%1 http://coloradoencyclopedia.org/ en Jared Smith http://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/jared-smith <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'field' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * field--node--title--encyclopedia-article.html.twig x field--node--title.html.twig * field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--title.html.twig * field--string.html.twig * field.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/field--node--title.html.twig' --> <span class="field field--name-title field--type-string field--label-hidden">Jared Smith</span> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/field--node--title.html.twig' --> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'field' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * field--node--uid--encyclopedia-article.html.twig x field--node--uid.html.twig * field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--uid.html.twig * field--entity-reference.html.twig * field.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/field--node--uid.html.twig' --> <span class="field field--name-uid field--type-entity-reference field--label-hidden"> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'username' --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/user/username.html.twig' --> <span lang="" about="/users/yongli" typeof="schema:Person" property="schema:name" datatype="">yongli</span> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/user/username.html.twig' --> </span> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/field--node--uid.html.twig' --> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'field' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * field--node--created--encyclopedia-article.html.twig x field--node--created.html.twig * field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--created.html.twig * field--created.html.twig * field.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/field--node--created.html.twig' --> <span class="field field--name-created field--type-created field--label-hidden"> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'time' --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/time.html.twig' --> <time datetime="2019-01-27T17:03:53-07:00" title="Sunday, January 27, 2019 - 17:03" class="datetime">Sun, 01/27/2019 - 17:03</time> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/time.html.twig' --> </span> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/field--node--created.html.twig' --> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'addtoany_standard' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * addtoany-standard--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * addtoany-standard--node.html.twig x addtoany-standard.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'modules/contrib/addtoany/templates/addtoany-standard.html.twig' --> <span class="a2a_kit a2a_kit_size_32 addtoany_list" data-a2a-url="http://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/jared-smith" data-a2a-title="Jared Smith"><a class="a2a_dd addtoany_share" href="https://www.addtoany.com/share#url=http%3A%2F%2Fcoloradoencyclopedia.org%2Farticle%2Fjared-smith&amp;title=Jared%20Smith"></a><a class="a2a_button_facebook"></a><a class="a2a_button_twitter"></a><a class="a2a_button_email"></a></span> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'modules/contrib/addtoany/templates/addtoany-standard.html.twig' --> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'field' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * field--node--body--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--node--body.html.twig x field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--body.html.twig * field--text-with-summary.html.twig * field.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/custom/encyclopedia/templates/field/field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig' --> <div class="field field--name-body field--type-text-with-summary field--label-hidden field__item" id="id-body"><p class="rtecenter"><img alt="Poet: Jared Smith" src="/sites/default/files/Jared_Smith.jpg" style="width: 500px; height: 653px;" /></p>&#13; &#13; <p>Jared Smith is the author of thirteen volumes of poetry. His work has appeared in hundreds of journals and anthologies here and abroad. He is Poetry Editor of <em>Turtle Island Quarterly</em> (e-zine,) and has worked on the editorial staff of <em>The New York Quarterly, Home Planet News</em>, and <em>The Pedestal Magazine</em>, as well as serving on the Boards of literary and arts non-profits in New York, Illinois, and Colorado. He is a former Special Appointee at Argonne National Lab, and past advisor to several White House Commissions under President William Clinton. He lives in Lafayette, Colorado.</p>&#13; &#13; <h2>Poems</h2>&#13; &#13; <p>He Does What It Takes<br />&#13; Curling his fingers around porcelain<br />&#13; he cradles the morning cup of coffee and watches<br />&#13; steam rise between his fingers, how each finger<br />&#13; shapes the fog of morning with his unique mark,<br />&#13; his DNA and his fingerprints upon the swirl of time,<br />&#13; and he listens to the tick of the clock upon his wall,<br />&#13; the first birds beginning to sing in his garden,<br />&#13; and a dog startled by dawn down the street,<br />&#13; the morning paper hitting with a thud at his door.