University of Montana ScholarWorks at University of Montana Graduate Student Theses, Dissertations, & Professional Papers Graduate School 1986 From the invisible coast| Poems and stories Pamela Uschuk The University of Montana Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.umt.edu/etd Let us know how access to this document benefits ou.y Recommended Citation Uschuk, Pamela, "From the invisible coast| Poems and stories" (1986). Graduate Student Theses, Dissertations, & Professional Papers. 2414. https://scholarworks.umt.edu/etd/2414 This Thesis is brought to you for free and open access by the Graduate School at ScholarWorks at University of Montana. It has been accepted for inclusion in Graduate Student Theses, Dissertations, & Professional Papers by an authorized administrator of ScholarWorks at University of Montana. For more information, please contact [email protected]. COPYRIGHT ACT OF 1976 Th is is an unpublished manuscript in which copyright sub ­ s i s t s . Any further r epr in tin g of its contents must be approved BY THE AUTHOR, Mansfield Library Univ er sity of Montana D ate ; 1 9 8 8 FROM THE INVISIBLE COAST Poems and Stories By Pamela Uschuk B. A., Central Michigan University, 1970 Presented in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts University of Montana 1986 Approved by Chairman, Board of Examiners Fan, Graduate SdTtooT M . / / A . D a t^ DM I Number: EP35480 All rights reserved INFORMATION TO ALL USERS The quality of this reproduction is dependent upon the quality of the copy submitted. In the unlikely event that the author did not send a complete manuscript and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion. UMT MwwWkm PtabMing UMI EP35480 Published by ProQuest LLO (2012). Copyright in the Dissertation held by the Author. Microform Edition © ProQuest LLO. All rights reserved. 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Box 1346 Ann Arbor, Ml 48106-1346 Hiis book is for all those I love and \ho continue to bring fire to ny life: Judi, Val, John, my parents, Jennifer, Joy, Sandra, Lyncfy, Brcmwyn, but it is especially for William ACKNCWLaieiacii»!TrS THE BLOCMSBURY REVIEW: "Banking The Fire" CALLIOPE: "Undertow" CALYX: "Awakening" CIMARRON REVIEW: "A Gift Blue As Light" MISSISSIPPI MUD: "Sleeping Ifcder A Meteor Shower On The S tra its of Juan de Fuca" NIMROD: "A Dream, My Child" POETRY: "Black Ice," "After Reading Louise Bogan's Journals" and 'Meditations Beside Kootenai Creek" PORCH: "View From The Hanmock No Wind Rocks" PRICKLY PEAR QUARTERLY REVIEW: "Wiat You May Have T hou^t Was Bnpty" raccoon 14: "Drawn To T.igjit" 5H*nm BNLY musei TELESCOPE: "Of Siaple Intent" TENDRIL: 'Through The Dark, A Brilliance" YARROW: "The Minotaur" ZONE: "Wildflowers" and "To Play By Heart" My dianks to the following publishers: Full Count Press, vhidi published a chapbook of my poens, LIOTT FRCM DEAD STARS, in wÛ.di one of the poems in this manuscript appeared. Mesilla Press, which published a panphlet of poems, LOVING THE OUTLAW, in which one of the poems in this manuscript appeared. Moving P arts P ress, ^hich p rin te d the broadside, "A Dream, My Child," which was acccopanied by a woodcut by Miriam Rice. and Pipedrean Press, vhich published two poem-length chapbooks, SLEEPING UNDER A METEOR SHDWER ON THE STRAITS OF JUAN DE FUCA, acccmpanied by p rin ts by Jochem Poensgen, and MEDITATICKS BESIDE KOOTENAI CREEK. OONIENIS WHAT TOU M Y HAVE THDUGHT WAS EMPTY What You May Have Thought Was Ehpty 4 Wildflowers 5 Ibdertxjw 8 Bum 11 Bankliig The F ire 13 Getting Caught 15 Departures 17 After Reading Louise Bogan's Journals 20 To Play By Heart 22 WAITING FOR RAIN Awakening 26 The M notaur 27 Drawn To L i ^ t 29 Of Simple Intent 30 View Etom The Hanmock No Wind Rocks 32 A Dream, Ify Child 33 Cultivating Stoiy Gromd 34 Early In The Sunken Garden 37 Waiting For Rain 39 MEDITATIONS BESHE KDOTEMI CREEK Thxou^ The Dark, A B rillian ce 47 Checking The Traps 48 Ju st Above 49 A Gift Blue As Li^t 51 Sleeping Uhder A Meteor Shower On The S tra its of Juan de Fuca 54 Black Ice 57 From The Invisible Coast 60 W atercolorist In The Stream 64 Meditations Beside Kootenai Creek 6 6 WHAT YOU HAY HAVE m PO G H T HAS Q4PTY 4 WHAT YOU MY HAVE THDUGHT WAS EMPTY Perhaps no one was home so you went, quietly, for a walk in the arroyo spying with the sun's dry current. Maybe you were restless, looking for a place