Tuesday Poem: “at Fossil Gorge” by James Norcliffe
at Fossil Gorge
That time of the year when the leaves fall,
branches emerge in the rocks below:
brachiopods, coral from an ancient sea.
The leaves are brown, yellow, the fossils
are white as time, but the turkey
buzzards are black and do not fall.
Instead they hover like silent blowflies,
wait and dip as funerary fishhooks or
gently flapping scissors wrapped in black
crepe, festooning the sky with menace.
A scatter of iron filings but purposeful;
black fillings in the mouth of the sky.
There is something large, someone says,
something large and dead in the woods.
There should be a verb to harbinge for
they harbinge the worst that is to come,
or seem to, as the leaves fall, and yet they
hang like hinges and what so frightens me
it is that something in the woods and what
it was and is and what they will make of it.
(c) James Norcliffe
First published in the Iowa Review.
Reproduced here with permission.
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About the Poem: The Poet’s Note
“This poem was written in America during my time as a participant in the University of Iowa’s International Writing Programme in 2007. The programme director, the poet Christopher Merrill, arranged a number of trips and occasions for the 30 or so of us, writers from all around the world. One particular trip was to the gorge named in the poem, a gully really, not far from Iowa City. There was a reservoir adjacent and the sloping concrete wall was dotted with turkey buzzards sunning themselves, wings outstretched. They were a bizarre and sinister sight and even more sinister when they were in the air, where they hovered, as the poem describes. Carrion birds, they were quite shudder-inducing.
The other remarkable thing about fossil gorge was of course the fossils themselves. They were white and very clearly defined, and of course astonishing to find in the Midwest, just about as far from the ocean as it was possible to get in the USA.
Thus the poem plays about with colour contrast and time contrasts: the ancient past and the present; what has been, what is, and what is to come. I like the gothic impulse in the poem which tries to capture the turkey buzzards and the apprehension they induced.
It seemed appropriate to offer this poem to David Hamilton, editor of the Iowa Review, and the poem was published in the 2008, Fall Issue of that Journal.”
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About the Poet:
James Norcliffe has published a collection of short stories, titled The Chinese Interpreter, six collections of poetry, most recently Rat Tickling (Sudden Valley), Along Blueskin Road (CUP) and Villon in Millerton (AUP). His latest collection, Shadow Play, was a finalist in the 2011 Proverse International Writing Prize and will be published by Proverse in November this year. Also forthcoming this year is a book of selected poems, Packing a Bag for Mars (Clerestory Press), a collection for younger readers with writing prompts.
His poem The Death of Seneca featured in Best NZ Poems 2011.
He has also written several novels for young people including most recently the award winning The Loblolly Boy and its successor The Loblolly Boy and the Sorcerer and this year’s The Enchanted Flute (all Longacre/Random). James is currently the Children’s Writer in Residence at the College of Education, University of Otago.
James has had a long time involvement with Takahe magazine, edits the Redraft anthologies of poetry and writing by young people with Tessa Duder, and is poetry editor for the Christchurch Press. He has won a number of awards for both his poetry and his writing for young people. With Bernadette Hall he was presented with a Press Literary Liaisons Honour Award for lasting contribution to literature in the South Island, New Zealand.
James lives at Church Bay near Christchurch, spending what little spare time he has with his family, listening to music and creating a garden.
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Helen
Great choice. James taught me English .. MANY MANY years ago.. one of those characters who leaves ‘positive footprints’ on your memory.
Robin
Oh my, that is amazing that Jim taught you, but you’re right, he definitely leaves positive footprints–and also active ones still, particularly in the Christchurch poetry scene, but also nationally/internationally.
So many memorable lines here, James. Helen.
‘White as time’
‘iron filings. . . black fillings in the mouth of the sky’
. . . the electricity that sparks then settles into a conversation between the words ‘harbinge’, ‘hang’ and ‘hinge’. . .
Thank you.
Glad you enjoyed, Claire–& Jim tells me it will be in the forthcoming collection, so definitely something to look forward to.
Hi Helen!
I’ve BEEN to that Gorge.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jvstin/sets/72157627145048958/with/5915253260/
I wondered if you would have been there, given Iowa also your stamping ground.
Great poem. Thanks for posting, Helen.
Have you heard yet about the award that we were all voting for you to win?
I knew you would enjoy an offering from Jim, Andrew.
I believe the official event is at the end of this week. I will definitely let you all know if anything exciting happens, although it would be fair to say that I am not holding my breath.:)
Gently flapping gothic turkey buzzards…wonderful!
James definitely has a fine turn of phrase…:)
So many great images. I particularly like “gently flapping scissors wrapped in black/crepe, festooning the sky with menace”. Thanks Helen
Glad you enjoyed, Keith!
I love this! Such rich images that take me there. But I especially love the way we arrive at the open ending, so full of possibility — “what they will make of it”. This will linger this week…
Jim is a master and it shows… I am looking forward to his new collection coming out.