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>This is what the man is before he goes out<br />&#13; to turn the ignition in his family car.  It is what<br />&#13; his wife thought of before she thought of diamonds<br />&#13; and before there were other souls beneath this roof.<br />&#13; It is the little things that make the man what he is,<br />&#13; the scent of his chemical balances, the colors he sees<br />&#13; as sun rises over the blasted buildings of his city,<br />&#13; the tiniest bits of the universe that have come to him<br />&#13; and pulled together to be unique in all of time.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>This is what he is, and he goes out each morning<br />&#13; to do what the machine asks and comes back each night.<br />&#13; At night the crickets are calling to the darkness and light<br />&#13; within him, and the hum of commerce fills his veins.<br />&#13; He whispers of love with each breath he takes.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From the book <em>Shadows Within the Roaring Fork</em> (OR: Flowstone Press, 2017)</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>What We Don’t Talk Of</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>Our language is one forged from<br />&#13; fists slammed down on desks,<br />&#13; from Teutonic storage bins forged<br />&#13; from fire for cold steel weaponry.<br />&#13; It is a scaffolding for science<br />&#13; measured and contained too small;<br />&#13; a brittle thing matching the metal<br />&#13; that places fences in our pockets.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Our language does not understand<br />&#13; nor have words for sunrise coating<br />&#13; and enmeshing autumn grains<br />&#13; growing where water meets the land.<br />&#13; It does not understand the lightness<br />&#13; filling the dark between trees at night.<br />&#13; The wind moves between its words<br />&#13; as though they were but dried shells.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Our language but mimics the eyes<br />&#13; of fox stealing the eggs from chicks<br />&#13; or taking meat home for the pups.<br />&#13; Our syllables get caught in its fur<br />&#13; and brushed out by brambles<br />&#13; scattered to fleshless tangles of rage.<br />&#13; Our language is one of frustration,<br />&#13; unable and unwilling to be flexible,<br />&#13; unwilling to listen to the words<br />&#13; of welcome that come from your lips,<br />&#13; unwilling to forgive what it does not know.</p>&#13; &#13; <p><a name="_Hlk504893066" id="_Hlk504893066">From <em>To The Dark Angels</em> (New York Quarterly Books, 2015)</a></p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Shadows Within The Roaring Fork</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>The river looks the same as it did<br />&#13; an hour ago, this river that is not a big river<br />&#13; but one you could jump halfway over<br />&#13; one <strong>sage brush</strong> bank to the other almost,<br />&#13; nothing like the Big Muddy or even The Hudson,<br />&#13; not <strong><a href="https://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/colorado-river">The Colorado</a></strong> even but still<br />&#13; with the sun hitting down upon its rapids<br />&#13; and spring flush rolling boulders downstream,<br />&#13; with the few shade trees above it in wind<br />&#13; it looks the same river it was yesterday,<br />&#13; a singular presence, an eel chasing its tail<br />&#13; under salt-slicked roadways and arches.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>But this is the time of year when most<br />&#13; it changes and the insects hatched upon its surface<br />&#13; are swirled down and kegs of stone roll along<br />&#13; its bed and the minerals giving it its colors<br />&#13; seep into its passage, the fox that dipped its paws,<br />&#13; the <strong>bear</strong> way upstream that dragged across it<br />&#13; washing the heavy musk of winter in its spume,<br />&#13; have all been taken in its solvent, been drunken deeply<br />&#13; and washed away tasting as nothing but water<br />&#13; in this clearest of mountain rivers erasing it seems<br />&#13; everything and taking it all away within it,<br />&#13; ever changing and taking everything down,<br />&#13; each hoof print, each piece of whitened skull,<br />&#13; each reflection of the moon and the stars,<br />&#13; though it looks the same as it always did.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From far above one day into the next the same,<br />&#13; from up close pressed against your lips, drawn in<br />&#13; from one day into the next it tastes the same purity<br />&#13; of snow that inhabits the highest mountains<br />&#13; having taken all the dust and debris to itself,<br />&#13; roaring that old adage that nothing lasts forever<br />&#13; and even the continents will be washed away.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>And perhaps it’s so, perhaps the weight<br />&#13; of so many years and souls and dreams<br />&#13; will wash down with the rusted nails<br />&#13; and the broken concrete shells of men,<br />&#13; but entering into that river there are shapes,<br />&#13; are shadows lurking, holding their own<br />&#13; finning the graveling beds, watching,<br />&#13; taking all that debris inside and breathing,<br />&#13; moving independent of the current,|<br />&#13; causing change and setting red suns to burn<br />&#13; in places men have not yet gone nor seen.