American Life in Poetry: Walking Through A Spider Web
Ted Kooser. Photo credit: UNL Publications and Photography. Often, for me, it’s a single image that really makes a poem, and in this poem by Jeff Worley, from his chapbook “Lucky Talk,” published by Broadstone Books, it’s “a man conducting an orchestra/ of bees.”
How often I’ve looked exactly like that, having blundered into a spider web!
Worley is the current poet laureate of Kentucky.
Walking Through A Spider Web
I believed only air stretched between the dogwood
and the barberry: another thoughtless human assumption
sidetracking the best story this furrow spider knew to spin.
And, trying to get the sticky filament off my face, I must look,
to the neighbors, like someone being attacked by his own nervous
system, a man conducting an orchestra of bees. Or maybe it’s only the dance
of human history I’m reenacting: caught in his own careless wreckage,
a man trying to extricate himself, afraid to open his eyes.
Ted Kooser. Photo credit: UNL Publications and Photography. Often, for me, it’s a single image that really makes a poem, and in this poem by Jeff Worley, from his chapbook “Lucky Talk,” published by Broadstone Books, it’s “a man conducting an orchestra/ of bees.”
How often I’ve looked exactly like that, having blundered into a spider web!
Worley is the current poet laureate of Kentucky.
Walking Through A Spider Web
I believed only air stretched between the dogwood
and the barberry: another thoughtless human assumption
sidetracking the best story this furrow spider knew to spin.
And, trying to get the sticky filament off my face, I must look,
to the neighbors, like someone being attacked by his own nervous
system, a man conducting an orchestra of bees. Or maybe it’s only the dance
of human history I’m reenacting: caught in his own careless wreckage,
a man trying to extricate himself, afraid to open his eyes.