Poem by Brendan ConstantineA Hurried Account of the Sky
I work nights in the corner of a pigeon’s eye, backing up its daily observations, sorting noise from bread, and bread from things that look like bread The bird sleeps through most of it which is another of God’s strange mercies like silkworms or penicillin My office is crowded with books, with hair, bits of bright foil, but there's room enough for a desk and bed, an old water lantern By its light, I fill ledgers with billboards, powerlines, park statues, old men playing chess, and if the old men speak, I take it down or as much as a pigeon might record It’s sleepy work, I don’t see the sun except in playback My bed calls to me, the straw mattress, the feathers, yes, the feathers in the pillow I used to have a radio but it was stolen It helped, I learned a few songs Sometimes I hear the man in the other eye singing, the same songs The walls are thin and full of drizzle He must've learned them from me |
Brendan Constantine is the author of four collections of poetry. His work has appeared in Prairie Schooner, FIELD, Ploughshares, Virginia Quarterly, Ninth Letter, and the American Journal of Poetry among other journals. His most recent collection is ‘Dementia, My Darling’ (2016 Red Hen Press). He has received grants and commissions from the Getty Museum, James Irvine Foundation, and the National Endowment for the Arts. A popular performer, Brendan has presented his work to audiences throughout the U.S. and Europe, also appearing on NPR's All Things Considered, numerous podcasts, and YouTube. He currently teaches poetry at the Windward School and regularly offers classes to hospitals, foster homes, veterans, and the elderly.
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