fire

I'm not quite sure how or where I came to have it, but I am somehow owner of a used poetry book called "Stories In Verse" by Max T. Hohn.  Inside the front cover it tells me it once belonged to the Fairfield-Suisun school district.  It is also marked with the stamps "unusable" and "obsolete", probably two of the biggest insults one could sling on a book.  

I'm no stranger to old books.  It's a hobby of mine to sift through the mounds of for-sale library books to find the ones that look worn and wearied.  My cause is not the least bit noble.  I just like the look of old books and like to stack them on my shelves.  Most are tired looking old things with nothing too special about them.  I generally try to select books with titles or authors I recognize or that make me laugh.  And every once in a while I come across a gem, like a first edition of The Girl of the Limberlost, and most recently my poetry book.  Unlike The Girl of the Limberlost, I'm pretty sure my old red poetry book has no monetary value, but it has become something of a delight to me.  

I probably first picked it up to read some evening when I couldn't find my iPhone, which is (unfortunately) my default book these days.  I sifted through the pages of poems until I found one I recognized, "The Lady of Shalot".  As I read it, I channeled my inner Anne Shirley, and became absorbed in the rhythm and drama of the story.  And then I kept reading-- Poe, Browning, Service, Holmes! I'd read many of these before but usually always as a part of an English course, never on my own, and never for pleasure. How could I have missed out on this for so long? It's like word candy! I know nothing of mechanics of it all, although my book (intended as a textbook) does it's best to explain it so.  Occasionally, after the end of particularly complex poem the author offers challenges and assignments "For the Ambitious Student".  I'm tempted to write an essay.  

Today as I was reading my red book I read a poem entitled, "Forest Fire".  Pretty straight forward topic, but the imagery is terrific, and particularly timely for me.  On Friday we had our own forest fire scare.  I knew that living next to open space meant we were susceptible to the occasional fire--I just didn't think it would be this soon.  Thankfully, it didn't come too close to us, and the fire departments were able to put it out quickly thanks to helicopters, planes, and bulldozers.  The kids thought it was terrific, I thought it was terrifying.  

So, to the crotchety old librarian who stamped my book "obsolete" and "unusable" I say Pppppthhhlllppppp!  (which is an onomatopoeia) 

Also, for those who are counting-- in our 8 months as California residents we have "experienced" floods, rattlesnakes,  turkeys, and now fires.  What's next?! 

Forest Fire

Edna Davis Roming

Whispers of little winds low in the leaves, 

Rustle of warm winds through tall green trees, 

A full resinous fragrance, rich, warm, sweet, 

A sharp acrid odor, a hint of heat, 

Snap, hiss, crackle, a faint blue smoke, 

A whirl of black swept by a tawny flame--

Deep in the forest the wild wind broke; 

Fast in the wild wake the fire wind came, 

A soughing of branches swept sudden and strong

Like the rush and crash when the storm winds meet:

Crimson streams of fire flowed quickly along

The tall grey grasses and the spruce needles deep;

Red tongues of fire licked the tall pine trees, 

Grey twigs fell as though shrivelled by disease; 

Broad orange streamers floated everywhere

And bulging puffs of copper smoke filled the molten air.  

A pitiable squeaking came from little furry creatures,

Chipmunks and marmots as they scurried helter-skelter; 

Mountain sheep and mountain goats leaping to some shelter, 

Warned by their instincts--grim, sure teachers--

And the suffocating stenches from the red relentless thing: 

The eagles screamed in anger from the smoke-beclouded skies; 

A sudden rush of slender deer, dumb fright in liquid eyes...

Now burning brands seem missiles sent, 

Projectiles hurled through space, 

Now and then a chuckle, like mirth malevolent, 

A sweeping beauty sinister, a dread and treacherous grace:

And conflagration with the sound of thunder

Has pulled a thousand tall trees under. 

But men have come in purpose bent

To halt the fire's fierce race. 

They fell great trees and dig deep lanes, 

They smother out small flames; 

With tools and chemicals and wit

At last they curb, they conquer it. 

But fire that raged for half a day

Has burned a hundred years away.