Today is Day 17, yo! Prime number. We're on the downslide of the month. Before we get to today's prompts, I'd like to thank Anna Montgomery for giving me a shout-out on Chromapoesy. Maraming salamat!
Okay, prompts. Maureen Thorson suggests an epistolary poem. Robert Lee Brewer gives his usual Two for Tuesday: science fiction poem or fantasy poem. And Andrea Boltwood says: a poem of address. As always, mashing them up today again. Here goes.
Letter to Zelazny from Olympus Mons
Dear Roger, you don't know me but we met once at a little literary bookstore in San Jose,
California. Not that we met, exactly. Rather, you signed my book. Two of them.
One was Creatures of Light and Darkness, which I was buying that evening; you inscribed it
with simply your name. The other was an old dog-eared copy of Lord of Light I had brought with me;
in that one you wrote "Good Wishes." What a treat that small sentiment was. I didn't tell you
how years before, a single image of yours from "A Rose for Ecclesiastes" had inspired me
immensely: a description of some kind of wheeled rover skidding across the surface of Mars,
splashing red sand upward like a flame. That image resonates with me to this day.
Although you have flown years ago into the primum mobile, into the undiscovered country,
on an invisible flying saucer of your own making, I'm writing you today because I am standing
at the foot of Olympus Mons, the largest volcano in the solar system, near Tharsis on Mars.
And this morning, I saw in real life that image of a vehicle's wheels setting the ground
of Mars on cold, gritty fire. You nailed that image, Roger . . . you got it exactly right.
That's not all. It would amaze — no, tickle your fancy — to know Edgar Rice Burroughs
was actually writing nonfiction. Yes, we have found Helium (not the element, the city) on Mars.
Or as it's really called, it turns out, Barsoom. Helium is still ruled, lo these centuries later,
by Dejah Thoris and John Carter, still young as ever. And yes, six-limbed reptilian green men!
It's all here: the huge white apes, the fliers that can reach a couple of hundred miles per hour,
the spider-legged nothing-but-head Kaldanes and their headless Rykor bodies . . . amazing.
What is even more amazing than all of that is something even you could never have imagined.
John Carter was not always on Barsoom. There were long periods he spent back on Earth.
Well, we both know that from the novels. The most incredible part is that John Carter
had a secret identity during one of those periods: Frank Frazetta. Or rather Frazetta was Carter.
How about that? So Frazetta's very influential art, like Burroughs's evidently realistic travelogues,
was also not fictional. Carter has told me all the art he created as Frazetta was modeled
not only on Barsoomian commonplaces but on actual scenes he witnessed in his travels through
the shadow worlds between Amber and the Courts of Chaos. Yes, that's right . . . Amber.
The secret is out, Roger. It seems you, like Burroughs and who knows who else, were writing
journalism all along and not science fiction or fantasy. Aren't you a crafty old dawg!
So, Roger . . . I'm writing to ask you to return from the dead. Yes, I've guessed you are not
actually dead. That when I said "invisible flying saucer" above I was being quite literal.
Yup, all the evidence points to this conclusion. Anyway, I'd like to invite you to join me
on an expedition. Come on back, Roger. What do you think? Let's go find Pellucidar!
Shall we? It will be like following in the footsteps of Dante towards the center of the Earth.
Let me know soon, okay? Take care. I remain, as always, your fan and, I hope, your friend.
—Draft by Vince Gotera [do not copy or quote ... thanks]
Today, our featured poem-a-day blog is Conversations with Laurie, where Laurie Kolp is presenting sparkling, entertaining poems throughout April. Look particularly at her poem for today, "A Letter to My Face," a fun rhymed poem that makes sport of our concerns about aging and appearance. Thanks for the great work, Laurie.
Okay, friends, that's all for today. Catherine's Day 17 poem I'll add later, maybe tomorrow; she's running late today. As always, leave a comment below, please. Thanks. Ingat.
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