I haven't the foggiest idea of what I was watching on the TV that July evening ... just sitting, vegetating in front of the tube, when ... suddenly ... I was alone with my thoughts.
What a jolt that was.
I thought at first a fuse had blown ... but I fumbled down the stairs, looked up and down the street ... and arrived at a slightly different verdict: We had a bigger problem.
This is definitely a summer poem ... about a summer problem ... but it came to mind when I got home after an enjoyable evening of listening to an author describe her adventures with first, second and third novels ...
I opened an e-mail from a friend and fellow-writer in Kansas ... who was expecting to lose power at any moment.
"Over 30,000 already without lights here in this area," she said. "I doubt that I will be online much longer. Don't worry ... we'll be fine ... just have to ride it out!"
Her rather frightening situation brought to mind "Let There Be Light," though there is little similarity between her situation and the relatively minor inconvenience that I was experiencing on that steamy summer night.
When I looked up my poem, I noticed that the original version had ended: "powerless again/ in the hands/ of the trusted/ utility company."
Given the benefit of the perspective provided by time, I think I may have been taking an unfair swipe at the utility company then. What do you think ... original ending ... or a modified version?
Of course, the question is relatively moot, once the poem has been "abandoned" to a publisher ... but I was just wondering ...
The poem:
LET THERE BE LIGHT
In the hottest part
of summer,
in the darkest part
of night,
our reverie is torn asunder
as the picture we are watching
is swallowed by the tube,
accompanied
by a wheeze
that dies with a sigh deep
inside the air-conditioner,
and here we sit,
powerless again
in the hands
of the trusted
utility company.
© 1997
(originally published in Parnassus Literary Journal)
***
Today's word:
powerless
3 comments:
I remember up in Maine when the power went out it was kind of fun, because so many people had only fireplaces or woodstoves for heat anyway, we'd all gather at someone's house and make stew over the fire and listen to the storms. Of course, no hot water wasn't too fun, but those were some of the best nights.
I wanted to come back and thank you for keeping this journal going the last several years. With all the crazy news on the tv and in the papers, it is nice to know one can always step in here, like a little poetry oasis in the desert :)
I kinda like the little sardonic twist of the original ending.
Marti
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