Oberlin College Press

FIELD #89 (Fall 2013)

Contents

Gerald Stern: A Symposium
Philip Levine		The City of Gerald
John Gallaher		On "Lucky Life"
Sarah Green		Board Across the Channel
Bob Hicok		On "Waving Good-Bye"
Wayne Miller		Gerald Stern: Sing!
Joan Larkin		An American Sonnet
Ross Gay		Animal Lessons
Michael Waters		Gerald Stern's "Gorgeous Retrieval"
*****
David Hernandez		Dear Death Mayfly
Sandra McPherson		Loose Flowers
Janice N. Harrington		1939
Sonja James		Cradle & Buggy Recession
Philip Metres		from Hung Lyres from Hung Lyres
Emmanuel Moses translated by Marilyn Hacker		"I didn't intend to write..." "Childhood is there..."
Hugh Martin		Frisking Two Men in Sadiyah The Leg
Leah Falk		Chatterbot #1
Maggie MK Hess		Role Play
Steven Cramer		An Invitation En Route
Jennifer Atkinson		On Earth As It Is Interior 1963
Mary Cisper		Threshold
Dennis Schmitz		Boundaries We Don't See Animism
Amit Majmudar		Ode to a Drone Welcome Home Troops!
Ben Purkert		Little Anatomy Girlfriend Sends Me a Whale
D. Nurkse		Release from Stella Maris
Christina Pugh		Last
David Baker		Our Ivy Corner Window
Sarah Estes		Charity
Cynthia Cruz		Forgotten Glosses The Abandoned Letter
Marianne Boruch		Rom, Du Bist eine Welt Portrait
Rebecca Hoogs		Dollhouse Red Mum
Elizabeth Breese		Mother Ann, Mother
Catherine Bull		Spider Plant Boulevard
Lee Upton		Pandora Salome's Dance
Shelley Puhak		Guinevere and Lancelot's Last Meeting, Along the Path to Arthur's Grave Guinevere Gets Religion
Bob Hicok		Why We Must Support PBS Inside

ROLE PLAY

Let's be lesser known suns.
You love me up close and I'll love you
from over here. We'll be ok if our legs

are strong against the horse. Oh, quick,
quick, he's getting away. Let's rub
our noses until we smell of home.

I'll be fragment of a female,
you be fallen man.
Play me like an oboe and I'll you,

we'll see who can get the loudest
honk of grief to pass through.
After that, let's pretend we're mature

men who travel first class
with pockets of cash
until we forget we're scared

and alone. You be a god
who could drive through traffic
all night long. I could love a god

like that. You do that
and I'll get lost in thought,
like a philosopher, I'll wear a hat.

Show me your heroic nudity.
The head is meant to resemble
the head, after all. The experts say,

something is going on that we don't understand.
They shake their tags like dogs.
We're dogs. Play rough with me.

--Maggie MK Hess

DOLLHOUSE

Our lady of the loudspeaker,
our lady of the scaffolding,
and of ever-present concussion,
our lady of the close-talker,
our lady of the babies, I have seen
your ultrasounds. If I put this coin in you
what will come of it? A little light
for a dark womb? A little tomb
for an oversight? Our lady
of the happiness,
of the neckbrace of happiness,
our lady of the fuse executed,
I planted wild strawberries
as if that were even possible.
Clouds elaborated on the sky.
Our lady of the upscale bondsman
gets in the pool. Later we will meet
at the fire pit, share a bottle of wine.
O our lady of the lady, I felt like a dollhouse
with one half opened to the world
and you arranging my tiny furniture,
my tiny nuclear family secret.

--Rebecca Hoogs

SALOME'S DANCE

She was a rabbity teenager punked out in
polka dots, her feet nicking the air.
This baby in her sword dance, this blotted peeler,
this little-bitty trotter with a blind spot.
She pared down into slots.
She judged how far to go to make sure
the bird got shot. She danced

like shower curtains,
like a swizzle stick, savannah wrapped,
twirling her seven pajamas.
That platter needs a head, she said,
take it all off.
Who wouldn't follow the twists of her silly tickler pack?
Her beads clicked like a respirator.

She draped the ribbon-cutting ceremony
for psychopaths.
Her feet were pattering clams and her arms
snakes in a birdcage, wind scalping a rooftop.
Through it all, how innocent her face was.
A face:
that catch basin.

--Lee Upton