This fall, Cleveland State University Poetry Center is publishing selected poems by Russell Atkins (1926), co-edited by poets Robert MacDonough and Kevin Prufer.
Atkins lost all his personal papers when he went into the hospital then assisted living years ago and the city tore down his house, so they are looking for any poems published in magazines or chapbooks.
They discovered 4 of his poems in Artcrimes # 7 (1989 edited by Chris Franke) and 2 in Artcrimes 11 (1991 edited by Ben Gulyas) – and of the 6, 4 were unknown to the editors.
If anyone knows of any other published Atkins poems, please let me know and I’ll pass it on.
Russell AtkinsWiki article – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russell_Atkins
The 6 Atkins poems in Artcrimes — the blog editor deleted the special spacing from his poems and left justified.
~ ~ ~
Transit
by Russell Atkins
th’ baby came forward
with out-held arms
saying, ” — dah!”
to me?
I
knew a terror not to dare!
with fled I rushed
about the terminal
looking for things going now
like a bus for Canada —
a car’s approach:
“I need the swift of your help,”
I said, ” — a baby
with arms out-held!”
the driver said, “I dig!
(he knew the worst)
— let’s split
~ ~ ~
Backyard
by Russell Atkins
reaches about
and has hold
of the throats
of trees
— such shake it to death wild!
the snow octopus
widths into blizzards
of mists
then furiouses!
a dash through sky
flung tentacles
jet
full squid
~ ~ ~
Spring’s Generation Gap
by Russell Atkins
it takes evening
a long time to arrive — it
feebles (slow old man
still trying to hold down a job,
decrepit) forced to move fast
— janitor of the above offices!
he replaces things that
were used puts them in special
dark corners, closes shadows
into spaces like doors,
straightens, covers until
all seems gone
just before
youthful day comes to work
demanding, “Hey, dad —
— where the hell is everything?!”
~ ~ ~
Old Man Carrying A Bible In A High Crime Area
by Russell Atkins
Condense, will it? grow a barrel
for shooting?
flash open and spit God’s
electric al bullets, Leviticus
as the holy trigger – the thief
drops into hell? book develops
dimensions turned sanctuary
where no muggers plunder?
Does the dope fiend defer
to this, struck to a fix? will the book
in black, cleric vestment
convert loose women?
Old friend, listen: don’t wait
– when they come at you,
throw it at them!
~ ~ ~
Ninety Kilocycles
by Russell Atkins
Ever stuffed in that box living’s
claustrophobia’d surely, small
this harangue or abuzz’d of news
where miniature Savings & Loans
are robbed, where murder, as if betwixt dolls,
squeaks a gloom’d spider’s kept
spinning no matter what –
– to have everything in handfuls
is most convenient(even conscienced
by dials)
if someone leaps at end
from a vast height, it’s brought
between fingers of a mere hand
held for a minute, for a time
at this squat package of sounds
– when, quickly,
the button snaps off the world’s harsh
after its hush, sprung like a trap,
one imagines the rage goes on
within –
~ ~ ~
Public Square
by Russell Atkins
The light is at the back
it lets one know
it’s not for sure
as I’m amidst
this alit of a
chess’d up jut
long’d from by
shadows that ail
twilight’s haunt
is in appear‘’
downtown’s vaunt
is muted
so, half way
through some monstrous’d
abstraction
I sense but its
short-shrift
– things told
should be open
by now
to what is
turning