Dane Hamann
[Q & A]
Can you distinguish between the loss of time
and the neat rows of plastic homes engaged
in staring contests across the same bright
green quilts of new, thirsty grass pulled up
to the sun-bleached, bare necks of their
concrete foundations, the same collars of
driveways with their garage doors closed
against the unbroken prairie wind? Whole
years must have been taken from us out
here in the spongy clonescape. The fields
have petrified into ribbons of asphalt. Air
almost glacial now yields to the tang of
fresh oil in the sun. Even the yellow-gray
dirt seems impossibly old, cut by rain into
smiling ridges. I can't follow the timeline
of such changes. Imagine, these hills were
once crowned by nothing. I used to chase
seconds along the shoulders of open roads.
Every stride questioning which frequency
my lungs must match to align me with
the pulse of dust kicked up from the side
of the road. Truthfully, I had been shorn
to near nothingness, a wire-whip sapling
bent in the wind. I don't recall the smooth
motion of either the minute or hour hands.
All I see now are the lights flickering on
and off in those photocopied subdivisions.
I know there is a tipping point like age or
the same story retold a thousand times that
leaves you in these places. A muddy stream
in a hidden canyon curls again and again
around mossy stones, until it goes dry.
The Metropolis is but a System of Streets within the Heart
A found poem created through the erasure of text from
Chapters 1 through 7 of The Plan of Chicago
i.
A natural result
of desire
is chaos.
It is to be expected
that any solution
will be the result
of the very conditions
it sought to remedy.
The radical
solution
should be justified,
familiar.
It should be remembered
that the best conclusion
is to reverse
extravagance,
wastefulness.
A public will fall,
and thus the American
industry of convenience,
of comfort,
becomes drudgery.
Then, too, men
trained in the lesson that
the hand
for home
has elapsed,
has been forgotten,
has been look upon as something
foreign,
will discover everyone who lives,
acts to live amid beauty.
That money makes
pleasant lives,
anchoring the soul
even now,
controls many men.
Indeed, it seems the years
bring about the very knowledge
that we as a people
surely will pass.
ii.
Two motives: location, or else, fortifications.
Enemies without form in this western hemisphere.
Recall: walled towns, recent borders, a war-like ruler.
All plans for the work of empire.
Thus, year by year every piece of beauty
looks as if it were just executed. A sort of bloom.
A gift, that sum of light and air
that during the centuries hung like the power
of being civilized. During the destruction
and decay of national life, the new conditions of love
passed entirely to the vast reaches of progress.
The point of us is to open the future.
iii.
No country,
when war came,
increased the elements
for greatness.
The pressing questions
often heard
when the growth
of the city
finds expression
in the ruthlessly
divided
human heart
are as electric
as the empty night.
Swarms of bodies
are over the city.
It needs no argument
that necessity has been drawn
for the bodies
in the building of
burden.
Compare the present day,
the economical destroy
the best.
The country will be
unsightly, and,
as a rule,
too many suffer.
iv.
Such indeed it then was / in the minds / having been awakened / that day / there should be / equal / and inalienable / heavens in beautiful colors / The opportunities for / escape from the petty things / is not all / Wherever / the waves may break / the sweet breath of / happiness / should no longer / change / from mile to mile / All of us should often / seek / citizenship / of the / unbroken / land / There are places / fenced in / and the scenery / is covered with / the silhouettes of steel / Every effort / should be made / to reclaim the / lands / Such a / system / is / as much needed as / a generation / which / has thus far / taken / the next generation / beyond / the acquisition of / dignity
v.
The traffic of the spirit
should be a sacrifice.
No road should be less.
It is not an extreme statement
to say the country
could have been rescued.
But the roads of the greater
heart were inadequate.
vi.
These immeasurable beginnings, landlocked, storm-tossed,
may be occupied by a population capable of indefinite
monotony. One must find multitudes
in the vista or in the converging lights by night.
There is space beyond. There are demands for sweat
in the privilege of peace. By which is meant: the avenue
of desirable space should be of the most enduring character.
Devoted. Inevitable. The greatest disfigurement is the crowd
controlled by individuals that draw lines so as to avoid
each other. Thus, there may be subdivision into various
subdivisions. The future must be opened.
Already the best roads lead everywhere but never to
uniformity. In time, the streets within a single point
shall provide access equally to fields of light and air.
vii.
The heart is a composition of various fails.
It is the one great thoroughfare of every abandoned
connection. Part or all of it would not be necessary
but for being designed to offer its great span,
which will inevitably be called upon to bear
a heavy burden. Where the heart lends itself,
failure is shared by both sun and rain,
beautiful in themselves, if not the most satisfactory.
The heart would sustain defiance even while
at the same time building the fire of need.
A fire made in the highest bridges and arteries
to carry the architects of nowhere.
About Dane Hamann
Dane Hamann works as an editor for a textbook publisher in the southwest suburbs of Chicago. He received his MFA in Creative Writing from Northwestern University, where he currently serves as the poetry editor of TriQuarterly. His micro-chapbook is available from Ghost City Press, and another chapbook is forthcoming from Sutra Press. He can be found at www.danehamann.com and on Twitter @donnyhamms.