VIEW of an unnamed cirque, from (Lost) Glacier Peak [click photo for next . . . ]
Notice the ± 1850 moraine, left behind by glacier retreat,
first historic warnings of Climate Chaos in the High Wallowas.
At altitude, the effects of hotter, drier climate are amplified greatly. And
yet, we remain in denial, and in some ways, as of 2016 are lurching violently backwards.
That's why I feature the long-line sonnet, BUNKERS ON THE BEACH,
here. Artifacts of Hitler's great Atlantikwall / Atlantic Wall which was thousands of
kilometers long, built by forced slave labor, and made of reinforced concrete so thick,
they cannot, in some places, be gotten rid of. I have a strong emotional connection
to all this. I used to bike frequently to the Dutch coast from Amsterdam.
I would see the bunkers. I learned the history of the Dutch "Bunker Builders,"
men who collaborated willingly with the NAZIS. I have rehearsed frequently
right next to the Anne Frank House on the Prinzengracht. I know the same
bells of the Westerkerk she writes of so beautifully in her diary. And I
have known intimately family of Dtuch "Brown Shirts," descendents of
the kind of people, with only days left in the war, who turned her in.
Some poems, it is true, take a long time to gestate. This one did.
Please forgive the Dutch and German phrases. They had to be there
somehow. For as angels know, sound—the sound of those words—
is much more than merely a mechanical movement of air.
On the road in the American Northwest.
SEEING NATURAL LIMIT?
In extremes, is clarity.
In exceptions, the new rule.
In excess, the contradiction
that portends collapse.
BUNKERS ON THE BEACH—
a long-line sonnet
If you couldn't pronounce, "Scheveningen," you were not
One of them. Resistance? "Resistance is Creativity; Creativity, Resistance." True, it was far easier to surrender, to learn the
fascist salute, be a Bunker Builder in the driftsands of Total War.
True, these bunkers, reinforced artifacts of our collective
Insanity, cannot be gotten rid of, cannot be hidden. "Goed zo."
So they speak to us of von Braun's trajectory from
The hell of Penemunde, to the Saturn rockets and the Moon.
True, angels have never doubted that we have been there.
Conspiracy? It's enough to hear the echo chambers of karma,
Enough to hear the heavy boots of the Waffen SS storm
The Frank's attic abode, led by a Dutchman, to the hear
The poundings on that door, swept away to the death camps,
The loose papers of a diary, scattered about, all over, the floor.
Camp Lost & Found,
Eagle Cap Wilderness
Featured gallery, mountain water . . . .Please visit my MOUNTAIN WATER Gallery—some of
the best of my flowform photography w/ a selection of the highest quality
prints & frames . . . [ mouse over for controls / lower right fro full-screen ]
All Photographs & texts by Cliff Crego © 2011 picture-poems.com