09-21-2011, 07:39 AM
Our area is full of huge Deeres at the moment , displacing rather smaller deers and no doubt gobbling up some even smaller ones along with the other little animals. It is the way of harvest. I am getting in the poem the smell of diesel , the mechanics versus nature thing. There is that waving field of generic corn to wax bucolically (?) lyrical over, suffused with the smoke of machine and burning. The gods of the earth and sky are always going to win in the end, no matter how huge the machines and how much oil is burned. COntrats and conflicts, but in the end they are the same. Just struck me, that the two poems I have commented this evenng have a form of 'pauperism as a poetical device'- the poor, poverty. Poetry wears no shoes in the dustbowl.