<br />&#13; And these elusive shadows, they change the river as well<br />&#13; filling its waters with the scent and sense of life.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From <em>Shadows Within The Roaring Fork</em> (OR: Flowstone Press, 2017<strong>)</strong></p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Soaring on the Tectonic Waves of Time</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>A hawk folds itself into the updrafts atop <strong>Green Mountain</strong>,<br />&#13; its eyes now a part of the wind and the rock from which it came,<br />&#13; and in that instant it becomes itself the wind with a mind in time…<br />&#13; slow moving as it settles its way in circles down toward the earth again.<br />&#13; The light in its eye reflects the sage dry hills, the huckleberries’ red blood,<br />&#13; the glass of family homes outside <strong><a href="https://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/boulder">Boulder</a></strong>, the sun coming back.  It is<br />&#13; a gliding between facets of time traveled across multiple universes,<br />&#13; These mountains are the slow-moving tectonic waves of time<br />&#13; tumbling over each other, wind whipping off the froth, sand shifting<br />&#13; and pulling away at the roots of whatever grows, but at a speed we<br />&#13; live almost outside of except for instants like these when we sit<br />&#13; on our porch watching out over the western ranges peak beyond peak<br />&#13; and shadows flow across evening canyons, shifting shapes so I rise<br />&#13; from the land, seeing from outside my body the rocks and trees grow small,<br />&#13; hovering with my shoulders against them turning back the tide not at all<br />&#13; but feeling the physics that set us all in motion in distant galaxies so long ago.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>We start then with muses, as Hesiod wrote, telling of things that are,<br />&#13; that will be and that were with voices joined in harmony, and we partake<br />&#13; of shadow and of <em>eidos</em> in ways that are outside the neurons of our minds.<br />&#13; A mountain is a fabric and a wrinkle in the text of time, and is but one muse,<br />&#13; the city at its feet is another, in a concurrent folding of the fabric.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From <em>Grassroots</em> (Wind Publications, 2010)</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>It Happens Right Here in Loveland, Colorado<br />&#13; at the G&amp;W Sugar Beet Field Processing Plant </h3>&#13; &#13; <p>There is something sweet and hard in all men<br />&#13; and it is drawn out in our industry from the hard, dry ground,<br />&#13; It is drawn out and distilled from our sorrows and our struggles<br />&#13; from working together with our minds and our backs and our hands.<br />&#13; It is something at the center of our being, of our reality.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>I think of it this time of year, walking knee-deep in the harvest fields<br />&#13; as the days grow shorter and the temperature begins to fall.  We gather,<br />&#13; we neighbors who oversee the farmland, and the migrants, and the scientists too,<br />&#13; and the engineers who build factories and railroads and boxcars filled with night—<br />&#13; all looking for something sweet and meaningful at the center of our being.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>We work together as we move through life,<br />&#13; and some of us walk out into the field as I do, and swing knives and tools<br />&#13; to shred the dark earth tubers that lie beneath us having drawn life<br />&#13; from the sand and water that lie along the banks of the <strong>Big Thompson</strong>,<br />&#13; within <strong>Loveland</strong>, we walk the fields rooting out rock hard fruits of labor<br />&#13; row upon row of men and women walking the fields in autumn<br />&#13; ripping these <strong><a href="https://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/sugar-beet-industry">beets</a></strong> from the earth, collecting them in piles by the roads,<br />&#13; gathering them for processing and refinement, beating down these rock- hard<br />&#13;    stones that no man might have thought to eat<br />&#13; but are the transition zone between desert and mountain, arid and water,<br />&#13; where we learn to turn our sorrow into the sweet crystals of man’s soul.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>We do this every year.  We pull the tubers from the soil.<br />&#13; We haul them off the field.  We cut off the leaves that bring them sun,<br />&#13; and we shake the earth from them.  We haul these gray slabs across the furrows<br />&#13; of the earth and pile them up for cars built in Detroit and trains built in Pennsylvania,<br />&#13; and we all work together having come from Russia and England and New York<br />&#13; and having worked the fields in Mexico and foundries in Chicago,<br />&#13; we come together in this rush of autumn humanity searching for something<br />&#13; that will enrich and sweeten the heart of our days in Loveland, Colorado.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>We haul these gray tubers away into the dark bins of our days, but we<br />&#13; work with them, we refine them, we cut deeply into what they grew from,<br />&#13; we lay them out, grate them down, distill their juices.  