DESCENT -- Kathryn Stripling Byer

The latest collection of poems from North Carolina's past Poet Laureate Kathryn Stripling Byer is a delight to savor.  Rather than go on at length about the luminosity and emotional impact of her verse, not to mention its sly wit, I'm going to give you a sample (with Kay's kind permission.) 

These two excerpts hint at the struggle some of us Southerners of a certain age still have in coming to terms with our beautiful/terrible/flawed heritage.

from Gone Again

. . . 

after sixty-two years, Scarlett makes me feel

tired -- all those hours I wasted, enraptured

by someone whose skin was sheer

celluloid, whose voice, when the reel came

loose, gibbered like mine when I tried

to pretend I lived just down the road

from that movie set, cotton fields painted

on canvas, the loyal slaves hoisting

up sacks full of nothing

but chaff for the wind, that old

Hollywood hack, to keep blowing away.

from Shadow Sister

. . .

Sometimes I still want what you want,

The keys to a red-hot convertible,

top down, and who the hell cares

if a hard rain comes,

we're headed north, east,

west, we are out of here, girl.

. . . 

I had the devil of a time deciding which complete poem to share here, but this one is just perfect for mid-May.

Big Tease

Little by little, the earth sheds

 her veils. Lets her white blossoms 

tremble. The river shakes out her blue

shimmy and scrubs it to smithereens

over the singing rocks, leaving her

sunny side up, such a tease

that I sway to her music

as if I am Salome's sister,

and not an old woman who knows

that the inkblot of sky on this page

of my daybook will soon begin fading,

because how can anyone, even Great

Grandaddy Death stay asleep

amid so much awakening?

 If you want more, look for Descent HERE.

(I think that the lovely picture of KSB was taken by her daughter.)

meti