Solving for X. Robert B. Shaw

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Solving for X - Robert B. Shaw


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      Solving for X

      Solving for X

       Robert B. Shaw

      OHIO UNIVERSITY PRESS

      ATHENS

      Ohio University Press, Athens, Ohio 45701

      © 2002 by Robert B. Shaw

      Printed in the United States of America

      All rights reserved

      Ohio University Press books are printed on acid-free paper © ™

      10 09 08 07 06 05 04 03 02 54321

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

      Shaw, Robert Burns, 1947–

      Solving for x : poems / Robert B. Shaw.

      p. cm.

      ISBN 0-8214-1471-2 (alk. paper) — ISBN 0-8214-1472-0 (pbk. : alk. paper)

      I. Title.

      PS3569.H3845 S65 2002

      811'.54—dc21

      2002027092

       Acknowledgments

      Acknowledgment is made to the editors of the following publications in which several of the poems in this book first appeared: The Dark Horse, Janus, The Nation, The New Criterion, The Sewanee Review, Shenandoah, Southwest Review, and The Yale Review. “A Paper Cut,” “Remainders,” “Called Back,” “Solving for X,” “QWERTY,” “Letter of Recommendation,” “Making Do,” “Up and Away,” “Other Eyes,” “Waste,” “Waiting Room,” and “Out of Character” first appeared in Poetry. “Wishing Well” is reprinted from volume 3, number 1 of Literary Imagination: The Review of the Association of Literary Scholars and Critics, © 2001. Used by permission of the ALSC. “Drowned Towns” and “The Devil’s Garden” appeared in a chapbook co-authored with Edgar Bowers and William Conelly: Drowned Towns and Other Poems of Place (Hatfield, Mass.: The Van Zora Press, 2000). “Shoptalk: Ten Epigrams” appeared in the chapbook anthology Profile Full Face (Hatfield, Mass.: The Van Zora Press, 2001).

      Many of the facts in “Drowned Towns” are drawn from two books by J. R. Greene: The Creation of Quabbin Reservoir and The Day Four Quabbin Towns Died, both published by The Transcript Press, Athol, Massachusetts. Other material was derived from informational booklets available at the Quabbin Visitors’ Center.

       For Timothy Steele

      Increasing with the years but still bicoastal,

      our friendship has perforce been mostly postal.

      Accept this parcel, bearing scraps of gray

      New England weather to you in L.A.,

      as well as thanks for each new poem or letter

      I welcome as a nudge to make mine better.

       Contents

       The Future Perfect

       Back Again

       A Bowl of Stone Fruit

       Airs and Graces

       The First Mosquito

       A Field of Goldenrod

       Anthology Piece

       The End of the Sonnet

       Dec. 23

       The Devil’s Garden

       Waiting Room

       The Latest Sign

       The Arbor

       A Roadside Flock

       “Called Back”

       Up and Away

       Drowned Towns

       Snowplow in the Night

       Espalier

       Shoptalk: Ten Epigrams

       Waste

       A Paper Cut

       Solving for X

       Ant in Amber

       Wishing Well

       Seed Catalogues in Winter

       A Flashback

       Typo

       Buyer’s Remorse

       The Draft

       Letter of Recommendation

       Out of Character

       Making Do

       Static

       Pilgrims

       September Brownout

       Other Eyes

       Remainders

       QWERTY

       Now and Then

       Living past 19

       A Drained Fountain

       Amnesia: Fragments

       The Future Perfect

      It will be recognizable: your neighborhood,

      with of course some of the bigger trees

      gone for pulp and the more upscale houses

      sporting new riot-proof fencing which

      they seem hardly to need in this calm sector

      whose lawns look even more vacuumed than they used to.

      Only a soft whirr of electric automobiles

      ruffles unburdened air. Your own house looks

      about the same, except for the solar panels.

      Inside, the latest occupants sit facing

      the wall-size liquid crystal flat TV screen

      they haggle and commune with, ordering beach towels

      or stockings, or instructing their stockbrokers,

      while in the kitchen dinner cooks itself.

      Why marvel over windows that flip at a touch

      from clear to opaque, or carpets that a lifetime

      of scuffs will never stain? This all was destined,

      down to the newest model ultrasound toothbrush.

      Only the stubborn, ordinary ratio

      of sadness to happiness seems immune to progress,

      and


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