Hello, and welcome to a new blog feature that we're calling A Gathering of Poetry. This is the brainchild of Kym and Kat, and they were kind enough to include me in the poetry gathering and sharing. Once each month on the third Thursday we'll each share a poem. For now, we're keeping it simple - there's no theme, no focus on a specific poet, we're just sharing any poem that has inspired us lately. Eventually, we may work things out so we can do a link-up and others can share poems, but since the third Thursday of the month is upon us already, that's not set up yet. So here is a poem that I read recently and have found myself thinking about quite a bit.
by Tony Hoagland
I wanted to get the cement truck into the poem
because I loved the bulk of the big rotating barrel
as it went calmly down the street,
churning to keep the wet cement inside
slushily in motion.
I liked the monster girth of the torso
and the tilted ovoid shape,
the raised rump with a hole like an anus at the back,
the double-thick tires to bear the weight. I liked
the way that people turned to watch it pass—
because what is more like a rhinoceros or elephant
than this thick—skinned grunting beast
goaded by two smallish men in jumpsuits?
Taking its ponderous time to obey,
drizzling a stream of juice between its legs?
I knew that I might have to make the center of the poem wider
when the cement truck had to turn a corner,
scraping the bark of an overhanging tree,
giving a nudge to the power lines—
then having to turn around again, because
the drivers have somehow gotten lost:
one of them running to borrow a garden hose
to wet down the load again,
one of them cursing and shaking out the map.
I liked the idea of my poem having room inside
for something as real as that truck
and having to get there by two o'clock or else
to pour the floor of the high school gymnasium.
—And I think at this point it would have been a terrible mistake
to turn the truck
into a metaphor or symbol for something else.
It had taken me so long to get the world into my poem,
and so long to get my poem into the world.
Now I didn't want to go back.
Now I had a four lane highway to drive down the middle of,
and a pair of heavy rubber boots,
and a black rectangular lever just in front of the stick shift.
I wonder what that one does?
because I loved the bulk of the big rotating barrel
as it went calmly down the street,
churning to keep the wet cement inside
slushily in motion.
I liked the monster girth of the torso
and the tilted ovoid shape,
the raised rump with a hole like an anus at the back,
the double-thick tires to bear the weight. I liked
the way that people turned to watch it pass—
because what is more like a rhinoceros or elephant
than this thick—skinned grunting beast
goaded by two smallish men in jumpsuits?
Taking its ponderous time to obey,
drizzling a stream of juice between its legs?
I knew that I might have to make the center of the poem wider
when the cement truck had to turn a corner,
scraping the bark of an overhanging tree,
giving a nudge to the power lines—
then having to turn around again, because
the drivers have somehow gotten lost:
one of them running to borrow a garden hose
to wet down the load again,
one of them cursing and shaking out the map.
I liked the idea of my poem having room inside
for something as real as that truck
and having to get there by two o'clock or else
to pour the floor of the high school gymnasium.
—And I think at this point it would have been a terrible mistake
to turn the truck
into a metaphor or symbol for something else.
It had taken me so long to get the world into my poem,
and so long to get my poem into the world.
Now I didn't want to go back.
Now I had a four lane highway to drive down the middle of,
and a pair of heavy rubber boots,
and a black rectangular lever just in front of the stick shift.
I wonder what that one does?
======
Hoagland, Tony. "Cement Truck". Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty, Graywolf Press, 2010.
You can read more about the poet here.
======
I love poetry about everyday things and I especially like how Tony Hoagland has seamlessly integrated the cement truck into this poem. Thanks for reading and joining us for the inaugural Gathering of Poetry. Be sure to visit Kym and Kat so you can gather more poetry!
What a fabulous poem! I have never read this one before, and I know . . . I will never look at a cement truck in quite the same way again. Thanks so much, Bonny, for sharing this poem -- and for inspiring this monthly "gathering" in the first place! XO
ReplyDeleteWho would have ever thought to write a poem about a cement truck? But this is genius! The comparison to an elephant or rhino is so perfect, and like Kym, I'm never going to look at a cement truck in quite the same way again.
ReplyDeleteWell, Mr. Hoagland... you are just so brilliant! I love how cleverly he has made enough space to tuck a cement truck into his poem. And I love how he talks about making room for it in the poem. Tony Hoagland is a new to me poet... which I hope to find more of on our Third Thursday Gathering of Poetry!
ReplyDeleteAnd thank you for inspiring us all, Bonny! XO
HA! This one made me laugh out loud and it is just so FUN. I, too, will never look at a cement truck in the way I used to (or be annoyed to be "stuck" behind one...oh no!). Tony Hoagland is a new poet to me as well. Thanks Bonny!
ReplyDeleteThis is such a fun poem, I think it will forever change how I look at cement trucks!
ReplyDeleteWhat a fun poem! After reading this I will think of a big, lumbering rhino whenever I see a cement truck!
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you enjoyed it! We had three cement trucks rumble past our house one day because they are pouring sidewalks nearby, so I looked for a poem about cement trucks and voila! It certainly has helped me see cement trucks in a new way - the power of poetry!
DeleteAfter reading this poem, I'll never look at a cement truck in quite the same way. And isn't that the beauty of poetry? It helps us see things in a new way.
ReplyDeletewhat a lovely collaboration!!
ReplyDelete