| January 2008 |
All work
copyright the
owner. No
reproduction
without
consent.
copyright the
owner. No
reproduction
without
consent.
POEMS
Poems by Saskatoon's Matt Hall.
The Birth Of Soil
Above the unsung fields
Into which the hawk rises
Claws empty
Observant of the boulders
Which report to the soil, saying
Son, your conditions are mine.
Hawk flies off sullenly
His shadow slowly fades
From amongst the tangled vertices
Soil cannot comprehend the regent sound of birds
Nor translate the scraping of branches
Soil fills its mouth with burning ashes.
In this darkening kingdom
Soil collects the bones
The shells and the arrowheads;
The relics of the day
Talked of
In the language of oxen
Soil is no one’s talisman.
It is soil binds the rock to the sky.
And the trees to the water
As his stories are evident
He cannot speak.
As a stillborn child cannot cry.
If Revealing Arctic Dreams
To survive the winter exposure
The wolf will often
Dig himself a hovel
In the belly of a snow drift
And allow the blowing snow
To cover him over
He is kept alive
By the warmth of his breath
Below a blizzard of stars
Under layers of snow
In an icy ellipse
He will dream
As the foetus of Man.
To Shoot A Doe
She moves lithely
As if aware
Of how the trees react
To her own
Quiet enchantment
She bows her patient head
A silent absence
In the deeper silence
Of wood.
She bows, unaware
That she has escaped
The threat
Of specific human sounds.
Then, slowly, she notices me,
And stares, under the obligations of skin.
The earth and the wild grasses
Receive her movements
And knowingly react.
A crust of earth rises,
She leaps up
Against the falling weight
Of leaves.
She moves in deft bounds
Over the furrows where she has slept
Over the fallen trees and fields of dying grasses.
Eyes open. Hooves desperate to spring.
A terrified instrument,
Moving over what wilderness.
It was her mate’s head I had sought
Burdened by the trophies of his years,
Sounding the ritual bellow of his kin.
Though there are no tracks,
Nor tufts of hair,
Nor the callous call
Of antlers rattling
By which to follow him.
Doubtless, he has escaped
To deeper entanglements of elms.
I traced the frantic pistons of her motion
Across the swaying meadow.
Now that my eye is trained unto her
My hands are fatal.
The crashing sound
Is a machine of panic.
The final animal breath
Is the first pound of new flesh.
There she lay,
Gentle, docile, serene.
Curled up in the first pose
Of everything human or inhuman
Silently leaking darkness
Over the entire day.
I should have felt guilt,
They said,
The proud guilt of a Man,
Who kills.
I felt nothing.
A beast dies.
Every act worships itself.
They judged it a failure,
My first allotment of death-
A failure.
Man must never kill an animal
Whose head is not worth
Mounting
Upon his wall.
More poetry in this issue:
Caribe Casanova
Crickets & Machetes
For Sale
I'll Miss You Strawberry Sun
Skies Stained in Arctic Blue
Back to main page
Poems by Saskatoon's Matt Hall.
The Birth Of Soil
Above the unsung fields
Into which the hawk rises
Claws empty
Observant of the boulders
Which report to the soil, saying
Son, your conditions are mine.
Hawk flies off sullenly
His shadow slowly fades
From amongst the tangled vertices
Soil cannot comprehend the regent sound of birds
Nor translate the scraping of branches
Soil fills its mouth with burning ashes.
In this darkening kingdom
Soil collects the bones
The shells and the arrowheads;
The relics of the day
Talked of
In the language of oxen
Soil is no one’s talisman.
It is soil binds the rock to the sky.
And the trees to the water
As his stories are evident
He cannot speak.
As a stillborn child cannot cry.
If Revealing Arctic Dreams
To survive the winter exposure
The wolf will often
Dig himself a hovel
In the belly of a snow drift
And allow the blowing snow
To cover him over
He is kept alive
By the warmth of his breath
Below a blizzard of stars
Under layers of snow
In an icy ellipse
He will dream
As the foetus of Man.
To Shoot A Doe
She moves lithely
As if aware
Of how the trees react
To her own
Quiet enchantment
She bows her patient head
A silent absence
In the deeper silence
Of wood.
She bows, unaware
That she has escaped
The threat
Of specific human sounds.
Then, slowly, she notices me,
And stares, under the obligations of skin.
The earth and the wild grasses
Receive her movements
And knowingly react.
A crust of earth rises,
She leaps up
Against the falling weight
Of leaves.
She moves in deft bounds
Over the furrows where she has slept
Over the fallen trees and fields of dying grasses.
Eyes open. Hooves desperate to spring.
A terrified instrument,
Moving over what wilderness.
It was her mate’s head I had sought
Burdened by the trophies of his years,
Sounding the ritual bellow of his kin.
Though there are no tracks,
Nor tufts of hair,
Nor the callous call
Of antlers rattling
By which to follow him.
Doubtless, he has escaped
To deeper entanglements of elms.
I traced the frantic pistons of her motion
Across the swaying meadow.
Now that my eye is trained unto her
My hands are fatal.
The crashing sound
Is a machine of panic.
The final animal breath
Is the first pound of new flesh.
There she lay,
Gentle, docile, serene.
Curled up in the first pose
Of everything human or inhuman
Silently leaking darkness
Over the entire day.
I should have felt guilt,
They said,
The proud guilt of a Man,
Who kills.
I felt nothing.
A beast dies.
Every act worships itself.
They judged it a failure,
My first allotment of death-
A failure.
Man must never kill an animal
Whose head is not worth
Mounting
Upon his wall.
More poetry in this issue:
Caribe Casanova
Crickets & Machetes
For Sale
I'll Miss You Strawberry Sun
Skies Stained in Arctic Blue
Back to main page
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our ultimate goal of paying all the artists
who contribute to the magazine, as well
as to improve the website and build the
infrastructure necessary to further unite
art and activism in the Calgary
community. If you like the magazine
and the values it stands for, please feel
welcome to contribute.
Equally important is to get the word out.
Advertising is expensive, and the best
advertising is by word of mouth. If you
like the magazine, or any content in
particular, please take a few moments
to share the link with your friends.
Feel free to join our Mailing list or our
Facebook group.