Mark
Weiss
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Wheelbarrow A Dream and a Story 1 In my dream I was wheeling a red wheelbarrow. There were chickens everywhere, white as stars. Strangely, they were silent and soft and pleasant to look upon. 2 The hen must be white to cleanse properly. And it was, a gentle creature, surprised at its fate and questioning in the language of chickens. After he had removed whatever curse from us Armando slit its neck and fed the blood to the goddess. 3 When my shoulder mends I will go to the farm where they raise chickens in a long warehouse and fill a wheelbarrow with their droppings for my garden. And think of the bird dead for whatever ailed me in far-off Cuba. Variations 1 Two barrows had I, red and green. The chickens roosted in the red, so I bought the other. And they roosted there as well. Now my yard is filled with barrows. Under each white hen a clutch of eggs, some white some brown. 2 To a chicken a wheelbarrow must be like the back seat of my father's chevy. Add straw, and what a ride! 3 Hey Flossie! See what the chickens are doing! Homage à Williams First Version Someone has painted the wheelbarrow with raspberry jam. The chickens have discovered the seeds, and peck furiously, a frantic din not unlike music. Not good for bird or barrow–the first blunted, the second dented. And the hens flecked with red, part preserve, part blood. They were white they were white but now are sullied. No eggs tomorrow. Perhaps it was god who did the painting. Now there will be death and insects and a world of changes. Who would have thought so much could depend upon a red wheelbarrow? Second Version So much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water surrounded by professors beside the white chickens Theories 1 Sometimes rural kids would have wheelbarrow races, with one kid in the passenger seat and another pushing. Almost as much fun as falling down and hurting yourself. Winslow Homer did a painting of one such. So maybe the poem is from the point of view of a contestant or the corporate sponsor of an impending race. Or maybe it's a Mormon contemplating pushing one to Utah with all his worldly goods c. 1848. Or maybe there's a hidden reference to the neolithic tombs that punctuate the British landscape--barrows--but here on wheels, the message a hymn to American progress, and that aint chickens! Or maybe the red refers to the putative color of the indigenous population surrounded by cowardly white folks who make walking barefoot a messy business. Come to think of it, farm boys and chickens. Is that "pastoral?" I have a spade in the garden. What must the neighbors think? 2 Or again, those chicken droppings would be great for the flowers, and the wheelbarrow the means of transport. Bill and Flossie loved flowers--they looked so cheerful against the sooty sky. So maybe it's a red wheelbarrow and those chickens are chickens. There was a gaiety to those shiny red things. >>>Stephen Vincent
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