeral thirst quencher, it carries
or ferries a casual heap, rags rolled
in bones the color of washed denim
Predatory remnants, bleached
spines and bones form an Early
American relic — take care to kneel
Do not sit or rest, you may not
recline nor pause
……… …………..Balance isn’t
No rib, no leg, only the lightly bruised sky
A memory of bridges
the Zayandeh River
oasis no more.
* * *
Ah, process. A prompt from Nathan for Read Write Poem. But deeper than the beautiful image is (for me) the personal.
The landscape looks like Arizona, similar to places I was raised. But the photographer is from Iraq, so the imposition of Early American furniture (a style I am too familiar with — I roomed with it as a child) amid arid rivers run dry (the Zayandeh River, or Zayandé-Rud has been empty for a few years, and a notable bridge reflects empty) is too ripe to ignore. Add all manner of misunderstanding (not to mention Imperialism) and it’s all a muddle.
I am sure I don’t do these ideas justice. But thank you for reading, for Milad Gheisari’s evocative photograph. And for Nathan for bringing the image to mind.
Other responses can be found at Read Write Poem.
No related posts.
Nice poem, Deb.
Thanks, Dana.
Deb,
Didn’t know you were from Arizona. I too have wandered that states deserts, particularly the Superstition Mountains and high desert around Payson. Loved your title, I’ve come to the conclusion all gods are broken. Your poem a warning as well as observation. The relics of the past are fast being rendered to the compost heap of today’s world. I enjoyed it.
Regards,
DH
Thanks, Donald. The title came first, unusual for the way I usually write.
Trash is a rich subject. Any desert, too.
Hi Deb,
Although it may have evoked personal memories, your poem speaks for everyone. The desert can nourish and sustain if treated with respect.
Thanks for reading, Derrick. I’m glad the poem has some reach.
As so often with the personal, it applies to so many. Nicely done.
Thank you, Anthony.
Your background research brings things to life in such a cool way. :)
Beautifully meditative work here. For no particular reason, my favorite line in this is “a memory of bridges”… love it.
Thank you, Joseph. It was strange looking at the pictures of a famous bridge, sitting in dirt.
I am quite impressed how you started with our Kingman desert and was able to transform it into somewhere far away…I just saw red lake! (you don’t have to wander far for a “landfill”, so many neanderthal types dump everything wherever they want – so sad.)
It’s so cool that you *know* where I come from.
And, yeah, dumping is a honed skill for the senseless. It happens everywhere.
I like how this:
Do not sit or rest, you may not
recline nor pause
……… …………..Balance isn’t
placed near the end of the poem kind of turns it all akimbo. Striking and singular poem, thank you.
Thank you, Marie, for those kind words. And for using “akimbo,” which is one of my favorite words ever. (I’ve used it in one poem, a few years ago, and will do so again!)
It seems the desert attracts neanderthal types on all continents.
I like the personal note in your poem. Desert people have that
special je ne sais quoi about them. Dusty brains perhaps?I’m not fully fledged but a part time desert person recently hailed from the tropics thus the schizophrenic comment!
Desert people are indeed a special breed. And one that is complex, not a little strange. :-)
this description is beautiful:
“the lightly bruised sky
A memory of bridges
the Zayandeh River
oasis no more.”
Thank you, Carolee — I’m glad you liked those lines.
The title is wrenchingly luscious. Your words reach deep and bring a palpable feeling of loss. Strong piece.
Thank you, Tumblewords! I’m glad the loss is clear.
I like the predatory remnants, but I love the third section with “it carries
or ferries a casual heap, rags rolled in bones”, which sounds great in addition to giving some nice twisty images
Thanks, Barbara. I wondered if I should redeem the rest of the poem and try to make those rhythms repeat a bit. But I got lazy (it’s only a first pass).
“No rib,no leg, only the lightly bruised sky” I love it!
Pamela
Thanks, Pamela.
I love the careful attention to words in this poem — not just “gods” but “broken gods,” and the great word “arroyo.” Also I love the phrase “take care to kneel” and how it interplays on the same line with “American relic.” Good to have a poem that doesn’t dodge the political/historical difficulties. (The photographer’s website suggests that he was born and now lives in Iran. Is he from Iraq?)
Thank you, Therese. I’m glad you like the “kneel” & “relic” phrasing. I was trying to get at what you saw. So I’m grateful you picked up on those themes.
Yeah, the photographer is from Iran. I should have been more literal in finding Iranian rivers, but when I discovered the bridge I wrote about I allowed myself the latitude. (More American ignorance, unfortunately.)
This is great, Deb. I love the sound of “it carries or ferries a casual heap” and the way you lay out the lines really shows a lot of skill.
Thank you, Nathan!
The research on the image was interesting.
The feeling of desolation you evoke here is incredible. This is so vivid, especially the rags, denim and bleached spines. I love the title and the play on the words “land fill” and “wash.”
Thanks, James. So glad you like the word play, too, and the desolation.
Beautiful poem. I love “only the lightly bruised sky.” What a great image.
Thanks for visiting, Cristina, and the comment!
Lovely poem. Goes well with the image
Thank you, Jeeves.
Deb –
I grew up in Arizona. And that’s the first thing I saw when I looked at the image. You mined so much out of the picture to put into this piece, yet collapsed them into a nice economy of words.
I have to say my favourite lines were: “No rib, no leg, only the lightly bruised sky”.
Well done.
-Nicole
I didn’t know that, Nicole (or my memory is fading), about Arizona. I was surprised it was the Middle East, and not Arizona (though I shouldn’t have been).
Thanks for your generous comments.