Hartford poet brett a. maddux releases his latest collection of poems titled algorithm hymns. “twenty-two meditations” is an extended reflection on life, death, and reincarnation featured in the final section of the book, the tumor hymns. The featured photographs were taken during the writing of the book’s first section, the travel hymns.
Poetry & Photographs by
brett a. maddux
twenty-two meditations
i. amen again still trying to break the habit
still trying to reach the ground cross-
legged over the connecticut in suspension trembling shivering above a
shimmering luminosity alive or so they
tell me & downtown i saw a bride &
groom walking alone along a sidewalk
toward the courthouse & at the river’s
edge two children swing in motion each
one aiming for the sky & at a picnic
table three women sit watching & one
says good heavens & they laugh & on
the corridor beneath the bridge they list
the great floods of the past though not all
of them & not the future ones & a man
draws autumn trees in red pencil beside
the sculpture keckly & there are toddlers
in masks grass moved by breeze like
waves descending it has been two
months since my last cigarette it has
been two months since i last spoke to
rose it has been two months since i
learned how to ascend into air & i keep
thinking it will get easier & some days it
does some days parades on pyrrhic
victories but most days i have to take
myself out to clear the lungs & brain a
bit clear the space where kings & queens
are dancing playing their music for gods
own audience first the bend the traffic
casual & then the pirouette
ii.
rested gently upon the lungs bridge
mercy’s blessings life is lived until
forgiveness blends in with the water as
sun eddies grass into the current i have
been told love comes between good &
perfect but i haven’t found it there & i
have been looking & i have been
wondering what it is we come for water
in a spiders web fifteen steps across the
span a gnat that hovers suspended
endlessly over the city & somewhere a
dog is barking as a hawk circles the
aqueduct & i have been wondering what
these animals are doing in my head & on
the tracks a cashed half-smoked cigarette
butt a god that gives until we’ve had
enough
iii. god pulls up a chair takes a seat adjusts
the microphone says i would like to play
for you forgiveness psalms in minor key
& they’ll sound just like the ones you
heard before as the radio plays every
station no kings & no solicitations doors
running right up to the water & if the
boatman asks exactly what you came for
i find it’s best to tell the truth or
something close to it on grand pianos
made of metaphor a time that sounds the
same in either three or four a driving
rhythm bodies can’t ignore over the
water now eyes on the shore see gilded
cities made of bended glass flowers &
snakes that blend in with the grass flows
current from the future to the past as
ravens hover for your souls repast &
wonder how long does this morphine
last with lungs that claim to breathe as
clouds roll past you can not take it &
you can’t give it back
iv. staircase of light that leads you
underneath the boatman asks you for
your baby teeth & quotes a fair price for
your soul before he whispers where’s
your god now & in hartford in ‘36 water
nearly reached the bridge & seven years
before there was depression & three
years later the war was on & in ‘45 they
dropped the bomb & as the floods came
rolling in as hiroshima burned as
children lined up for bread they must
have thought the world was ending
prophecy come water rising markets
collapsing famine & struggle all against
all & lately everyone i talk to seems to
think the world is ending & most of
them seem to think it is happening for
the first time