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day16 This morning I could open the door of the van before dawn and watch the last stars. By 11 AM my jeans were too hot and I changed to shorts for the first time since I left. I have been running from the last poem as if pursued by hell’s demons. I want to write the Everglades and it terrifies me. It has to be the sawgrass...and the hammocks, the animals and birds, the cypress swamp, the pines, the rock. then the Tamiami Trail and the walking dredge...but it has to come back to the grass. I got down one stanza. I decided to stay another night. I realized that the slash pine forest has no shade. I’ll go back up the road to Royal Palm and walk the trail I missed, then sit in shade and hammer out another few lines. They do get easier, once started. Pentameter moves with the dignity of the grassy river. |
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day 17 I spent over an hour watching the day begin from the open door of the van. Blanketed and bug-sprayed, I watched and listened to the birds, while the day still belonged to them. Eye-squinting light, an utterly unsullied sky. At nine the birds continue, competing now with the guy in the nearby campsite who just has to run a generator all day. Whatever can he need all that power for? I’ll bet he just finds the sound comforting. I was going to head back today, but the thought struck of going to the lodge at Flamingo. I’d have power to run the computer, plus a hot shower. I could even have a restaurant meal. Altogether, it will add maybe another $150, but at this point, what the hell? I’m afraid of trying to finish this poem at home. I’m afraid it will go all stiff on me, if it isn’t already. Finishing at least one draft, to go with the other four pieces, would make a real gift to myself to bring home. day 17-2 Yes! Before dinner I had it: a trilogy, in pentameter, each part ending with a slant-rhyme. Only 2 loopy places that need fixing. Perhaps it’s not Bishop’s Florida but it’s what I meant to say, the best way I can. The dinner was very nice, thank you. I got most of the rest of the diary copied afterward. The clean sheets are inviting. My dog prefers a proper bed. |
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Everglades poems
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