i’ve admired lots of poems in foxglove journal over the last year or so, and so i was duly honored to hear that they’d accepted a poem of mine.
“bogquilt” is a quick read, my attempt at a meeting between seamus heaney’s historico-cultural attentiveness to bogs and lorine niedecker’s dense and playful gaze. it was made in snatches on our way to sapa spruce bog (which long-time readers may recall from sna poems” #25).
thanks to foxglove and to you for stopping by.
the milwaukee riverwalk goes from the former site of the north ave dam thru downtown and all the way out to where the river meets lake michigan. up by my area near the dam, just east of humboldt ave. bridge the fancy walk ends and it turns into a rougher path, which i happen to like a lot.
i had a bad headache a couple days ago that floored me for the morning, but in the afternoon i staggered out to clear the humors with a brisk walk in a cold, blustery, rainy milwaukee. headed down to my favorite spot between a couple white spruces right on the water to sit and watch the river flow past and on to the lake. some flowers were still putting their hearts into it, lichen and moss as well.
special thanks to the wisconsin dnr for helping me identify the white spruces!
a.
the sparrows’ color
wing perfect
flash from forb to forb
b.
a tattered oak leaf
floats downstream
rain, splash, & river
c.
spruces looking down:
mud anchors
mottled fin and spine
no basura.
donges bay gorge is a steep ravine that cuts thru an undulating bluff on its way down to lake michigan. this was part of a wealthy landowner’s swath of property but was purchased by the ozaukee washington land trust and, very thankfully, opened up to the public.
lots of spring ephemerals here during the early spring, but mostly going to sleep for the winter now. tho’ we met some delightful fungus, moss, and bark still doing their things. the lake could be heard whispering below and the low-angle sun cut faintly thru the trunks of white pine, maple, red oak, aspen, birch, and linden.
we were trying to get to a different preserve north of here, but it was closed for deer hunting. then we remembered donges bay gorge and how great it was, so we visited again. i think it deserves two slots in the supplementum series. why not?
a.
light snug on the gorge
drowsing forbs
invite us along
b.
water clutching rock
and resting:
a small frozen fall
c.
the mushrooms know well
it’s their time
below the white pines
anyhow, if you made it this far, i’m thinking this is what it looks like when moss smiles:
a.
november breezes
over grass
lichen clutching bark
b.
dark water tracks
labyrinthing
ericaceous growth
c.
golden plume of larch
and bird song
near grandfather bones
d.
flark growth
dark mirror
earth eye
if you made it this far: i was really taken back by the texture and color contrast b/t the berries and dolostone here. wisconsin fall.
gibraltar rock is a flat-topped butte made of platteville-galena dolomite and st. peter sandstone. it’s an isolated part of the magnesian escarpment, one of three north-south running escarpments in wisconsin. sandy soil, a prairie on the way up, red oaks and lindens, red cedars up at the top. beautiful dolomite, scalloped and lichenized abounding.
just a perfect upper-midwest fall day for encountering this butte and its many inhabitants. dreamy in the most active and vibrant way.
a.
the salidago
sun bathing
on magnesian flat
b.
baby cedar boughs
under cloud
making plateau way
c.
gnarling bark above
the abyss—
life on the cliff-face
d.
gentle cedar curves
nestling
the magnesium
if you made it this far: i noticed this desiccated forb with just an arresting form on the way up but didn’t have the camera. made a note to catch an image on the way back down and found it no problem b/c it stood out so much. don’t even know what it is, and don’t really care. it was a revelation.
also, this little pinecone was sitting on the edge of the cliff, just a perfect, understated still life. no staging required.
it’s strange to me that i haven’t yet visited this site for the series. atlas pit (it was re-named ‘kiwanis pond’ but i can’t bring myself to call it that from long and early association) is a former gravel quarry a couple blocks from where i grew up in janesville, wi (rock county).
the old story goes that atlas sand & gravel dug until they hit a spring and then it filled in. i haven’t been able to fact-check that to my satisfaction, but the pieces of confirmation i’ve found have lined up with the general story. sounds like it filled up in the ’50s.
my childhood neighborhood was at the top of the quarry, and the pit was down the hill in a green corridor near a large wooded park, another pond, and a golf course. i learned in my research on wisconsin natural history during the pandemic that my hometown sits atop one of the outwash fans of the last glaciation, and my neighborhood above the rock river is at the edge of the fan. so it actually makes very good sense that there’d be a gravel quarry here, and there are other quarries in the area.
