3 May 21 Guest Poet: Joe McDonnell- I am an animal too +2 more

A Poet in the Wannaska Weeds: Joe McDonnell 

For the second week in a row, we feature a local poet. This week's poet is originally from the Boston area, and if certain people had not emigrated, he might have been from “merry ol’” Ireland.* Joe McDonnell, our guest poet today is exceedingly merry. It’s easy to tell when he’s around by the laughter and comradery that prevails. Jokes, squibs, gibes, and one-liners roll off his tongue like honey dripping from hot toast.

Mr. McDonnell is one of the most intriguing poets you will ever read. He’s darn good at creative prose as well, and his letter-writing is worth more than the price of a stamp. Lest we disremember, Joe is a two-day-a-week contributor to Wannaskan Almanac. Fridays, his posts flutter, and flitter around historic themes, and on Sundays – yes, every Sunday – he graces us with bowlful of his always-original “squibs.” (See “Background” below.)

In conversations with him, I can never tell when he’s serious or when he’s joking. That could be due to my lacking a sense of humor. On the other hand, the dilemma may arise from his crafty ways with words, clever bon mots, and dead-on witticisms that keep his confused readers and listeners on their toes. So, as you read his work, beware of poetic traps, free-verse mine fields, and humor that is or isn’t. Who can tell? One thing that has to be said about our guest poet is “he’s got range.” Read his creations and feel your head spin.

The first poem is one of his latest and greatest. We think it’s prize-worthy, but for now, we can only blow kisses to the poet, wafted over the pines on Westerly breezes. (That’s the kisses wafted, not the poet. Just try wafting a poet!)

The second poem has a definite Buddhist tinge to it. There’s “Awakening,” of course, and the obstacles (“distractions”). And then the snap of the last line asking the cogent question that rests between the “absolute” and the “conventional”. This scrappy little poem delivers a one-two punch.

Third, and just as intriguing as its predecessors, the egg/ego piece provides another take on spiritual challenge, ending on a melancholy note. As a finale, the moon-gazing piece is bound to get you out tonight to find out if the moon has the same effect on you as it has on the poet and his subjects.

Fág a' Bealach! 

The Irish poet from Wannaska goes forth!

I’m an animal too

After my fast

I feel the same pain in my belly

As the woodchuck snuffling the air.

Left alone for a day

I share the exultation of the mountain lion

Roaming his rocky castle

On day two alone

I am one with the firefly

As he switches on his cozy lamp

Yes my friends

I’ve had a great Awakening.

Unfortunately, my satori

Came with a snooze button.

Everything’s a distraction

A pebble in my shoe,

A glass of beer,

Your girlish smile.

Maybe that’s the point.

Some days early 

I think I've cracked the ego

shell and shucked it off, but

That's the albumin talking. 

I have poked holes only

And dreamt of nothing 

Beyond. 

At five to one the moon came up

I turned and pulled the shade

Our ancient dads and grandams 

Would have heartened to that light

And taken spears to roust a stag

Or procreate a babe

Background

Prior to becoming a lad of leisure, Joe served in several capacities, notably social worker and earlier, member of the U.S. Armed Forces – unit: Navy. The tales to be told about the latter would fill the latrines of Norris Camp! He has worn many, many other hats, but we’ll leave those for another time – or not.

Joe claims he isn’t a writer; however, today’s post belies his assertion. His Sunday Squibs are non-stop combinations of humor and humility. Joe might want to reconsider what writing really is. In case you aren’t familiar with squibs, generally, they are short pieces of satirical writing; however, I prefer the other definition: a small firework that burns with a hissing sound before exploding. Extrapolating from “firework,” there is the “damp squib,” a fired projectile that does not have enough force behind it to exit the barrel and thus becomes stuck. Read Joe’s Sunday posts and draw your own conclusions. It’s worth more than the price of a subscription to Wannaskan Almanac.

So, if you enjoyed this week’s poems, let me know. Maybe I can coax a few more out of our local celebrity writer. Any return visit will certainly be a hullabaloo! Once word gets out, there will be a hubbub and a hurrah!

Exploration 1: If you know this poet (or even if you don’t) write a brief character profile based only on his poetry.

Exploration 2: How does nature thread its way through the poems?

Exploration 3: Is there a common theme running through the poems, or a message that threads its way among the pieces?

Exploration 4: Do you find Joe’s poetry to be: (a) humorous, (b) silly, (c) profound, (d) easy to understand, (e) inscrutable, (f) fluff ‘n duff, (g) manly, (h) like a damp squib, (i) humble, (j) pious, (k) down to earth, (h) a hullabaloo?

*My former English relatives-in-law would despise me for the misappropriation of their adjectives. In my own defense, my UK relatives are mostly old; none of them are – or were – merry.