We do this together:<br />&#13; laborers, scientists, financial wizards who build steel and concrete monuments,<br />&#13; sweating together to find something clear and sweet within the darkest earth.<br />&#13; And here we see it, in this vacuum pan chamber where everything distills<br />&#13;           like poetry<br />&#13; we see that crystal clear nugget that is at the core of every child’s dream,<br />&#13; something sweet to hang the dreams of a lifetime on where something sweet<br />&#13; comes from the hardest work that every kind of man and woman can do<br />&#13; working together in the seeding, planting, growing, and harvesting of seasons.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From <em>Shadows Within The Roaring Fork</em> (OR: Flowstone Press, 2017)</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>The City Within the City</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>is within the darkest brick alleyways<br />&#13; at the far end, over the cobblestones<br />&#13; behind the greyest most modest wall<br />&#13; where when the doors open chandeliers<br />&#13; (cut glass from the hard hands of Tiffany)<br />&#13; shaken by Brahms and Mozart notes,<br />&#13; where shadowed men speak in whispers|<br />&#13; slurring their words in aged whiskey or<br />&#13; rolling their vowels in brandy snifters<br />&#13; come together in every city nameless.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>It is a place where Roman Cardinals<br />&#13; take off their shoes, turn water into wine<br />&#13; and pass bread among poor fishermen,<br />&#13; a place where Rothschilds sew buttons<br />&#13; onto the very fabric of industrial society,<br />&#13; knowing what seam clothes the factories,<br />&#13; what clothes the university professors,<br />&#13; and where the owners of the deepest mines<br />&#13; crush the land itself into the finest jewels.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>It is a place linked by placelessness,<br />&#13; stretching across one continent to another<br />&#13; identified most by the silence of <em>gravitas</em>,<br />&#13; the number of communication lines run in,<br />&#13; the generations that have grown in-bred<br />&#13; that own the media that no one writes of,<br />&#13; that is the heartbeat that fills our lives.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Found almost always where least expected<br />&#13; it wears the dappled camouflage of soldiers<br />&#13; who have enlisted on the wings of angels,<br />&#13; and its music, its heady perfumes, baubles,<br />&#13; metaphysical incantations, whispered siren songs<br />&#13; are the darkest deepest richest fabric woven<br />&#13; in the city within the city within our home.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From <em>Shadows Within The Roaring Fork</em> (OR: Flowstone Press, 2017)</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Deep in the Convenience Store</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>A man buys two pens<br />&#13;     and puts them in his pocket<br />&#13; in the convenience store<br />&#13; the cash register accounts for two pens<br />&#13;    as two wide angle cameras take him in<br />&#13; side the cameras four more pens<br />&#13; click into the man’s pockets<br />&#13; and the bar code reader sends data<br />&#13; while the parking lot camera scans two pens<br />&#13; clipped onto a sweat stained shirt, and<br />&#13; by the time he gets home 18 pens<br />&#13; bulge in his pocket, closing him in<br />&#13; while computers trace two pens back<br />&#13; to an assembly line in eastern Asia<br />&#13; where caps are placed on these things</p>&#13; &#13; <p>The man lies awake all night.  His pens become immense and<br />&#13; do not have enough ink to write poems of the people he has touched.<br />&#13; His pens have meant more to people than all the poems he writes.<br />&#13; He knows his pens are filled with hungry haunted nightmares.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From <em>Shadows Within The Roaring Fork</em> (OR: Flowstone Press, 2017)</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>That’s How It Is</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>Sunrise finds the New York shopkeepers rolling up their windows<br />&#13; dusting off the counters sweeping the floors shoveling their walkways<br />&#13; pulling pastries from dry hot ovens filling coffee pots to get the morning going<br />&#13; for the secretaries and executives and lawyers bankers insurance salesmen clerks<br />&#13; and the homeless too coming in quietly with their handfuls of fear and empty bellies<br />&#13; because it’s another day, and the workers do what workers do every blessed day<br />&#13; not too aware of what they do or whom they serve but it’s morning and they rise</p>&#13; &#13; <p>and sunrise is indifferent as the clouds and passes on to Pennsylvania<br />&#13; and it reflects redness of the empty steel mills and foundries<br />&#13; where again the shopkeepers rise and here the miners line up for unemployment<br />&#13; or the lucky ones still go down into the darkness of the earth with fear in their hearts<br />&#13; and fishermen line up on the banks of the Alleghany with their thermoses<br />&#13; and a gum chewing girl from a diner clears egg-smeared plates from tables<br />&#13; watching the traffic that never ends go by along the interstate