August Night
by Mike Schneider
Cicada vibrato, sexual
thrumming from trees
and grass — night
is a sizzling wire, high
voltage. A rocking-horse moon
peers out from blue cloud
to say Life is commotion.
It shakes and rattles its cage
like bottles in this garbage tub
I lug to the street. It roars
and wants out like words. Waste
is what you throw away
unused. And it comes over me
big and windy as the night
full of insects, clinking glass,
rusty screech of a jay —
as if the air woke from lethargy
of being air, sudden inscrutable
awareness, tongue
licking up to shape sound
in the mouth of an animal
born to die. I kick the curb,
lean down to pet my old dog
Sam, deaf and dying from cancer,
cells blooming in him untamed
as wind-whipped fire. He plays
his silly game, scratching
the door to get out,
scratching to come back in
because he wants me
to give him biscuits.
I give him as many as he wants.
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
This is a wonderful poem by Mike Schneider. It shakes and rattles and rolls interestingly down the page. What wonderful sounds erupt from this poem! We can all learn something from Mike about how to “work” sound effects in a poem. The last five lines are reminiscent of the sure turn of voice Stephen Dunn typically displays. Congratulations to the poet–and to Hunger Mountain for having the good sense to publish him.
A sonic feast from first line to last. Many thanks for the compelling pleasure of this poem.
Indeed, a return to summer through sound, leading down into the daily practice of kindness and then, inevitability. Wow!
Love it! So many interesting images and sounds going on in this poem. I was grabbed from the first two sentences…and was swept along for the ride.
sexual thrumming, rocking-horse moon, life is commotion — thanks to Michael Schneider for giving readers what they want…
I loved the life in the description of the sounds of an everyday chore in summer. I am jarred by the images of animals “born to die” and cancer cells “blooming” as “wind-whipped fire.” The concept of “untamed blooming” of cancer cells is disturbing and seductive, but I think that all of us animals live between birth and death, and so are not born only to die.
It seems to me that Sam is not playing a “silly game.” He is living with you—sharing his life with you. I’m glad you give him all the biscuits he wants.
this poem has had more lives than a cat- and with each new version I read it has become tighter and more Condensed- it goes off like gasoline on to a fire
Great sounds throughout. Looking forward to the thrumming. Wonder what the cicadas are doing under the snow. Sorry you are losing Sam.