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56 pages

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Tom Parks recently retired after 52 years as an educator, most of which he spent driving the crossroads and backroads of South Carolina. During that time, he often photographed sites and scenes that to him reflected some aspect of the state, later coalescing the emerging images into a bittersweet gallery of poetic portraits. He retired as a professor and dean at Clemson University and left the state decades ago, and this book is his fond farewell to a state and a state of mind that helped define who he was, where he had been, and where he was going. An author and editor of over 15 books, he holds four degrees in English, including a Ph.D. from Vanderbilt University. He has most recently served as host of a PBS television series entitled "In Search of the West Texas Wordsmith.

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
Date de parution	29 mai 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781645751342
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Goodbye to a State
A Tour of South Carolina in Photography and Poetry
Tom Parks
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-06-30
Goodbye to a State About The Author Copyright Information © Prologue: From the Mountains to the Sea Cycle Belief Creation Teacher Heaven’s Gate Shroud Condo Coming The Simple Life Cenotaph The Armadillo Waltz The Dresser Committing Art Solitaire: War Memorial Sanctum Semantic Interstices How Religions Start: The Trinity The Mother The Son The Father Desecrating the Daily News: Noblesse Oblige File Preacherman Soul Shack Bambi and Bubba: Meeting at the Hunt Club The Lomans Tadpoles Resurrection Visitors Down the Hard Road Apiece Glass Fire Epilogue: The State Beheld
About The Author

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For over 30 years, Tom Parks traveled the highways and byways of South Carolina and often took photos of scenes that reflected for him the passage of time and place: the state of things in terms of where it has been, where it is now, and where it is going. Now retired and living elsewhere, he leaves this bittersweet record of his thoughts and insights from his years in the State Department of Education, and Professor and Associate Dean at Clemson University. He holds four degrees in English, including a Ph.D. from Vanderbilt University.
Copyright Information ©
Tom Parks (2020)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a poetry book, which is a product of the author’s imagination. It reflects the author’s recollections of experiences over time. Any resemblance to other works of poetry, quotes, slogans, to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Parks, Tom
Goodbye to a State
ISBN 9781645751335 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781645751328 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645751342 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020908337
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
mail-usa@austinmacauley.com
+1 (646) 5125767
Prologue: From the Mountains to the Sea
A million motes of circumstance
Sit on the throne to which you bow
And if you read me, I am one
Among them. You may curtsy now.
Your countenance to me is moot
I am untouched and play my part
So infinitesimal a spark
That touched you now and added to
Your sum in cold magnetic ways
An algorithm gone agape
At universes filled in you
Wherein you find me circling there
A part of your equation now
And, thus, approach you circumspect
To lead my tour into your state.
While I continue on my way
To circling circumstance and death
I fashion prayers that you may live
My only hope to reign again.
So I am born in breasted hills
Your soft and malleable milk
Gives succor to a rivulet
To green the grass and soak a marsh
Then down the sloping hills I write
With watered pen a creek in birth
In league with rain, I score the earth
And babble on about the sea
Known only to me now in myth
And pause into a deepening flow
To form your lakes and cleanse your frame
Your swollen belly washed in blood
At length I find your brush and roots
And spray a riot of wild seed
In colors, patterns, shapes, and styles
To bloom in natural pulchritude
And catch your eye and slow your play
I stand in reverence of trees
To shade you as your old gods burn
And fill my cooling pools with fish
And crawfish mines and turtle logs
Then snake my arrows at your heart
And watch you age and leave your farms
And pastures manicured and mute
To children thirsting for cement
And bridges to a dryer place
From you and yours and all you were
To others come to take your place
Beneath which I cut clean a path
To separate both time and place
A hint of salt now on my lips
I sense once more this déjà vu
And know in passing I have known
Your burning sleep, your frozen face
Thus on my way to be the tide
I dream of your most precious state
And see you now at every turn
At work and worship, bowing down
Before your boxed assorted gods
And watch you nod and curl to sleep
Outside the wisdom of my shade.
Cycle
I have gone ahead
to prepare a place for you
It awaits, a plot of stolid silence
the wormy earth not yet turned
The basalt slab to receive your hieroglyph
still uncut within the quarry
And some unconcerned stonemason
going about his business this day
Not caring who or what you are
only that your remains can pay
Birds fly overhead meanwhile
and clouds come and go
In the seasonal shafts of sun
knowing you are next
As will their progeny
when you are gone
And this fine field
of Whitman’s grass
Will require the tiniest bit less
of soil enrichment
The few salty drops of sorrow
at your leaving meaningless
To making the balance
in the strength of fields
Your deeds and your desires
at the most for me
Will anoint a nodule of nitrogen
ten thousand years from now
When together we shall flow into each other
and contemplate resurrection
And then it will be your turn
perhaps to tell me at length
You have gone ahead
to prepare a place for me.

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Farm scene near Springfield

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