a seamless zipper</p>&#13; &#13; <p>and sunrise hurries on its way out across the freighters on Lake Michigan<br />&#13; and the commodity traders working screaming toward heart attacks in Chicago<br />&#13; the endowed institutions of learning that line our cities the students half asleep<br />&#13; out over the heartland where the grain still grows so high it never touches ground<br />&#13; and on out over eastern and then western Kansas where the aquifers are drying<br />&#13; and the promise of America’s breadbasket is starting to grow thin</p>&#13; &#13; <p>it moves on across the mountains of Colorado, hiding itself in valleys<br />&#13; and pointing out the oil well and ore dumps and abandoned ghost towns<br />&#13; the rusting scaffolding of the <strong>Roan Plateau</strong> the toxic sumps of <strong>Climax</strong><br />&#13; and the shopkeepers rising to open their shops for the clerks and lawyers<br />&#13; ranchers driving their herds to the high country or to the low country<br />&#13;                                   depending on the season<br />&#13; it changes but sunrise moves across it and as always work begins<br />&#13; and sunrise has no mind no consciousness of the shadows growing<br />&#13; and of how the same work has to start and be filled each day or<br />&#13; of the darkness that follows only hours behind and the light<br />&#13; behind that the tired muscles in a man’s arms the panic<br />&#13; at the morning table when the bills come out<br />&#13; the liquor sparkling in taverns after the day is gone<br />&#13; shimmering in the folks of evening gowns but<br />&#13; it moves on without reference to the thoughts of workers<br />&#13; sunrise brightens up the sands of Vegas and the roulette tables<br />&#13; the hookers high-rollers and papers in the gutters along the strip<br />&#13; the hangovers and empty wallets left over from the night before<br />&#13; and the shop owners the police the judges putting on their pants<br />&#13; the hotel windows glinting back a desert sandscape to the sky</p>&#13; &#13; <p>but it moves on and peaks upon the Hollywood sign and the<br />&#13; cougar living in those hills and the movie makers making reality<br />&#13; and flattens out over the iron endless gray of the Pacific<br />&#13; but even as the surf is up off California it is growing darker<br />&#13; to the east and the day is as long as the motions we all go through.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From <em>To The Dark Angels </em>(New York Quarterly Books, 2015)</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Love in Quantum Field Theory</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>I am awake with the mountain cats,<br />&#13; perturbations in the shadows of nothingness.<br />&#13; There are four fields in quantum theory,<br />&#13; open flowings without fences,<br />&#13; dimpled with the circles of disruption<br />&#13; splashed from infinite possibilities on themselves,<br />&#13; of those things that go through a cat’s eye<br />&#13; and are the eye of the dark cat beyond night,<br />&#13; night- light within the beginning of all things.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>We circle around upon through each other, bosons,<br />&#13; each dimpled ripple seeking something in the curve<br />&#13; that entwined without mind in the dimpled curve<br />&#13; is sensed most perfectly as being what we need<br />&#13; as things that have no needs beyond ourselves.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>And I don’t know now as dusk settles time space<br />&#13; like a liquid crystal cat display in window glass<br />&#13; what gravity this has that causes the fields<br />&#13; to feed upon themselves, to flow between<br />&#13; the stones that are the field or the flesh.<br />&#13; Perhaps a field out beyond the fences built<br />&#13; will be found to flow between the currents<br />&#13; ebbing forever in the tidal flow.  Perhaps</p>&#13; &#13; <p>there is nothing that can disrupt field theory<br />&#13; dimpling on itself except some other force<br />&#13; where life finds life within each other<br />&#13; creating not another like itself but life<br />&#13; creating what no other force can feel or be,<br />&#13; switching back and forth a lover’s lazy gaze<br />&#13; sinuous as the dreams of anything, falling<br />&#13; through everything with the weight of life<br />&#13; lost in the majesty of mindless certainty.<br />&#13; Appearing.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From <em>Shadows Within The Roaring Fork</em> (OR: Flowstone Press, 2017)</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Lake Peterson</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>This is a small lake but deep,<br />&#13; nestled in the throat of a volcano<br />&#13; surrounded by miles of <strong><a href="https://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/moose">moose</a></strong> and <strong><a href="https://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/rocky-mountain-elk">elk</a></strong><br />&#13; foraging their ways among <strong>aspen</strong> and <strong>fir</strong>,<br />&#13; the chuckling of martens and porcupines,<br />&#13; the silence of Colorado coyotes at dusk.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>A sunset brightening horizon fills this lake<br />&#13; as it fills the sleek bellies of <strong>trout</strong> down<br />&#13;    in their darkness<br />&#13; with eyes that perceive what cannot be<br />&#13;          spoken,<br />&#13; what cannot be shared across flesh.