There are few poems in my personal writings that I remember as fondly as this one. Yet, it is also one of the most rewritten poems. Four different versions are below including one I wrote during the Dickens of a Blog Reclamation Project.
I think it's the contrast been greatly liking the central conceit — "space" having double meaning, the bits about watching people fade — but also just not coming to terms for a long time about the fact that I was not really writing a poem about the American space program or even Huntsville and more the idea of being left behind as other people successfully found what they wanted. Or, in cases, had no idea what they wanted but picked a path and tried it out to find out.
The problem is that is I kept working on I kept trying to apply coats of paint to fix this. By the time the 2016 version for my poetry reading, "Everything Is Good in the Beginning," came out it was almost a whole new poem.
For the most recent version I went back to the original, ignored all progress since then, and tweaked a few things such as the gendered language. I also tried to make it more obvious it is about seeing your college friends go off to new adventures without blaming anyone.
8 space walked the moon Floating just left of downtown Huntsville, Walked the sunset of burned out Exit signs and called it right. Walked tall standing and pointing. Laughing and loitering. Clothes On and off like verbs. Small talk Constellations. Arguments and jokes Worn like garments. Like descriptions Of weather or traffic. Tears and shatters. 8 space past and future, and 8 others. Finding the losing, If you had to call it something said. Orbitting bars, and lost in the Stars barely seen but Reflecting from the parking lots 8 minutes after a rain and drinking Background lights. No one calls this home. Flowing in and rivers out, Poured and unpoured. Tastefully Displayed. Temple of space, Come and worship! Come and worship! Do you recall?! 8 as bright as the sun, Now setting past the Saturn V, Past the unfinished sidewalks, Past the always construction, Past the cemetaries, past Monte Santo, past 565 headed West. In that false twilight 8 space fled the dawn to An anywhere else. 8 like arbitrary numbers Walked tall running and pointing Until tomorrow where
8 spacemen walked around downtown: A sunset of neon exit signs, A moonrise of glass windows and children’s faces, A night as bright and clear as dawn. 8 spacemen, past and future, and 8 spacewomen. Orbiting the bars, lost in the asphalt stench of the car sounds and dream nouns and the stars Reflecting from the hazy fog and Background lights. Creeks out and highways in, Poured and unpoured. Tastefully Displayed. Temple of rocket science And cautious engineering and legalities: Come and worship, but for a brief second. No one calls Huntsville home. “A found Eden,” they laughed, 8 men space and 8 women space. Or something like it, “If you had to call it something,” someone said. A memory of a town, a hope for the future, A temporary now as fleeting as it is large, As intangible as it is life changing, Spoke in the sounds of trains fleeing the here As it bleeds out into the sky For just a moment, a glance, a taste, A bit of nectar. An anywhere else. And 8 [ ], And all the times that were and weren’t, And all the names that are and aren’t, And all the days that run on little feet, That call out and know nothing Like it was an arbitrary number, Just space and hours all tall and pointing. And like the rest, then they were gone.
8 spacemen walked the moon floating Downtown Huntsville, Walked the sunset as it called out red. Walked standing tall and pointing. 8 spacemen past and future, and 8 spacewomen. Orbitting the bars, and lost in asphalt, the cars, the highfalutin dreams, the fields of corn Slightly to the west, whatever they mean, the stars Reflecting from the hazy fog and Background lights. No one calls this home. Rivers in and highways out, Poured and unpoured. Tastefully Displayed. Temple of space, And cautious engineering: Come and worship For just a glance, a taste, As though it were nectar. 8 spacemen found stone and budgetary setbacks. 8 women space found Eden, but what can you do With such a long abandoned garden? They laughed, Or something like it, If you had to call it something said. Laughed Downtown Huntsville, then fled the dawn As it bled. And 8, Like arbitrary numbers, Walked tall and stood pointing.
Rewrite: October 11, 2009
8 spacemen walked the moon floating Downtown Huntsville, Walked the sunset and called it red... Walked standing tall and pointing. 8 spacemen past and future, and 8 spacewomen. Orbitting the bars, and lost in the Stars Reflecting from the hazy fog and Background lights. No one calls this home. Rivers in and rivers out, Poured and unpoured. Tastefully Displayed. Temple of space, Come and worship. 8 spacemen bedded the moon Downtown Huntsville. 8 spacemen fled the dawn and Called it bled. 8 spacemen and 8 spacewomen, Like arbitrary numbers... Walked tall and pointing.