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Stardust

There were once less vibrant goddesses,
their white glowing forms cloaked
in dust and chunks of rock,
still warm from the kiln.

This was before the invention of hue,
before the creation of color,
when stone shrouds were all the rage
and ice clouds were a favorite accessory.

I was there, unformed and silent,
racing through voids,
watching as dancing turned nothing
into something,
great giants who each took in many
multitudes who will never know
what it is to be born
and reborn,
to be torn apart,
rebuilt,
to exist so briefly
and so infinitely.

Now the colors are vivid,
garish at times.
We are all part of one goddess or another,
limbs and organs,
clouds of debris clinging to their bodies.

Look at my feet;
I’m dancing.
Look at my feet;
I’m dancing.
Look at my feet;
I’m dancing.

Notes

Written 5 December 2019 & 27 January 2020 Payne County, Oklahoma

Brian Fuchs, “Stardust” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

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In a lot of ways, it feels like things are starting to make sense for me.  And it a lot of other ways, it feels like things are as chaotic as always.  Everyone seems just a little frustrated, but I’m not sure most of them can articulate why.  I know I can’t.

I finished Okie Dokie last month, and I have done a couple of edits to it since.  I hope I’m at a point where I can leave it alone now.  My copies come in the mail Saturday, and I’ll really know then.  I’m both excited and terrified to have my writing available for others.  That was always the goal, but I’m just so nervous about these things.  I hope others can appreciate my point of view and I’m looking forward to getting feedback, even if that feedback is negative.  Constructive criticism is always welcome.  I actually just assume that if someone doesn’t like something I’ve written, then that is just a preference they have and does not reflect on my writing in any real way.  If the consensus is negative, then I’m just writing the wrong things for current audiences.  I will have to wait and see.  The really difficult thing will be critiques by those I admire or grammatical errors pointed out by those I don’t.

I’ve started working on my next book, which will be similar to Okie Dokie in that it will contain selections of poetry from the past twenty years, as well as a few new poems to pull the book together.  I’ll have one or two more like that before relegating unpublished poetry to a “remnants” book of some sort in the future.  I have some things I’ve written that I really love, but I’m not sure how to make them work in any of these projects.  I do want a story to emerge from the collection, even if only loosely.  Okie Dokie was about myself and about how I see the world around me.  The second book will be about family and the places from which they came.  The third book is about friendship and love.  If I need fourth or fifth, I’ll do another about myself and then a last one about family, as those are the two subjects I’ve written the most about.  I’m also not limiting my writing.  I have other things I want to write and those things will fall into the projects that make the most sense for them.

For October, I’m enjoying some spooky stories and songs throughout the month, and I am of course bothering family with those things.  I miss sharing things with people.  I find everyone becoming increasingly isolated, and not just in my own family.  I’ll post some of those things on here during the month.

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It’s finally out.  And I can finally get some sleep!  Here are the links to my book on Amazon.  I think it looks so much better in paperback, but there is a Kindle version available.

Amazon Paperback

Amazon Kindle

If you don’t already know what’s up, here’s a little backstory.  I’ve been writing since I was a child.  My first poem that I remember was written in October 1988 when I was 9 years old.  When I was 12, my teacher accused me of plagiarism because she didn’t think a child could write.  I don’t say that to congratulate myself at all.  I’m not even sure if that was worth all the aggravation.  It has been lost to time.  It was titled Paige and it was about the life of a woman who never finds happiness.  But I imagine the actual poem would seem completely juvenile now.

I started writing in earnest in college and since 1997 I have written consistently.  While I veer off into other projects, like short stories or novels, I find poetry that I always return to poetry and enjoy writing it.  Over the years, I’ve developed my own style.  That is a good thing.  The problem is that I also haven’t had serious critique of my work since I graduated from college, so I don’t actually know how my work is seen by others.  I’m amazed that I’ve managed to spend the better part of 20 years unwilling to share my work for fear of rejection.  And I really should have managed that sooner!