<br />&#13; And the wind which passes among pines<br />&#13; moves across this lake without moving it,<br />&#13; meaning that small waves dance in place<br />&#13; where shore meets land again and again,<br />&#13;  almost as on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean<br />&#13; except there are fewer people here<br />&#13; and there are no billboards, no road.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>This is a small lake that matters little<br />&#13; where an eco-system of life encompasses<br />&#13; little meaning on the edge of infinity,<br />&#13; and the sun is its reflected surface<br />&#13; and its voiceless denizens are dark<br />&#13; with the bright colors of stars on their skin,<br />&#13; and the voice and temperature of the earth<br />&#13; funneled deep into its concave infinite depth.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>From <em>To the Dark Angels</em> (New York Quarterly Books, 2015)</p>&#13; &#13; <p>All poems are opyright 2018 by Jared Smith</p>&#13; </div> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/custom/encyclopedia/templates/field/field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig' --> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'field' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * field--node--field-keyword--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--node--field-keyword.html.twig x field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--field-keyword.html.twig * field--entity-reference.html.twig * field.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/custom/encyclopedia/templates/field/field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig' --> <div class="field field--name-field-keyword field--type-entity-reference field--label-above" id="id-field-keyword"> <div class="field__label" id="id-field-keyword">Keywords</div> <div class='field__items'> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/social-studies" hreflang="en">Social Studies</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a 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http://coloradoencyclopedia.org Jessy Randall http://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/jessy-randall <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'field' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * field--node--title--encyclopedia-article.html.twig x field--node--title.html.twig * field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--title.html.twig * field--string.html.twig * field.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/field--node--title.html.twig' --> <span class="field field--name-title field--type-string field--label-hidden">Jessy Randall</span> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/field/field--node--title.html.twig' --> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'field' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * field--node--uid--encyclopedia-article.html.twig x field--node--uid.html.twig * field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--uid.html.twig * field--entity-reference.html.twig * field.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 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addtoany_list" data-a2a-url="http://coloradoencyclopedia.org/article/jessy-randall" data-a2a-title="Jessy Randall"><a class="a2a_dd addtoany_share" href="https://www.addtoany.com/share#url=http%3A%2F%2Fcoloradoencyclopedia.org%2Farticle%2Fjessy-randall&amp;title=Jessy%20Randall"></a><a class="a2a_button_facebook"></a><a class="a2a_button_twitter"></a><a class="a2a_button_email"></a></span> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'modules/contrib/addtoany/templates/addtoany-standard.html.twig' --> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'field' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * field--node--body--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--node--body.html.twig x field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--body.html.twig * field--text-with-summary.html.twig * field.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/custom/encyclopedia/templates/field/field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig' --> <div class="field field--name-body field--type-text-with-summary field--label-hidden field__item" id="id-body"><p class="rtecenter"><img alt="Poet: Jessy Randall" src="/sites/default/files/Jessy_Randall.jpg" style="width: 600px; height: 476px;" /></p>&#13; &#13; <p>Jessy Randall lives in Colorado Springs. Her poems, stories, and other things have appeared in <em>Asimov’s</em>, <em>McSweeney’s</em>, and <em>Poetry</em>. She is the author of several books, including, most recently, <em>Suicide Hotline Hold Music</em> (Red Hen Press, 2016) a collection of poems and comics. Her website is http://bit.ly/JessyRandall.</p>&#13; &#13; <h2>Poems</h2>&#13; &#13; <h3>Annie Jump Cannon Cataloged Stars</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>Annie Jump Cannon<br />&#13; cataloged stars</p>&#13; &#13; <p>the work was tedious</p>&#13; &#13; <p>the pay was terrible</p>&#13; &#13; <p>but every day for forty years<br />&#13; she went to work<br />&#13; and held the universe together</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 2018 .