Andreas Gripp, CA

 

 

Free Verse Laundry My neighbour's clothesline has been barren for as long as I can remember. I've yet to see a single sock or cloth that dries in the wind, an undershirt or pair of pants absorbing thermal rays, the sun much cheaper than a bulky machine and considerably quieter too. Someone took great care in planting those weighty, wooden posts, the metal wheels that suspend two wires as if they're telephone lines. I imagine a backyard scene that's set in 1953: a kerchief-headed woman clipping a girdle in April air, nodding hello to the original owner of my humble bungalow, a brassiere blushingly placed between a blouse and pantyhose, hopeful that the breeze will cleanse what eyes still see as soiled.                                from Angel Clare.  Andreas Gripp. Harmonia Press, 2007.     17 Seven Day Rental One of my students borrowed La Mason du Plus Pied by Jean-Pierre D'Allard, telling the rise, fall of the Sainte Bouviers, ensnared by riches, hatreds spawned and business won, lost, won & lost. She recounts her favourite scene towards the end, where a liberated Marie slaps the face of her brutal husband, Serge, played by an aging Stephane DeJohnette. It's the one-eighty, the turning point for both characters, the moment where love drops its transcendence, its fixed and static state. I think Anise, my student, sporting occasional welts that I ask nothing about, has found a muse to lift her trampled spirit as she says "the film, the film." Yes it is such.   From T.O. Loveless & other poems. Andreas Gripp. Harmonia Press, 2007.