Scott Edward Anderson's Poetry Blog

Here is my poem for Day 16:

I never met your father,

But I feel his presence

In your life, on this day

Every year since we met

At Poets House, the tenth

Anniversary of his passing.

We sat by the river,

Two good friends watching

Our kids chase each other

In the playground.

Moments of silence,

Never awkward;

A few laughs.

I don’t know what you

Were thinking then,

Except I know it meant

A lot that I wanted to be

With you on that day,

To help you through it

With poetry and laughter,

The distraction of kids

Playing and eating lunch.

A man who cared

And understood what

This day means to you.

Who cared enough

To seize the day

And pay attention

To the meaning

Of your heart.

–Scott Edward Anderson

Here is my poem for Day 15:

We are better together.

But you knew that,

Didn’t you?

Why do the miles

Seem so much longer,

The days much darker,

When we’re apart?

Nights, too, especially

The nights–interminable.

Turning both of us, strong,

Independent in so many ways,

Into lost souls who just want

To get back to our source.

Silly, really; it was just four days.

But it seemed ceaseless

And without end, until

I held you in my arms again.

Like an addict, I need

–no I crave–your touch,

your voice, the way

Your eyes connect with mine.

I need your physical presence

Next to me, around me,

Even if just out of reach

Across the apartment,

Like I’ve never needed anyone.

Absurd, I know, but if I’ve

“Got to have one vice,” as

My grandmother used to say,

I’m glad it is you. So very glad it’s you.

–Scott Edward Anderson

Here is my poem for Day 14:

No Aurora in this night sky,

I go bed in the wee hours.

Listen to the sound of cars

Fast on Lincoln Drive below,

Almost a river sound,

If not for the roughness

Of the asphalt.

What chance has anyone

Got, with demons like those

In their rear view?

 –Scott Edward Anderson

Here is my poem for Day 13, written at 1:30 AM, proving I’m not always happy:

1:30 AM. Can’t sleep.

I don’t like when we fight,

Especially via text, and

Especially about being apart,

Which neither of us enjoys.

I distract myself with old movies

On TCM, and try to forget

There’s still two days to go.

Even Selznick’s “Since You

Went Away,” can’t take me away.

With its sentiment and sorrow,

And the hint of a sappy ending.

Jennifer Jones, whose affair

With Selznick led to husband

Robert Walker’s breakdown,

Playing a teen (at 25), having

To pretend she’s in love

With her ex-husband, not

Her director. (Ah, back story!)

Joseph Cotten’s Virginia

Gentleman not sinister at all,

Showing his range as well as

Limitations. My limitations

Stare me in the face

From the screen —

And from this empty bottle.

While you steam and fume

And try to sleep,

100 miles north.

–Scott Edward Anderson

My son Jasper “goofing” at Disney World.

Here is my poem for Day 12 of National Poetry Month:

Today, my oldest son is,

Somehow, 17. I don’t feel

Old enough to have a son

That age. It’s a cliché, I know,

So I won’t even say it.

Suffice it to say,

I remember

My first talk with him:

Holding him in my arms

In a rocking chair

In Alaska Regional,

The Chugach Mountains

Out the hospital window.

I kissed his forehead,

Looked straight into

His face, and whispered,

“No matter what happens,

I will always love you,

And you will always know it.”

–Scott Edward Anderson

Here is my poem, er, my poems for Day 11:

Hard night rain.

Morning departure:

Soaked sleeves.

.

My love exits the train,

Making her connection

–Shapely legs.

.

Magnolia blossoms

Soaking my sleeves,

Wet with longing.

.

Four days too long.

But then–

What time is enough?

.

CONTEXT: I first became interested and engaged in Japanese poetry in the early to mid-1980s, through Gary Snyder and Kenneth Rexroth. I was drawn specifically to the Man’yōshū (Ten Thousand Leaves anthology) poets.

I liked that the Man’yōshū poets were less well-known than the great Haiku poets — Basho, Busan, and Issa — and their forms and styles were more varied, including long poems (chōka), short poems (tanka), and even tan-renga (short connecting poems).

The phrase  “soaked sleeves” or “soaking sleeves,” was used to represent tears shed for an absent lover — whether lost or just far from one’s side. It could also connote longing for place or countryside.

I first used the phrase and a loose tanka form in my “Glimmerglass Poems,” which were written during the summer of 1985 in Cooperstown, NY. You can read them HERE as they appeared in the journal Terrain.

I use it here to draw a parallel between the rain of last night’s storm and my sadness at having to be away from Samantha for the next four days.

–Scott Edward Anderson

Herewith my Day 10 poem:

I awake at 4:30 AM

To the sound of a bird

I can’t identify by song.

He teases me from inside

The magnolia just off our deck.

In the predawn light,

I can’t spot him among the buds.

I think of Issa:

“Singing since morning

Skylark, your throat

Is parched.”

Climbing back into bed,

I see you sleeping.

So beautiful in the early light.

My happiness is anything

But average.

–Scott Edward Anderson

Here is my poem for Day 9:

I worry that my happiness

Will get in the way of my poetry.

Whoever heard of a happy poet?

We’re all supposed to be manic

Depressives or alcoholics.

We have to suffer for our Art

Or it ain’t “Art” — right?

I worry, too, that I’m boring

My readers with all these love

Poems or that it seems

Over-the-top, that no one

Will believe a man can be

THAT much in love,

When these are among

The most honest poems

I’ve ever written. And,

Yes, I AM that much in love.

Worry, too, I can’t sustain

Such joy and I’m setting myself

Up for a big fall. I worry…

Nah, I’ve given up worrying.

Happiness is my choice,

And I’m happy with it.

 –Scott Edward Anderson

Here is my poem for Day 8 of National Poetry Month:

“So this is what it’s like without kids,”

Your son observes when he stops by

To pick up his computer on his way

Back to his dad’s crosstown apartment.

Adult music, a gourmet dinner eaten,

Poached pears in pomegranate juice.

Romance in the air.

Yeah, this is what it’s like without our kids.

We revel in these moments,

Alone together.

But these are only a part of our flowering.

Those nights more frenetic, with your kids

Or mine…or the whole six-pack together

In full flourish, are no less remarkable.

Extraordinary, actually.

And pieces of what we are building together:

The life that we want to live,

With intention and authenticity,

And, yes, equal parts messiness and grace.

–Scott Edward Anderson