</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in the journal <em>Asimov’s,</em> January 2018.</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Annie Jump Cannon Goes Home from the Lab</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>She can't stop seeing them<br />&#13; the photographs<br />&#13; black and white smears of stars</p>&#13; &#13; <p>they look like throwaways<br />&#13; they look like nothing<br />&#13; but not to her, to her they're clear</p>&#13; &#13; <p>as alphabets, she's good<br />&#13; at what she does and proud<br />&#13; of her work, it's important work</p>&#13; &#13; <p>it will last</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 2018</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in the journal <em>Asimov’s,</em> January 2018</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Mathematical Truths</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>Mathematical truth: a perfect right angle<br />&#13; cannot exist in the physical world.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>How do the mathematicians<br />&#13; go on with their lives,<br />&#13; knowing these things?</p>&#13; &#13; <p>How can they survive,<br />&#13; understanding that infinity<br />&#13; is equal to infinity-minus-one?</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Didn’t the floor beneath you,<br />&#13; just now, become<br />&#13; awfully precarious?</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 2004 .</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in the literary journal <em>Snakeskin</em>, March 2004.</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Atoms</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>Atoms are so small that if<br />&#13; you take a glass of water and pour it into the ocean<br />&#13; and then mix all the water of all the oceans of the world<br />&#13; and then reach the glass in<br />&#13; and pull out a full glass of new water,<br />&#13; two or three of the atoms from the first glassful<br />&#13; will be in the new glassful</p>&#13; &#13; <p>and that means there are some atoms<br />&#13; from Phil Owens’s sweaters and blond hair<br />&#13; still stuck to me, and I will<br />&#13; have them forever</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 1998 .</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in the literary journal <em>Snakeskin</em> in November 1998.</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>The Secret to Writing Poetry</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>Take something that happened<br />&#13; to you, once, and make it seem<br />&#13; to have happened to everyone,<br />&#13; everywhere, over and over.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Take something that happens<br />&#13; to everyone, everywhere,<br />&#13; and make it seem to have<br />&#13; happened to you, once.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 2009 .</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in the journal <em>Statement</em>, Spring 2009.</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Going to the Library</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>In the library there are pathways<br />&#13; you follow to find out what you want to know<br />&#13; imagine – somewhere in all these books<br />&#13; or on the face of the computer or in parentheses<br />&#13; at the back of a magazine, there is<br />&#13; the perfect sentence, the answer to your question,<br />&#13; the words all around you like<br />&#13; the tornado in the Wizard of Oz never<br />&#13; go home Dorothy – Dorothy, never land –<br />&#13; language can be your bed, the<br />&#13; beautiful wonder of all possible poems.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 1998 .</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in the literary journal <em>Möbius</em>, March 1998</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Pippi, Now</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>She’s in shreds,<br />&#13; an old woman<br />&#13; in mismatched stockings.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>She's teaching a class<br />&#13; at the community college.<br />&#13; She eats fast food</p>&#13; &#13; <p>and bothers her neighbors<br />&#13; with her unkempt animals<br />&#13; and late night dancing.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Pippi, we still love you<br />&#13; even if your gold ran out<br />&#13; and your braids fell down,</p>&#13; &#13; <p>even if all you do is make pancakes<br />&#13; and save one kid from one shark<br />&#13; just once a year, that's enough.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 2012 .</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in <em>Injecting Dreams into Cows</em> (Red Hen Press, 2012).</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>The Seductiveness of the Memory Hole</h3>&#13; &#13; <p><em>“He crumpled up the original message and any notes that he himself had made, and dropped them into the memory hole to be devoured by the flames.”<br />&#13; — </em>George Orwell, <em>1984</em></p>&#13; &#13; <p>We have an invention. We<br />&#13; invented it. What you do is,<br />&#13; you email us the thing<br />&#13; that you want to forget.<br />&#13; You list every detail. You<br />&#13; describe in full. When we<br />&#13; get the email, we delete it.<br />&#13; We don’t just delete the email.