The Young Herdsman
Rosemary my atlas, each thread inaudible
what choice to flip the page available
and see behind the mountain how it’s done —
first open space make inroads makeshift towns
that coins the land, arrests construction off the highway
whereby each coast is affluent beyond its means
whose forest roads I measure clear I cut back every mile
takes the saddle summer grass and Saddle Mountain
absent trees the distance of one year since harvest
nothing that my source cannot make due without
within my love’s domain, my place the furthest possible
my paper gasoline dry depths of pavement
present tense or bristlecone, and in more time
each summer once the heat is broken by the pine
spare parts become common, and to include them
commonplace
To phone my memo driftwood, know mailbox lavender
my source is lost and found by my free hands let go
outside the vehicle, oncoming more empty, outgoes the same
will be pedestrian, picking oranges in the monastery
incoming Thoreau that playa tilts to skyward
nothing locks in place, yet does my trumpet play
what though I open question I exits companion
mourning country, I surrender helpless skipping stones
into thin air like cottonballs beneath the cottonwoods
I play the notes available, resistance rivers arrowheads
what empty patch is not mosaic in the searchlight
my fluke is further west, its aspens that I breathe them here
that I resists the editor their introduction
rendezvous where stream falls from a pipe
“So there is one thought for the field, another for the house. I would have my thoughts, like wild apples, to be food for walkers, and will not warrant them to be palatable, if tasted in the house”
Direct me leave abroad what is not here
rainwater and in range the more available
the further my circumference is wrong-footed.
Puddles untether leaves, who then I am
that ends the scene adrift from my apartment.
I speak no civil hex.
I carry beargrass in my pocket, aspen in my earshot
to what furthest I can stray, no statesman
I tune up my pipe with grease and gasoline.
Being without center, who goes elsewhere is the same
freshwater thunderstorm outstanding rain
as I touch timber touch my hand
will this interior be spoken.
* * * * *
Pastoral (Eclogue)
Tear down my cactus that I fell a child
wave my name thin stream no thicker than my hand
who splits the stone, I as the crow flies with the dragonfly
who hears that I am by their whirligig uncivilized
crow dawdles dragonfly and curtain pulses too
beside my windowpane from officers removed
that is great cinema, nor do I trim and stable
citizens or bees upripping roots unpublished
being without center, who goes elsewhere is the same
their elbow rests upon the balcony and drops a cigarette
that is my hand, that I roll up my sleeves over aluminum
is there a senator this far from their front door
* * * * *
My Manifest
Where do I stand that I will travel
is my love, do I turn people down
what hammer do I hear that knocks them down
who brought me in the basket, who speaks
no prose have I run after, no citizens
that is sound government that people leave
where I will have my country
somebody siren calls me back beneath my tree
my dog is buried here, that is I speak of liberty
what are my limbs that spring has taken them away
Candidate tobacco field voiceover
overgrows mudslide with chokecherry
all persons akimbo, I persons prone
so that I hear my name my absentee
in my condition, that I am one subject
subject to love and more or less one person
is the homeowner hiring the immigrant
what does she prize above her freedom
I love her anywhere careering with my eyes
from standstill to report both hands of her
she draws her bow and I is yet her citizen
she collects in cities disbelieves the public
rhetoric disrobes, its mistress with the torch
in notes of mint and aloe song refresh my store
/ / /
The three poems above are included in Irredenta, published by Nightboat Books in October, 2021. Click here to acquire the book from the publisher.
Oscar Oswald: “My book Irredenta applies a pastoral framework to the American wilderness, in particular what is ‘untouched’ and ‘untamable’ within the United States. It is an experimental book, written in a sequential mode, drawing upon the work of Thoreau, Stein, and Niedecker. I love Las Vegas, and I love the desert, and these places are important to the book.”