to sit and watch your shadow stain the ground. While your feet rearranged broken feldspar like angry words, you saw a black beetle big as your ear even with its head broken off. You stopped, thinking it moved. But i t was empty, a stranded desert nautilus. So, with your skin pricked rose quartz, you sat, mica gleaming like constellations around your feet, the beetle that became a shell. You walked inside, spelunking for the g ^ lia , prospecting the missing heart. When you awoke, you m i^ t wonder that you picked the shell rp and brought i t home. Maybe you were thinking about your lover or your children or vhat to have for lundi, and instead of answering the phone that rang distant as a vLreo's solitary call, you sat at the shady table placing the beetle on your plate. For a moment you imagined eating it so that black indifferent husk, would fill you but you could see, inside the thorax you thought was eapty, a tiny li^ t sharp as the flash of animal eyes strudc by headlights on a lonely road. Your hand opened. WTLDFLCWERS fo r Anna Petroska Jaddnchuk I arrange Cornflowers, Brown-^ed Susans, roadside Purple Eodcets for you, years since you taught me A eir names. You say wind scours words from your head as sun catches us in your kitchen. Grandna, Babushka, again I ask stories of the old country, the mountains blue as aging veins, cures boiled f r m mushrooms you picked, and the time, coming home late, you hid in river willows near gypsy canps rocking to balalaikas smouldering like icons in your mother's bedroom. How the dark pulse cau^t you early next morning, ^en instead of capping beer in the family brewery, you danced on straw-covered ice until you fell unconscious, and the wind began. You thought of penance when your mother shipped you a t twelve to American alone, knowing no English, your sole welcome to Ellis Island an Atlantic stnrm. II You remgiiber yellow roses, amythest lilacs, Kiss-Me-Over-The-Garden-Gate, ^hose tongues held no alien voice. Their country was sanctuary from my grandfather who betrayed his promises of Dahlias and lace. Even as you planted the Tea Rose, he ran whisk^ from Canada, bought cars and fancy clothes to win women whose faces lin e d s ilk rooms you never saw, (stanza break) His l a u ^ t e r scratched a t each bloom T^diile you cooked Russian meals and danced for his Purple Gang friends. Your payment, boiled potatoes and sour milk. Bullets tore the roots from your dreams even a fte r he was shuffled, a black-hearted king, to prison and back. His last parole, he beat your oldest son unconscious, then suffocated, his head smaller than you remembered, inside your stove. For years, gas stained yellow the kitchen air. You warn me about men, your second husband so alcoholic he doesn't recall how \diiskey drove anger like a grass fire throu^ his heart vhen he split the kitchen table with a cleaver meant for you. Now, mowing t±e lawn, he cuts the sinple tongues of snapdragms, Mj s s Rose, Siow-On-The-Mountain, cursing stans and petals clogging his blades. Pushing you to sign over your house to his son, he can't iproot ^*at holds your ground, III Complaints are foreign as I w ill become to you. Memorizing your hands, v^i^tless and resilient as bird bones. I've ccme to say goodbye. You point to the Magnolia opening the yard with blossoms healing as your absolute lau#iter. So far North, you marvel it's survived winters and their surfeit of burying snow. I tell you I'm ging alone to mountains I've never seen. You repeat, witdfZoiiers accn't be tz^ansptanted I want to die in my own house (stanza break) Grandma, you love best dark petals, black marooned roses, cinnamon deep azaleas, and you give me the deepest for ny hair. I can't turn from your blue eyes that tend a garden becoming my own. There is no sound loud as th is passing when you say, I ’Zl see you again in the olouds when th e wind s to p s. UNDERTCW for toy father Beyond Holland vhere we never stopped to look at tulips locked in water light like Seurat's points of color, you drove us to Tunnel Park, Through its stone mouth, we raced whore wet sand c h ille d names in red chalk, Mark & Sandi tru tuv 4e v e r, and we heard Lake Michigan boom then gnnhle like wind through cellophane. This miracle—you and Mm vacationing from daily griefs—vast dunes shimmering blonde heat we h u rtl^ down, lucky not to break our necks carttdieeling to your feet.