Tag: chicago poetry

  • A Poem For Chicago.

    Aerial view of Chicago, close to the lake.
    Aerial view of Chicago, close to the lake.

    At Heather’s house, I’ve been reading from a Dorothy Parker anthology and a book of Emily Dickinson poems. I don’t have much time before we have to leave for the second day of the Quilty shoot (which is going well) but I made a poem in the time I had.

    Being in Chicago is hard. I miss this place very much. New York is not taking, I’m afraid. More on that later. For now, a poem about the day I left.

    June 1st, 2014
    by Mary Fons

    We sped down Lakeshore Drive that day —
    The train giving way to a taxi drive —
    Me and my luggage were whisked away,
    Around a quarter to five.

    Through grimy windows my eyes did see
    Steel and glass buildings standing so sure;
    Chicago’s a hard and imposing city,
    But its heart is pure.

    What have I done to my favoritest lover;
    Leaving like this, my purse grabbed in haste;
    Off to new visions and a new city’s cover,
    What a waste.

    For mercy and grace, I shall grovel and beg,
    Come June, when weather is fair;
    Chicago, lash at at the back of my leg
    It proves you care.

  • “Nightingales (Chicago)”

    Nightingale & Rose I, etching, 20 cm x 22 cm, [8 cm x 8 cm], Edition of 50.
    Nightingale & Rose I, etching, 20 cm x 22 cm, [8 cm x 8 cm], Edition of 50.
    It’s been some time since I had a new poem to share. It’s a lucky thing, starting a new year with a poem I’m happy with. I hope you enjoy it.

    Nightingales (Chicago)
    by Mary Fons
    (c) 2014

    Say “cоловей поют в городе именно для тебя.”
    Say it again/say “cоловей поют в городе именно для тебя.”
    Say “городе”
    Say “именно”
    Say “nightingale”

    This is not god’s country/it is ours/code summons and watermarks/pills and the bus/the hustle and run till two crashes under a nightlight light/our city is this country/and the books could all burn/and the rock stars claim that they were here first/but the nightingales are singing in the city just for you/and I know those birds/and I sing, too/this is not god’s country/there is no jungle in the Bible.

    We shall remain nameless.

    And I swear by my palms my сердце is dear for I did sweat and loot to be here/for this era to the swamp I stole to steal my brain back/filthy as it was/so that I could rest in the cloud with you and our palms might kiss as holy palmers do/if time is money and money is you/you are time, too/go slowly if you have to hie/stay in bed awhile; thou need’st not be gone.

    You’re my trade/perfect спальное место/and you have gotten in.

    Trilling, trilling/the birds go up/killing, killing/the boys blow up
    Fix my wing/Nolandia king
    There’s treasure in this city.