we used to come down here to play frequently, and back then it felt like a forest, a real wild place. it’s not quite so expansive now as an adult, but there are still pockets that feel more remote than it really is. when i visited the wind was blowing on a cloudy morning, and it smelled of childhood and good life.
first id of common cocklebur!
a.
here goldenrod bends
in the breeze
and i never knew
b.
this the native air
where we found
fraternal snappers
c.
glassy algal pond
quarry-wrought:
so good to see you
oliver prairie is a remnant prairie perched on a hill made of dolostone, which is why it’s a remnant—no farming here! for its small size it has a large number of plant species, and is ringed round by trees, which gives being on the hill a strange, you’re-the-only-one-on-earth kind of feel. the sna has some narrow lanes coming off the main parcel, which were a treat to walk down as well with the junipers and the spider-web-bedazzled knapweed.
the fog was lifting by this time, and this was the last sna in green county i had to visit. another county accounted for. (photo credits on a couple of these go to my wife.)
a.
juniper sodden,
spider silk
in the morning light
b.
autumnal milkweed
and goat’s beard
dusting the blufftop
c.
still crickets chirping
their matins
on dolostone ledge
if you made it this far… here’s the entry to a largish den (maybe a badger’s by the size of it? i didn’t get close enough to get a real good shot…); a finely grass-framed slab of dolostone; and a deer who was very surprised to find us there on her lane.
abraham’s woods is a remnant old growth southern mesic forest dominated by maple, linden, and red oak. the understory is fairly sparse due to the peak canopy, which allows for some spectacular attention to the sandstone outcroppings, moss, and fungi of this wood at this time of year. the sandstone is actually a slanting ridge that creates an eastward-facing amphitheater, with heavy fern growth down in the hollow. a great blue heron rookery inhabits the site, but they’ve gone for the year.
it was tremendously foggy the day we visited in the early morning, and the trees dripped rain in the quiet. this was a spectacular visit and i hope to get back next year.
thanks to the uw arboretum for maintaining the site and for permitting me to visit.
a.
in from the fogscape,
staggered pulse
pelts the leaf litter
b.
bark in the hollow,
early sun:
the mist making haze
c.
loose slabs of sandstone
supporting
the guttating frill
d.
stone
into sand
moss-work
if you made it this far, here are some miscellaneous things: a photo of one of the tree tags i’m very fond of, some serious fuzzy mold on scat, and the largest snag i’ve ever stood under:
kaszube’s is a pocket park (.15 acres) in milwaukee’s frightfully industrial harbor district. revitalization efforts are underway in different areas, but the concrete and salt and machinery encircle the body and loom over the mind, even as the ingenuity involved does inspire a reluctant awe at our sheer ability to make.
spots here and there are delightful respites though. kaszube’s park being one, it’s a memorial park that calls back to public memory the jones island fishing community (here’s the obligatory mention of the fact that it’s actually on a peninsula now). the kashubian population that inhabited the island in a fishing village came from pomerania and were finally forced out between the 1920-40s for greater industrial exploitation of jones island. today it’s a site of salt processing and storage, waste treatment, and lots of concrete and metal.
the park is built on the site of one of the last residents’ home and tavern, capt. felix struck’s harbor inn. amid all the industrial blight, a few trees (the larger a willow, i think), grass, and a few ornamentals survive here. a small berm just across from the park has longer grass and a small but sturdy representation of the area’s most common city wildflowers. hanging on.
we stopped by on a meander thru the harbor district trying to locate a pile driver.
a.
fisherman shadows
circumscribed
by a sea of salt
b.
the harbor open
to the lake,
willow leaves hanging
if you made it this far: here’s the pile driver we were looking for, so my wife could take a picture of this project’s progress for my father-in-law.
dappled things has just released their new issue, in which i have one original poem and three translations of old english galdru. while i do encourage any and all to buy a copy, thankfully, they’ve made mine accessible on the issue’s webpage as well. you can read the original here and the translations here.
this is a particularly satisfying publication for me because 1) the poem is about my extended family and our time together in different areas i have great fondness for, 2) the translations are of galdru (“charms”) which i think are some of the most interesting material remnants of early medieval culture, and 3) dappled things was where my first ever poem, a triolet about st. levan’s in cornwall, appeared almost a decade ago now. thanks, dappled things!
here’s that triolet, in case you have an interest:
st. levan’s well
we walked along a forest path
and drank from selevan’s well.
for a moment, we lived the past;
we walked along a forest path.
and tho’ we knew it wouldn’t last
as the spring flowed to the wind-swept swell,
we walked along a forest path
and drank from selevan’s well.
Jacob Riyeff 