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    Similitude
    Similitude
    Similitude
    Ebook170 pages56 minutes

    Similitude

    By Grant Hier

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Similarity, relationship, and comparison thread this new collection by Anaheim Poet Laureate and Prize Americana-winning author, Grant Hier. From the tightly woven, stand-alone sonic knots of the opening poems, to the mirrored diptych full-poem pairings, on through to the final section of aphorisms and analogies, which are at once humorous and profound. The companion to Hier's previous collection, The Difference Between, is thoughtful, well-wrought poetry that simultaneously connects the unexpected and reveals to us places of resonance.
     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPelekinesis
    Release dateSep 26, 2018
    ISBN9781938349997
    Similitude

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      Book preview

      Similitude - Grant Hier

      Similitude

      poems by

      Grant Hier

      §

      pelekinesis_logo-8.png

      www.pelekinesis.com

      Similitude by Grant Hier

      ISBN: 978-1-938349-98-0

      eISBN: 978-1-938349-99-7

      Copyright © 2018 Grant Hier

      This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.

      Cover artwork: Grant Hier

      Layout and book design by Mark Givens and Grant Hier

      First Pelekinesis Printing 2018

      For information:

      Pelekinesis, 112 Harvard Ave #65, Claremont, CA 91711 USA

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

      Names: Hier, Grant, 1956- author.

      Title: Similitude / Grant Hier.

      Description: Claremont, CA : Pelekinesis, [2018] | Poems.

      Identifiers: LCCN 2018041517| ISBN 9781938349980 (paperback) | ISBN  

           9781938349997 (ePub)

      Classification: LCC PS3608.I329 S56 2018 | DDC 811/.6--dc23

      LC record available at  https://lccn.loc.gov/201804151

      pelekinesis_logo-8.png

      www.pelekinesis.com

      For all of my teachers.

      Ancient Greek ὥρα hṓra (time, hour) →

      horos (marking stones) →

      horizein divide →

      aphorizein (aphorism): apo (from) +

      horizein (to bound)

      Part I:

      From Dividing

      Single Cells

      The Story and Morning Grow Lighter

      Earth eases us

      to newness

      each dawn.

      Each duskfall as

      well, through this

      life drawn

      out breath by breath,

      light through us

      reborn.

      Threnody

      Again we see

      no gain: seaweed

      threads across

      tidelines, the same

      old story retold

      over the same

      sand—shorelines

      that have yet to be

      transcribed

      from the longhand

      scribble

      the moon leaves us.

      Navigation

      New lines drawn

      point by point

      (that point to new

      directions,

      implications,

      and assumptions)

      may save time

      or lead to more

      detours—or

      to red herrings.

      Best to re-check

      your bearings.

      Naturally

      The rhythms of the earth are hard to learn

      when one stays indoors

      for too long. Seasons slowly turn

      in sun or ice.

      Of course,

      it’s difficult to see the increments—

      as in the mirror

      your face grows slightly different

      each day. Nothing

      clearer.

      To Anaphase

      Across the Town

      Bell splashes awake.

      Waves pulse the sky to vibrate

      all flesh near, each leaf

      hung—the tone, transposed, hums now

      within, drives both sap and blood.

      Traffic floods the roads

      before work, at noon, at five.

      Cars take turns merging,

      regardless of each driver’s

      religion or politics.

      The waitress takes home

      the newspaper left behind

      in the booth. Kicks off

      her shoes that night. Feels the toll.

      Solves the puzzle. Curls her hair.

      Mourning doves rest like

      notes on the same power line

      the scavenger rat

      ran all last night. Lights change. We

      find a way to share this world.

      Along the Wild

      Creek splashes. Snake track

      waves pulse the sandy banks with

      fresh patterns. Each note

      sung here. Bones exposed from snow

      melt. The hives will hum here soon.

      Havoc of roadkills

      punctuate the blacktop. Life

      has no rehearsal.

      Cars reflect the drivers’ grief,

      collisions’ verses.

      We wait for the one

      who’s patient and kind, but in

      truth, we fight. We scoff

      at gentleness. Seek to find

      hardness within. Curse the weak.

      Worker bees protect

      the queen in winter, her fine

      piping. They cluster,

      flutter to keep her warm. We

      find a way to bear this world.

      Where Dreams Meet Reality

      The sky was such

      we could not tell

      at which point

      it touched the earth.

      Such confusion

      was a blessing—

      though it could have been a curse,

      we could not tell.

      Such confusion.

      We touched the earth,

      as which point

      the sky was such

      a blessing—

      though it could have been a curse.

      There Waking Lost the Lie

      The ground was not

      much reassurance,

      soft and banking underfoot.

      You could stay silent

      like the dew and frost.

      Glances out the window

      for what was lost by dream’s end,

      and by the time

      you would decide

      to rise, avoidance

      of light outside

      brought clarity—

      the curse of

      knowing how much sky.

      I avoided

      the morning.

      Later, the earth

      criticized by burning

      the answer through

      bare feet at noon.

      Late start, though it could have been worse.

      Morning Attendance

      A lecture hall packed: one thousand

      eyes. Jackets and hoodies a patchwork quilt

      when seen from the back. From the front

      it looks more like a rumpled pajama party.

      Yet each outfit was selected by each

      one there to adorn and protect.

      Across the campus, the teachers’ lounge

      is strewn with boxes, bags, and totes

      to carry and secure folders

      of paper: dried ink holding

      exhausted thoughts and old quotes,

      re-purposed. One jacket drapes a chair.

      The parking lot is strewn with trash:

      candy wrappers, pen caps,

      chip bags whose silver linings

      glint like broken glass, and broken

      glass. Inside of idling cars,

      late students waiting for spaces.

      On the freeway more cars stopped.

      Each one a box to impress, protect

      from rain and other dangers. Drivers

      sport the outfits they selected

      appropriate for their concerns:

      to impress, to protect, to warm, to adorn.

      Built atop the surrounding hills,

      houses

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