When I lost Mom last year, the first thing I did was crawled into a metaphorical hole for 9 months.  I wanted to disappear because I didn’t understand how one can live without his mama, and I’m not too proud to say it.  It also brought a few things into focus.  One of those things was letting go of the expectations and opinions of others.  Now, I mean of me as a person, not my work.  That is a lesson that has been taught to me my entire life, but sometimes things need to cook for a while.

So, now I’ve got a book.  I worked diligently over the summer to get it done.  My garden is sad and neglected, my roommate is sad and neglected, and my family… well, they are too busy to have noticed, but if they had I imagine they would feel sad and neglected.  For this first collection of poems (because I don’t want it to be the last!), I wanted to focus on a few things: 1. Poems with very specific references to people.  It’s not that I won’t write that way in the future, but I wanted to give people the words I had written for them before getting into other subjects.  2. Epitaphs.  I’ve lost a lot of people and I often have things to say about that.  I’d like to get through a lot of those I’ve had lying around, but there are many more.  3. My very favorite poems I’ve written… that aren’t too scandalous.  I get it, family will buy this first book. They will even hang on for a second, but by the third they won’t be too fussed about it.  So, I have actually created a plan where my third book is where I completely let my hair down.  That does mean I have to do at least 2 more books, but it also sounds like I’m censoring myself.  In a way I am, but I’m not completely either.  I want my prudish great aunt to be able to have something she will never read, but that won’t make her blush too much if she decides to open it up.

Last thing I will say about it, I decided to make notes on each poem.  Rather than include them in the actual printed book, they can be found here… in the writing tab, or at this link.Continue Reading

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1975

I’m sizing him up and putting him
in the him-shaped space left
so long before I was born.
I didn’t call him anything,
but sometimes he is everything
and there are nights when I sit alone
with the stars and wonder
if I make him proud.

21 September 2019

Notes

Written 21 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “1975” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)Continue Reading

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Quentin Clingerman Has Died

The winds are picking up
blowing trash into my yard
and announcing a storm that will
fall apart before it arrives.
The worn out flags and crosses
still look as majestic as they did,
but I’m opening by insides
and filling my pages with secrets.
I’m waiting for critiques
by entrenched folks who think
too much about the sex lives
of other people, of my sex life.
I want to reveal myself again,
try to make people see my words
and my techniques and stop worrying
about who I’ve kissed or
who I haven’t, but wanted to.
I want to edit volumes of poetry
about God and America and guns,
poems filled with the lies we tell ourselves
and enjoy them because the author
knew how to write the words beautifully.
I don’t want to read the judgement.
It starts to rain and I’m surprised;
I thought the rain would miss us.

Notes

Written 21 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Quentin Clingerman Has Died” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)Continue Reading

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Triticum aestivum

for Brent

Soon enough we’ll be old and nostalgic.
You’ll talk about the prices of wheat and corn
like you grew up on a farm
instead of being a spectator at the rodeo.
I won’t understand the language of agriculture,
but I won’t care because you’ll remind me of mom.

Notes

Written 20 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma

Brian Fuchs, “Triticum aestivum” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

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Gleditsia triacanthos

for a friend

You were beautiful once, and maybe you still are.
I rarely revisit those moments when we became adults
on Sunday mornings, skipping church for each other.
I don’t think about the length of your neck
and I don’t dwell on the smell of you skin.
I’ve turned you upside down, exposed the roots
and tried to understand how they worked,
rubbing the soil into the grooves of my skin.
I don’t want to return to your kindness or cruelty,
and I don’t want to put you back how I found you;
Your branches are thorny and I’d end up hurt again.
So, I’ll repaint the photos I have of you in new colors
and we can pretend that there were no feelings.
And I’ll send you copies of the new versions
and you can pretend that you don’t remember.

Notes

Written 18 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Gleditsia triacanthos” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)