50 years of poems
August 20th, 2024
first here and then far (Harbour $24.95) is a carefully curated retrospective that spans over fifty years of poetry by BC based poet David Zieroth. The collection, arranged chronologically, traces the evolution of Zieroth’s unique voice and style, beginning with early works that reflect on his rural Prairie childhood. These poems reveal his deep connection to the landscapes and experiences of his upbringing. As the collection unfolds, Zieroth’s poetry expands to explore themes of family, history and the natural world, with imagery drawn from daily life guiding the reader through unexpected insights. His later work, including a previously unpublished poem, showcases a more streamlined and lyrical approach, shedding conventional forms while gaining emotional depth. This anthology not only highlights the growth of Zieroth’s poetic journey but also serves as a testament to his creativity and insight, capturing the essence of a poet at the height of his powers.
The following poem, Prayer For A Friend, is extracted from Zieroth’s book:
He bore the mark of the knife
on the back of his head,
an inverted u like the print
of a horseshoe where the surgeon
had entered his brain and removed
a class 4
malignant tumour that had already
taken peripheral vision on the left.
I couldn’t help but look
at the shaved patch
with its metal stitches, my eye
drawn there, as a tongue
inserts itself into a cavity.
We talked of past and future,
with words only friends can use
—terminal, tomorrow,
radiation, memory—and I found
my fingers were digging on their own
into the fabric of the blanket
covering the couch: they found holes
in the knotty
knitted material. I need to dig
and cling, thinking of his wife
in the kitchen, making a pale tea.
My cornea is distorted by the steroids,
he says, and so the house
is full of people; he sees one now
sitting between us, a young boy
from the ‘50s, clean and strong
as if this is an angel of his
former self come to bring him love,
not just electrical hallucinations,
not mere emanations from his need
to keep his spirit strong.
On the drive home I go through
a red light. No one runs into me.
I hit no one. I pull to the curb, panting
a bit, my hands fighting the wheel.
It comes down to this:
I am lucky. Sometimes it happens that way,
my own angel directing everyone
to tasks that take them elsewhere.
Dear angel, I promise to look out more—
thank you and now, please, I release you
from your charge of me so you may
fly to my friend and touch his head.
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