Spotlight series #51 : Matthew Gwathmey

Curated by Canadian writer, editor and publisher rob mclennan, the “spotlight” series appears the first Monday of every month.

STATEMENT

Not sure if this is an author statement or not, but I thought it was something worth repeating:

The first two of “Twenty-Two Short Lectures” from Madness, Rack, and Honey by Mary Ruefle

WHY ALL OUR LITERARY PURSUITS ARE USELESS

Eighty-five percent of all existing species are beetles and various forms of insects.

English is spoken by only 5 percent of the world’s population.

WHY THERE MAY BE HOPE

One of the greatest stories ever written is the story of a man who wakes to find himself transformed into a giant beetle.

Some Fragments In The Style Of Sappho

(I)
Here in my ribcage you rest,
even as my bed lies empty.

In the oleander morning,
the fragrance you left overpowers,

eau de purplish-blue,
with fresh mandarin in the top,

reminding me of the first violets
as they peek through overgrown grass.

I will the sun’s chariot down to set,
chased by the always-present east wind,

bringing the smell of brine blown in,
and you, blown in, safe from harm.

(II)
Let my jingles of loose change
last just as long as
the honey crisp apples
in the u-pick orchard.
I can predict fate’s ruin
of my fair Vacationland,
but then not the season
of our trampoline.

(III)
I often stand in awe —
how much more shovelling
will I have to do?
In the long winter,
how many more times
will the generator
resound like sparrows?
In another drift of snow,
how many full-grown trees
have been buried in embrace?

(IV)
Real respite never comes
to those who search for shade.
Like the natural effects
of global warming,
I search for what’s fleeting.

Even as you lie with me,
drenched in bee-craving pollen,
I long to but cannot remain
in gentle repose
and sleep the rerun through.

(V)
Summoned by full barges
at the industrial park,
I gazed across at a ship
unloading containers.

The salty air carried parts
of their coarse words to me,
lift on and derricks and
watch the cargo hold.

I realized on that port,
with roaring spray around me,
these were the men I could love,
fashioned out of rust.

(VI)
Work does not end with the close of drive-throughs.
As contours darken so too fall leaves,
so too flourish the hushed strains of cars
and power lines that hum in muted service.

Across the balcony an orange gleam
beckons us to gaze at street-lighted splendour.
When I loosed the leather belt there I knew
frogs and crickets and all the gods approved.

Matthew Gwathmey lives in Fredericton, NB, and studied creative writing at the University of Virginia. He is currently working on his PhD at the University of New Brunswick. His first poetry collection, Our Latest in Folktales, was published by Brick Books in the spring of 2019.