The Land of Conan's Poetry Page

Welcome to the Land of Conan's poetry page!
This is a sampling of some of my poems and songs. If you like what you read here, and you would like to tell me so, you can write to me at kpritchard@wesleyan.edu. Likewise, if you don't like what you read here, and you would like to give me some constructive criticism, you can also write to me.
Enjoy!

Poems
The Modern Demeter
glory pajamas
Absence, the first
madrugada
The answer to hunger
Sharp
Abandoned
The Arms of His Mother

Songs
Postcards
Life on the Ground
As I Live And Breathe
The Mole Song
One Good Reason
Great To See You

The Modern Demeter

She belongs to beautiful,
although she rarely feels that way.

She belongs to that same village
where Joan of Arc found herself,
a goddess or a lunatic,
and very likely both.
She belongs to that southern France
where the forests speak to maidens
and the maidens, in their turn,
speak to barefooted mushrooms
in three-part harmony.

She belongs to barley fields
and lavish illustrations in fantasy books
for hatless children--rivers
and their mermaids, mountains and their gnomes.
She belongs to that part of the sky
that speaks of a cyclone of lights
and promises a rainstorm
to an autumn girl, halfway a woman.

She belongs to that part of my soul
that would like to dance and somersault
across the uninhibited uninhabited expanse.
She belongs to the voice that whispers,
"Take off your shoes and run
and let your hair do the singing.

Let your feet do the laughing.
Let your eyes do the breathing."

glory pajamas

you are so hundredfold purple
(like a crow
razoring the early morning)
that even the sun
mistakes you for the moon
and runs away, shedding his shoes,
the closer to airborne you become.

Absence, the first

Is this something
I want to be a part of?
The sky, cast like a net
over our heads? Or
the stout clouds,
throbbing like the
exposed underbelly
of some soft and pliable god?
You're looking past me,
past the power lines
to see those foggy lumps,
unpackaged and raw, like
something you wouldn't
want to eat. The sky
is a grey and breathing heart;
the wind is a heavy feather,
a caustic embrace.
You have grown more blue
and distant
than today.

madrugada

she lives in the spring kitchen
walks on oak tree legs
never wears shoes in the rain
but sets them outside to catch windfall eggs
and i live in the wailing blue
and drum on the bottom of the laundry basket:

i'd like to wrap myself in blankets
(this is my clean and comforting rhythm)
but then what would i sleep on
except this sandpaper mattress?
oh i'd like to be allergic to terrible things
(this is my detergent and bleach rhythm)
like wasted paper
like war
and i'd be happy as a smug orange
(this is my rinse-cycle rhythm)
and just as ripe
oh yeah and just as hard to peel.

The answer to hunger
For Jackie

The waiting felt like nothing
so much as a rainy Sunday,
the kind that never quite happens
but filters past the senses instead,
filling the brain and dulling the tongue.
The day was filled with a mouthful of dust and ashes
blown through shivering hands
and thrown into the wheel of the house.
You told us that dying made life easier,
that it was like love
kept in the butt of a cigarette:
stale and imperfect
and the answer to your hunger.
The burden of waiting kept us awake
and laughter fell away like hopeless smoke
every time you took another breath.

Sharp

When she shivered and
shook in your arms, I began
my dreamy, formless
jig, my lazy jitterbug,
a watery girl-
goddess with a crooked face.

I am proof of your
lively language, double-tongued.
I am proof of your
golden cherry knife, your pale
and sickly sickle.
I am living proof of you.

When I emerge from
the black forest, you are gone.
If you could open
your eyes and turn back to me,
this is what you might
see:
slippery me, blowing
away, ripping out

sharp suns in the void:
my life twisted on a knife.

Abandoned

If he had taken me apart
like a tornado, like fingers digging in the ground,
and the roof had slanted and turned red,
and the windows rattled with the clamorous fog
and the sky darkened with a thousand breaking waves,
what a scene would be here before me now.
How clean is this house, how new and sharp.
Howling outside are the dogs, waiting for their share.

The Arms of His Mother

Small angel of mud and sunlight
makes her way over the mountain
in the long late afternoon.
She has come to escort the lost child
back to the arms of his forgotten mother.
She lifts the boy, rough like the rocks in his pockets,
and tucks him under her arm
like a stick of firewood.
In her other hand she carries a bucket of water,
at which the shriveled river casts its eyes in longing.
Make me a part of you, Mother.

Blinded by the dry light,
the boy does not recognize what he has lost.
Shadows fix themselves under his eyes
and he does not notice the slow paralysis of his face
until his mother asks him for a kiss.
His words are clipped and crumble fast.
I cannot kiss you, mother.

