February 2018
David Chorlton
DavidChorlton@centurylink.net
DavidChorlton@centurylink.net
I was born in Austria, grew up in Manchester, England, and lived for several years in Vienna before moving to Phoenix in 1978. Arizona’s landscapes and wildlife have become increasingly important to me and a significant part of my poetry. Meanwhile, I retain an appetite for reading Eugenio Montale, W. S. Merwin, Tomas Tranströmer and many other, often less celebrated, poets. http://www.davidchorlton.mysite.com
Note: My first exposure to a desert landscape back in the 70s left me impressed with its drama and light. In time I've become aware of desert beauty as something more subtle and suggestive, as well being a lesson in survival. Last year we moved to a part of Phoenix close to an extensive mountain park, so we can be on desert ground within a fifteen minute walk. We also see some of the wildlife fly or saunter into our city suburb where a coyote occasionally explores the streets at night. This more intimate view of the Sonoran desert is a revealing one, and makes me more aware of what I don't see but know to be a part of its life. It takes time, but knowing the desert as a neighbor is much more rewarding than seeing it as a visitor.
Note: My first exposure to a desert landscape back in the 70s left me impressed with its drama and light. In time I've become aware of desert beauty as something more subtle and suggestive, as well being a lesson in survival. Last year we moved to a part of Phoenix close to an extensive mountain park, so we can be on desert ground within a fifteen minute walk. We also see some of the wildlife fly or saunter into our city suburb where a coyote occasionally explores the streets at night. This more intimate view of the Sonoran desert is a revealing one, and makes me more aware of what I don't see but know to be a part of its life. It takes time, but knowing the desert as a neighbor is much more rewarding than seeing it as a visitor.
Moonrise
There’s an ice blue light
that comes from beneath the desert
and rises through cholla
all the way to the point
on its every needle.
It flows
along a palo verde’s branches
when sparrows call their final
notes, and the earth dreams
coyotes to life.
Here they come,
sniffing darkness’ edge
as the moon breaks through
the clouds to illuminate
the tracks their ghost feet make,
and the sky
has a wide open mouth
that speaks the language
of the petroglyphs
inscribed on sacred rocks.
Night’s Other Country
We don’t see what happens
in the desert at night.
Something moves from underground;
a bobcat stalks it
and the stars make a crown
around a coyote’s head.
Rocks hold their breath
for months, waiting
for the flowers that open in spring.
And there are people
always looking
for a country, believing
they have found it
when the owl shakes his wings
silently loose
and flies to it without them.
Moonrise
There’s an ice blue light
that comes from beneath the desert
and rises through cholla
all the way to the point
on its every needle.
It flows
along a palo verde’s branches
when sparrows call their final
notes, and the earth dreams
coyotes to life.
Here they come,
sniffing darkness’ edge
as the moon breaks through
the clouds to illuminate
the tracks their ghost feet make,
and the sky
has a wide open mouth
that speaks the language
of the petroglyphs
inscribed on sacred rocks.
Night’s Other Country
We don’t see what happens
in the desert at night.
Something moves from underground;
a bobcat stalks it
and the stars make a crown
around a coyote’s head.
Rocks hold their breath
for months, waiting
for the flowers that open in spring.
And there are people
always looking
for a country, believing
they have found it
when the owl shakes his wings
silently loose
and flies to it without them.
©2018 David Chorlton
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