A selection of poems by EJ Glusac
(Additional poems that are subject to copyright restrictions are available upon request.)
STOA
“Life’s a bitch
And then you die”
“I don’t care”
you see it
on T-shirts
not
stoicism
stoicism
stoa
the porch
in Greek
a public porch in Athens
a gathering place
the teacher
a man named Zeno
they came
to hear
wisdom
life presents hardship
no way around it
can’t
deny it
can’t
run from it
work with it
Epictetus
stoic master of Roman times
“Put before your mind
What commonly happens at baths”
some people splashing you
some people jostling
others being abusive
others stealing
what is your reaction?
maybe
that
makes you suffer
ignorant people
blame others
for their own misfortune
the partially wise
blame themselves
anger?
better guilt
still better
no guilt
not indifference
but not giving the world
power
Marcus Aurelius
was a follower
“We have come into the world
To work together”
not apart
not indifferent
strength
peace
of mind
finding it
together
On the porch
WHAT IS A POEM, THEN?
What is a poem, then?
a friend asked
if not metered
if not rhymed
it was a good question
hopefully
a picture painted
concisely
of a setting
of a thing
of a thought
of a state
not a meter
but a pace
and
sometimes
a stutter
metaphor
tacking upwind
if straight at it
won’t get you there
not words that rhyme
words that point
using space
as much as words
space leaving space
words leaving space
uncovering layers
and
maybe
occasionally
more
the best ones
come from deep within
or maybe
not within at all
Not an essay
Not a treatise
of mind, yes
but not too much
something softer
something harder
more raw
more felt
less of head
more of intestine
more of blood
an exploration
of
that
(For my friend, Mary)
DEMOCRAT ISLAND
(41.2543 N, 72.8451 W)
Democrat Island
sits just beyond our shore
I like the name
really just a rock
big enough to hold a small house
gleaming in the morning sun
which reflects
softly from the cedar roof
harshly from the aluminum boat ramp
a tiny figure, Mr. Democrat,
sits on the porch
with a cup of coffee
trying to wake up
like me
looking at the waves
as I look at the waves
We share a political view
or maybe he’s a Republican
on Democrat Island
Why live on an island?
to get away from the riffraff?
or to go where we all are?
alone
but there is also a boat
and to shore we must go
together
an osprey sets atop his lone tree
with no party affiliation
scanning the sound
we look at the waves
the osprey, Mr. Democrat and I
CEDARS
sleep lifting
at first light
after the rain
little cedars outside the open window
in steam
are still
quiet uncovered
always was
in cobwebs
of welcome lingering sleep
no task
minutes
meaning
just this
LONG ISLAND SOUND
a buoy bell sounds
over and over
almost dawn
darkness obscuring sight
but not sound
the bell sounds
rhythmically
randomly
rolled by the waves
the waves
lapping, hissing
on rocks as they meet the shore
first light
vaguely revealing the world
in black and white
the bell sounds
it sounded all night
did we hear it?
it sounds
now
it sounds
a call to worship
worship what?
God?
the natural world?
the one who listens?
I do not know
but when it is heard
tears are with it
the good kind
there is another ringing
more subtle
sometimes heard at night
before sleep
after sleep
another ringing
always
where ringing starts and ends
the buoy bell
still sounds
over and over
on the waves
of Long Island Sound
DRAGONFLY
a dragonfly,
hovering
flitting
to a flower
eons of pollination
ancient, terrible, exquisite
says
I am for myself
for nothing, everything
I am
HARD TO HEAR IT
Rough seas today
wind from the west southwest
buffets
gusts
whitecaps
birds flying sideways
lots of flapping
a sailboat
listing
tacking upwind
we do that a lot
it’s required
low tide
rocks high
pounded by the surf
new rocks appear
mariner, beware
the buoy bell
sounding
louder than usual
but
obscured
by the roar
a flotilla of Canada geese
fight the surf
a little
and win
now gone
round the point
barges in the distance
seem to make their usual progress
an osprey
masterful flyer
using the wind
to glide
the sound
of Sound
is Loud
churning thought
drowning thought
the pages of my notepad
flap in the breeze
Hard to hear it,
but
still
there,
in
the sound
of the surf,
in
the sound
of the wind,
in
the silence,
amidst the roar
STRAY THOUGHTS ON WRITING
part of me
wants to focus
apparently
not all of me
OK, not much of me
thoughts come
keep coming
fruitful ones?