Some women scratch the dirt with their fingers
and bring up weeds and shattered stones.
When the first sign of water appears
breaking through the rock like small volcanoes
the other woman walks back across the mountain
trailing rainclouds and spilling sweat,
breaking through the thick air like an insistent wave.

Postcards

She was young and fierce and pretty
And she loved him with a passion
And he loved to take her sailing
Smelling salt smells in the air

He would pick her armfuls of flowers
From the neighbor's tidy gardens
(He said marigolds looked beautiful
Woven in her hair.)

And he tried so hard to keep her
For he loved her with a passion
But he could not keep a bird so wild
With just a pleading stare

So she left him with the gardens
Of his clean and cloistered neighbors
And she often sends him postcards
But they never say from where

She was young and fierce and pretty
And she loved him with a passion
But love alone could not keep her
Entangled in that snare

Life on the Ground

Chorus
Is it raining tonight, do you still have your guitar?
Are you warm, are you hungry, are you far?
All the cars that pass like bullets, can they take you where you want to go?
Where do you want to go?

You call me up from a hundred miles away
You say you're coming home, am I busy tonight?
You were looking at the mountains and thinking of me
All of last summer you were my rambling boy
Your postcards were my journey and my joy
You said we'd start a commune in Canada some day
Now you're calling from the highway, you're somewhere in Maine
But I know that by tonight, you'll be home again

Chorus

Life on the ground is too much for you
You can't see the sky and you don't know all the rules
My life weighs me down, and you can't be the same
A kiss can lift you up, a song can take you anywhere
Oh my mountain man, you need the mountain air

Chorus

So you can dance a little closer, you can hold me like a baby
You can sing me to sleep
Just tell me that you love me, before you're on your way
Here's what I can tell you, before you leave for good
I think the way we went was the best way that we could

As I Live And Breathe

I never felt your hand heat up in mine
And I didn't feel it grow cold
And when I think about your hands
I feel older, older than you

As I live and breathe
As I live and breathe
As I live and breathe
You will stay with me

Yesterday I drove into the city
Yeah, but most of the time I just drive around
'Cause I've been trying to forget your hold on me
But all the street musicians singing
Let It Be, let it be
And Hide Your Love Away
And I Believe in Yesterday

Strange that it's your hands that I remember most
And not your face or your voice or your ghost
But now your hands are empty and you're alone on stage
With none of the wisdom that might have come with age

As I live and breathe
As I live and breathe
As I live and breathe
You will stay with me
Will you stay with me

The Mole Song

I am like a mole in bed
Pull the covers over my head
I am like a mole in bed
Pull the covers over my head

I am pieces of my dreams
I am rarely what I seem
It's the Scorpio in me
I am made of my dreams

Bridge
What's this animal that lives in me?
Who's responsible for what I don't see?
All my nights spent underground
All my days I never make a sound

I am sleeping in my room
Where there's more rain than moon
I am neither bride nor groom
I am safe within my room

I am like a mole in bed
Pull the covers over my head
I am like a mole in bed
Pull the covers over my head

One Good Reason

I want to put down roots and grow wild
I want a child
I want an education
I want a stable foundation

Look at all the towns I'm passing
Look at the roads I'm leaving
Look at the home I'm forgetting
It's a little upsetting
Mother, mother

Chorus
But give me one good reason to stay
I'll never go anywhere unless I go away

Last night we said goodbye
I said, "I'll call you all the time"
But how well I knew
Those calls are gonna be few

So I've loaded up the car
And I say, "It isn't very far"
Yeah, I've gone farther
But I've always come back home

Chorus

I leave without my jacket and I call being free
But I don't go anywhere without the scarf my mother made me

I want to put down roots and grow wild
I want a child
I want an education
I want a stable foundation

Chorus

Great To See You

I've been out walking along the empty cloudy roads
And the leaves have been raining around me
I've been down to the river, I've been to the graveyard
And I spent a couple hours in the library

Well it's great to see you, yeah it's been too long
How is your family, I'm surprised that your old car made it this far
You'll be sleeping in the basement, hope you don't mind
And I'll be upstairs where I belong

We ate breakfast in a diner full of smoke and atmosphere
And when we got back to my place you said "Thank you for having me here
I'd love to stay here, yeah I'd love to talk some more
But I've got a lot of work to do"

So I hugged you, and you hugged back, then you got in the car
You waved once and then you blew me a kiss, which you've never done before
Well it's been great to see you, yeah it's been too long
But I like how my life without you goes on

I'm getting good at saying goodbye
I'm getting good at saying goodbye to you
I'm getting good at turning around
And just walking inside

I've been out walking along the empty cloudy roads
And the leaves have been raining around me
I've been down to the river, I've been to the graveyard
And I spent a couple hours in the library

All poems and lyrics on this page © 1999 Kate Pritchard. Thanks for visiting the Land of Conan's poetry page!

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