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About Elkfrost
Since the dawn of agriculture scarecrows have been standing out in the fields. A scarecrow impaled and left out with the crop, the threads of his ancient garments sun bleached, wind torn. Eventually the wind carries these threads away, and threads can roam anywhere. Some become ensnared upon roots, upon rock. Some get woven into bird nests. Some are mud beaten back into the sweet earth. Some are blown for miles unknown. Blown to nothing.
My words, at best, are wind blown threads. Yet you just might find yourself light enough to catch a ride upon one of these threads. I cannot say what kind of ride it will be for I have completely lost control of the language.
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If these words of mine were clear you would be able to see right through them. And then what would you be looking at? I cannot say....only that the page is often white, the same as the flag of surrender.
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My dream is of a language that I have never witnessed, a language only of the present tense.
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I have come to prefer as few words as possible, just enough to wrap one’s thoughts or silences about. A poem should be strong in possibility. Childlike. Just born. Open in all directions.
The greater the implication the greater the poem. The reader holds more life than the poem.
A poem should welcome the reader, letting one feel at home. Respite from this harsh world and the path back to it.
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And this: that The Word is not to be confused with writing.
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Here are some writers I continue to revisit: Arthur Rimbaud, Rene Char, St. John Perse, Issa, Pauline Hanson, Lew Welch. GENESIS REJUVENATED, a thin volume of what feels like prose poetry, by Carlo Suares (translated from the French by Eduardo Roditi), is the most crucial, the most beautiful book that I have ever laid eyes upon. And then there’s the Sufis. And King David.
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I have nothing big to say about myself, not much of the world to put on parade.
Charlie Mehrhoff ©Charlie Mehrhoff. Artwork ©Yona Sammartino. |