write them down
maybe come back
flesh out
unravel
what’s beneath that?
and that?
next page in the notebook
It’s blank
it will fill
with what?
patience
and something that doesn’t have patience
a pause
different now?
usually
always
which direction?
where is the map?
maybe, the words will make one
they do make one
accurate?
won’t know
not for a while
another pause
water shut off?
or time to marinate
a small step now
deeper?
or away
have confidence?
not quite right
have trust?
better
is it the result that counts?
or getting there
where is there?
still
here
FOR MICKEY
Born in poverty
Montenegrin American
youngest of nine,
mother died when you were two.
Living in a converted storefront
newspaper covering the windows
three to a bed
a pot of beans, soaking
always
Toting the family wagon to and from the grocery
where an account was kept
and dearly paid
Growing up motherless
with the love of seven sister/mothers
Father, with few words of English
taking the bus each day to Ford
to shovel coal into the foundry
First in the family to earn a college degree
then law
Life as a local politician
Working quietly
for a better Detroit
Raising your own three children,
My sisters and I
A self-described introvert,
you were the life of the party
Many big family parties
Your warmth,
a magnet
Your success,
a family pride
You fought against self-pity
mostly successfully
The depression, baby
of an ethnic family
Now dining with the elite of Southeast Michigan
You particularly loved the University of Michigan
Ivory tower of the state
And the Victors Valiant
You never attended it
Your children did
You loved good food
and shopping for it
Hail fellow, well met
at Farms Market
You loved your work
You loved the city of Detroit
You loved your family
You had a big big heart
For nine-plus decades
Eventually
it gave out
The sobs at your memorial
were many
and deep
Thank you
Thank you for playing catch
in the backyard
night after night,
when I tried to learn
to throw a curveball
Thank you for wrestling with me
on the living room floor
and occasionally letting me think I could win
Thank you for fishing with me
for tiny striped bass and perch
on Cedar Island Lake
Thank you for letting me pilot
the pontoon boat
on Walloon Lake
Making a 10-year-old believe
he commanded the waters
of Northern Michigan
Thank you for being with me
at that great game in the snow
at the Big House, where we beat the Buckeyes
and at the U of D Fieldhouse
to see sweet Terry Duerod light up the night
and make Highland Park High School
the darling of Michigan basketball
Thank you for teaching me the game of tennis
and for the memory of when I first beat you
on that dusty Court in Nova Scotia
Thank you for encouraging me to develop a thoughtful mind
For poring over my English papers
For encouraging me to be a public speaker
For giving me the groundwork to make
a terrible high school graduation speaker audition
And giving me the love and the tools to craft
a final graduation speech that expressed my heart
Thank you for teaching me how not to waste money
Though I don’t thank you for scolding me
for buying a tie for a med school interview
that you thought was too expensive
Thank you for the last few years in Chicago
as we ushered each other into new phases of life
semi-retirement for me
end of life for you
Then, there was the role reversal
me the parent/doctor
telling you what you should and should not do
And you listened…mostly
Thank you for that
Thank you
finally
for a thousand things
that words can but poorly express
(For my father, Michael M Glusac 1930-2025)
ALL CARS SHOULD BE WHITE
All cars should be white
White cars stand out
Why buy a black one?
I suppose
it’s like buying clothes
how you see yourself?
how you want to be seen?
but with cars
perhaps
it shouldn’t be so
to be seen at all
at the edge of your vision
dark
doesn’t stand out
Red
it’s hot!
but still doesn’t quite pop
Yellow is good
better than brown
but then
folks
will flag you down
All cars should be white
but if they were white
if cars were all white
would I ever find mine?
and will the right color
help with rage, fear and guilt?
all that we feel
behind the wheel
He cut me off
damn it
I cut him off
sorry
He’s going too slow
I’m late
She’s is going too fast
reckless
OK
maybe she’s late too
saving ten seconds
always
saving ten seconds
adds up to a day?
