What do you think?
Rate this book
The Devil's Sonata
Just as a theme played by the Devil in a dream was turned into a sonata, in THE DEVIL'S SONATA day-to-day observations are turned into poems. In David Chorlton's seventh book of poetry, the desert climate of the Southwest is often the supporting theme in work that speaks for animals as well as a humans and the land itself.
92 pages, Paperback
First published September 10, 2012
5 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 of 1 review
March 15, 2018
We are the publisher, so all of our authors get five stars from us. Excerpts:
WOLF POLITICS
The wolf, having insufficient vocabulary
beyond the calls that leave a trail
of silver in the air, cannot understand
when it is spoken of as being expendable.
The wolf is a social animal
and has no room in its pack for division
between parties. It takes
what it needs but never has anything
left to collect interest. Wolf time
is the present moment, making platforms
or agendas irrelevant. To the wolf,
a kill is never veiled
in political justification. It does not
first deliberate, and afterwards
pretend remorse. A wolf
doesn’t know its range
is disappearing until
there isn’t anywhere to go
when it runs to the end of its breath.
Wolves have not romanticized their freedom,
they just hold on
to as much of it as they can.
It isn’t easy
when politics comes down
to trading them away in a deal
from which nobody
can vote them back to life.
ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN DEGREES
We can’t see the desert from the city
but we feel it
on days like today when the temperature
at ten a.m. is a hundred
dry degrees promising trouble
later on. After the hundred and ten
at noon, everybody counts
each additional degree all the way
to the day’s high as if
at this point extra heat
makes any difference,
while we could be talking
about one more candidate for the presidency
being intolerable, bemoaning
every new cut in spending for schools
or lamenting the latest
casualty in the foreign war. Keeping
to the weather makes for calm
conversation between strangers, holding us
back from, for instance, discussing
climate change and polar bears
and questioning what
the loss of one more would mean.
Such talk would be a waste of time. You’d have
to ask the polar bear.
*
The Dow went up one hundred and forty-five points
today, while the heat
remained as it has been
and will be
through the coming cloudless days
during which the forecasters will indicate
on a map of the state
which forests are burning
and which can yet be saved
when the monsoon begins. It’s easy to measure
losses and gains
when numbers stand in line
for an easy overview,
the way rainfall amounts would be shown
if there were any, but by the end
of the dry season
there is no index to show
whether junipers or oaks
went down most in the fires.
*
Days like this come every summer,
setting records
for next year to beat.
We’ll be waiting
with a garden hose to keep the trees alive
and pouring water
on the vines. Nothing much
will change: leaves will curl
at their edges, plantings will be limp,
and when sparrows bathe
in the dust, it will cloud up and sparkle
like drops of thirst in the light.
WOLF POLITICS
The wolf, having insufficient vocabulary
beyond the calls that leave a trail
of silver in the air, cannot understand
when it is spoken of as being expendable.
The wolf is a social animal
and has no room in its pack for division
between parties. It takes
what it needs but never has anything
left to collect interest. Wolf time
is the present moment, making platforms
or agendas irrelevant. To the wolf,
a kill is never veiled
in political justification. It does not
first deliberate, and afterwards
pretend remorse. A wolf
doesn’t know its range
is disappearing until
there isn’t anywhere to go
when it runs to the end of its breath.
Wolves have not romanticized their freedom,
they just hold on
to as much of it as they can.
It isn’t easy
when politics comes down
to trading them away in a deal
from which nobody
can vote them back to life.
ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN DEGREES
We can’t see the desert from the city
but we feel it
on days like today when the temperature
at ten a.m. is a hundred
dry degrees promising trouble
later on. After the hundred and ten
at noon, everybody counts
each additional degree all the way
to the day’s high as if
at this point extra heat
makes any difference,
while we could be talking
about one more candidate for the presidency
being intolerable, bemoaning
every new cut in spending for schools
or lamenting the latest
casualty in the foreign war. Keeping
to the weather makes for calm
conversation between strangers, holding us
back from, for instance, discussing
climate change and polar bears
and questioning what
the loss of one more would mean.
Such talk would be a waste of time. You’d have
to ask the polar bear.
*
The Dow went up one hundred and forty-five points
today, while the heat
remained as it has been
and will be
through the coming cloudless days
during which the forecasters will indicate
on a map of the state
which forests are burning
and which can yet be saved
when the monsoon begins. It’s easy to measure
losses and gains
when numbers stand in line
for an easy overview,
the way rainfall amounts would be shown
if there were any, but by the end
of the dry season
there is no index to show
whether junipers or oaks
went down most in the fires.
*
Days like this come every summer,
setting records
for next year to beat.
We’ll be waiting
with a garden hose to keep the trees alive
and pouring water
on the vines. Nothing much
will change: leaves will curl
at their edges, plantings will be limp,
and when sparrows bathe
in the dust, it will cloud up and sparkle
like drops of thirst in the light.
Displaying 1 of 1 review