<br />&#13; We delete the thing. The thing<br />&#13; never happened. No one involved<br />&#13; will remember it; no one<br />&#13; who heard the story will<br />&#13; repeat it; even you yourself<br />&#13; will forget it.<br />&#13; We have done it already.<br />&#13; We are doing it right now.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 2003 .</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in the literary journal <em>The Magazine of Speculative Poetry</em>, December 2003.</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>The Gender Argument</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>“The word <em>Kleidung</em>takes the masculine<br /><em>der</em>,<br />&#13; not the feminine <em>die</em>,”<br />&#13; said Frau Wimmers.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>I asked why.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>“Because those are the rules<br />&#13; of German grammar. And<br /><em>Katzen</em> is plural, so it takes <em>die</em>, too.”</p>&#13; &#13; <p>“I think it should take <em>das</em>,”<br />&#13; I said. “I think it should change<br />&#13; from day to day.”</p>&#13; &#13; <p>“It doesn’t matter what you think,<br />&#13; it’s <em>die,</em>” the teacher said.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>“But it does matter,” I said.<br />&#13; “Nothing matters more<br />&#13; than what I think,<br />&#13; what people think.<br />&#13; People are the ones<br />&#13; who make these rules!”</p>&#13; &#13; <p><em>“Mädchen</em> takes <em>das</em>.<br /><em>Hase</em> takes <em>der</em>. You<br />&#13; are going to fail this class.”</p>&#13; &#13; <p>“Fine,” I said, and took my F.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 2015 .</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in the literary journal <em>Poemeleon</em>, August 2015.</p>&#13; &#13; <h3>Ballerinas Do Not Fall on the Floor: A Found Poem</h3>&#13; &#13; <p>Ballerinas do not fall on the floor.<br />&#13; Ballerinas keep their thumbs in.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>We are not allowed to touch the pole now.<br />&#13; We are not hopping now.<br />&#13; We’re going backwards!<br />&#13; Pay attention!<br />&#13; Don’t touch the pole – that’s the rule.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>I’m not showing that.<br />&#13; I’m showing beautiful ballerina arms.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Let’s not forget our bodies. Ballerinas don’t make noise.<br />&#13; Can you tell me, should we keep our legs straight, or<br />&#13; should we bend them?</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Really?</p>&#13; &#13; <p>No, I think we should keep them straight.<br />&#13; In this position we have more space.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>That’s too much space.</p>&#13; &#13; <p>Copyright 2010 .</p>&#13; &#13; <p>First published in the literary journal <em>Press 1</em>, September 2010.</p>&#13; </div> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/custom/encyclopedia/templates/field/field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig' --> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'field' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * field--node--field-keyword--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--node--field-keyword.html.twig x field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig * field--field-keyword.html.twig * field--entity-reference.html.twig * field.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/custom/encyclopedia/templates/field/field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig' --> <div class="field field--name-field-keyword field--type-entity-reference field--label-above" id="id-field-keyword"> <div class="field__label" id="id-field-keyword">Keywords</div> <div class='field__items'> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/physics" hreflang="en">Physics</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/astronomy" hreflang="en">Astronomy</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/mathematics" hreflang="en">Mathematics</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/geometry" hreflang="en">Geometry</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/language-arts" hreflang="en">Language Arts</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/literature" hreflang="en">Literature</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/writing" hreflang="en">Writing</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/technology" hreflang="en">Technology</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/foreign-languages" hreflang="en">Foreign Languages</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/performing-arts" hreflang="en">performing arts</a></div> <div class="field__item" id="id-field-keyword"><a href="/keyword/dance" hreflang="en">dance</a></div> </div> </div> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/custom/encyclopedia/templates/field/field--node--encyclopedia-article.html.twig' --> <!-- THEME DEBUG --> <!-- THEME HOOK: 'links__node' --> <!-- FILE NAME SUGGESTIONS: * links--node.html.twig x links--inline.html.twig * links--node.html.twig * links.html.twig --> <!-- BEGIN OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/navigation/links--inline.html.twig' --> <!-- END OUTPUT from 'themes/contrib/bootstrap_barrio/templates/navigation/links--inline.html.twig' --> Fri, 25 Jan 2019 20:29:13 +0000 yongli 3030 at http://coloradoencyclopedia.org