and if it does
what will we do
with it
DEMOCRAT ISLAND (REPRISE)
Democrat Island
still sits off our shore
mostly uninhabited
vacation spot only
occasional retreat
for Mr. Democrat
he’s mostly off working
for the common good
or his own good
or none
the house has a really nice roof
from a tall point
cedar shingles slope
an interesting slope
with a gradual curve
sending water on a journey,
a circuitous one
and the porch is to die for
wraparound
its broadest expanse
facing the sound
its sides
facing the houses
crowding two shores
when Mr. Democrat is in
he takes his coffee there
actually,
the island is mostly
Not uninhabited
it is continually inhabited
by its actual owner
the osprey
he doesn’t take vacations
leaving the island
only to venture
to his place of employment
the sound
returning quickly
returning often
with a fish in his claws
transport is part of his vocation
the egrets don’t do that
they swallow their catch
right where they catch it
Ollie
(we call him, Ollie)
always brings it home
Will Democrat Island
ever be more peopled?
someone
loath to leave
the wraparound porch
Democrat Island
is not very big
but it is pretty high
safely above
the tide
protected from the surf,
I think the home may survive
until someone
faithfully
commands the view
RETIREMENT
Retirement
Some love it!
Phone rings
Not my problem!
Now
My life begins
Take up birding
Learn Italian
Build a boat
Practice piano
But others
They hate it
Thought they’d love it
They don’t
When
All of a sudden
All day and all night
Alone
In the house
With only the spouse
A realization
An appreciation
Of what work
actually was
A focus
A purpose
A thing to be done
A thing to get dressed for
A place to be
And money
Who knows?
How long will you live?
Did I really want
to contemplate my navel?
Oh,
That was just a sabbatical.
Back to work!
HAVE YOU HAD A CAR ACCIDENT?
Have you had an accident?
injured?
Call us!
We win big
We win often
We’re the best
Make ‘em pay!
personal injury
lawyer billboards
oh joy
The most frequent
sign on I-95
drum up business
from folks
on the worst day of their lives
there’s one of these signs
that I actually like
a lawyer
a poet
Keep Calm
Call Tom
but hopefully
I’ll never visit his abode
if I can keep
my eyes on the road
THE FOUR FORCES
electromagnetism
we think we know it
we can
grasp it
at least
sort of
the push and pull of charges
attraction
repulsion
makes the world go ‘round
TV sets and radios
chemistry happens
lightbulbs turn on
electromagnetism
relationship
the stuff
of our world
gravity
we certainly get that one
the attraction
of stuff for stuff
they say it’s the weakest
sure doesn’t seem so
when standing
at the edge of a cliff
but weak, it may be
to a paper clip,
a refrigerator magnet
pulls more than the Earth
unlimited by distance
it adds
and adds
until
oceans move
moons stay faithful
and we call one place home
but
gravity
the thing most intuitive
does some strange things too
bends light
around stars
do we understand it?
we think we do
then
the strong force
they say it’s the strongest
counterintuitive
keeps things together
particles in the nucleus
stuff that’s like-charged
that should repulse
superglue of the universe
that acts at a distance
so small
almost
inscrutable
as incredibly small
as the universe
is large
but we almost can get it
almost can feel it
a sort of a pull
fidelity
but the weak force
forget it
at least I’ll never get it,
this curious “force“
even some physicists
admit this too
not
a push
not
a pull
transformation
one particle
becomes
another
through this mysterious
thing
they say
the other three forces
would be nothing
without
this shape shifting
goddess
that lets it
all be
the weak force
maybe
not so well named
not weak
not even
a force
but permission
for one thing
to become
another
neutrons
become protons
and a universe is born
BURT MULLETT CEMETERY
Burt Mullett Cemetery
named for two lakes
between which it lies
amidst pines and fescue
since 1845
rolling hills
with gravestones
an uncommonly uneven
resting place
the gravel pathways
invite a good walk
many flowers
real and plastic
many veterans
many American flags
the gravestones
many colors of granite
older ones
of marble
with names
washing away
my favorite
in the shape of a bench
Come rest with me
A moment
In my eternal rest