JANET HAMILL: KNOCK
Like Coleridge, I place great faith in dreams, and the concept of Knock was presented in a dream – a dream of such vividness, I knew it to be a gift – something I had to run with. In the dream, a 45 rpm record called “Knock of Africa,” was handed to me in a simple brown slip case. The label was visible through a circle cut in the center of the slip case. There was no lettering on the label, but its colors were those associated with modern Africa – red, green, yellow, black. Without anyone having to speak – which is so often the case in dreams – it was understood that if I listened to both sides of the record –composed entirely of European, ambient music, not at all the music associated with Africa, be it tribal or Mediterranean Arab pop – I would absorb the complete essence of the continent. Inspired by such a profound gift, I wrote a series of five poems during my third New England College MFA semester called “Knock of Africa” – knock meaning knocking on a door, or “Knock, knock….Hello, Africa’s calling.” For my thesis, it was suggested that I might expand the initial series. The final version of KNOCK – a 48pp. trip book, written entirely in pantoums, including five additional “Knock” sections – spirals out of my original dream to additionally address my travels in the USA (“Knock of Hollywood”), Mexico (“Knock of Tijuana”), crossing the Atlantic (“Knock of Rijeka”), Europe (“Knock of San Tropez”), and finally my resting place of three decades, “Knock of New York.”
From the “Knock of Rijeka” section of KNOCK–(I crossed the Atlantic on a Yugoslavian freighter when Tito was still alive. Rijeka was, and is, a Croatian port city.)
At any given longitude moonrise or moonset Beethoven’s Ode to Joy unfurled
in mid ocean stars etched sails on my breast plate gazing north in late winter
I mounted Taurus & held the faceted fingers of the Gemini twins
without distinction between sky & sea the railing braced clinging to life
In mid ocean stars etched sails on my breast plate gazing north in late winter
you never escaped the sound of the waves a lullaby to more than my inner ears
without distinction between sky & sea the railing braced clinging to life
to steer the big wooden whee l one evening the Captain invited us to his office
You never escaped the sound of the waves a lullaby to more than my inner ears
the Zvir was equipped with electronic navigation but the stars’ direction was fixed
to steer the big wooden wheel one evening the Captain invited us to his office
very old school as every seaman worth his weight is in love with Polaris
The Zvir was equipped with electronic navigation but the stars’direction was fixed
compass quadrant & sextant the he kept the tools of his student sailings
very all old school as every seaman worth his weight is in love with Polaris
at any given longitude moonrise or moonset Beethoven’s Ode to Joy unfurled
From the “Knock of San Tropez” section –
At bus stops from Seville to Cordoba espadrilles displace hard packed sand & clay
grit grinds its way into hair & teeth in the provincial capital of Al-Andalus
under the caliphate of Al-Hakam II a saeta arrow pierced Manolete’s suit of lights
blood red where his groin had been pink & gold gorged by Idleroz’s filed horns
Grit grinds its way into hair & teeth in the provincial capital of Al-Andalus
mannequins of boys & girls in First Communion dress line avenues of windows
blood red where his groin had been pink & gold gorged by Idleroz’s filed horns
soft rushes of the Guadalquivir carry carnage carnations & cancions
Mannequins of boys & girls in First Communion dress line avenues of windows
one of the four who stand before God Raphael is honored in monuments
soft rushes of the Guadalquivir carry carnage carnations & cancions
though never singing the praises of the Mezquita Góngora drank in the gardens
One of the four who stand before God Raphael is honored in monuments
jasper onyx marble & granite 856 columns were made in the hypostyle hall
though never singing the praises of the Mezquita Góngora drank in the gardens
at bus stops from Seville to Cordoba espadrilles dislodge hard packed sand & clay
From the “Knock of New York” section –
Tell me something I can hold on to something to fill empty space a star name
handed over as white wine it tasted like piss say something over this bad excuse
CBGB’s spelled cut glass in four letters transcendence is a thirteen-letter word
I used to go to see my friends break their guitar strings in ripped shirts & jeans
Handed over as white wine it tasted like piss say something over this bad excuse
most bands were unaware of REM sleep all they knew were needles & Heineken
I used to go to see my friends break their guitar strings in ripped shirts & jeans
Patti’s Horses & Televisions’ Marquee Moon were in love with French Symbolism
Most bands were unaware of REM sleep all they knew were needles & Heineken
I stayed until they started lobbing bottles at the audience what was the point
Patti’s Horses & Television’s Marquee Moon were in love with French Symbolism
someone caught a tear in my eye & walked me home to a Bleecker & Elizabeth
I stayed until they started lobbing bottles at the audience what was the point
the music was grounded in three cords of Bowery flooded gutters & graffiti
someone caught a tear in my eye & walked me home to Bleecker & Elizabeth
tell me something I can hold on to something to fill empty space a star name
Janet Hamill is a wild sun spirit from an as yet undiscovered mythology. Or a bad ass ship captain with a necklace made of mermen tails. She was born in Jersey City, spent the late ‘60s, the 70’s, 80’s and early 90’s in NYC and presently lives in New York State’s lower Hudson Valley. Prior to receiving her MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry from New England College on June 28,2014, Janet published five books of poetry and a collection of short fiction (Tales from the Eternal Café, February 2014).