Review: to the river
to the journey, to the dust, to the river
-a review and photo by Dorothee Lang of Rose Hunter’s poetry book to the river
On the floor in front my bookshelf, I sit, surrounded by books I pulled out to fix a shelf. And there it is: a book of maps, from my parents, from the time when Germany was 2 countries: “Readers Digest Weltatlas” 1965. I open it, and find, folded in it, an old map. A reprint, of course. Still, it carries the mood of a time when embarking on a journey meant: embarking into the unknown.
Next to the Weltatlas, the Lonely Planets, guides for the road. Would I travel to the States now again, I also would carry the set of travel poems with me that Rose Hunter collected in to the river. Especially when this trip included Vegas. This place I’ve been to once – I can’t remember the year, but my Lonely Planet remembers the hotel: Stardust.
So I sit, surrounded by books, and return there, in those lines that I hadn’t known back then, in a time when poetry had little to do with me:
Waiting for the bus down the road
from the Freemont Street Experience
You keep forgetting why you’re there, and look
at the sky a lot. Instead of vultures,
overhead are helicopters taking
people to the Grand Canyon –
Dorothee Lang, January 2010
poem: a cutting from the poem “The Cutting” by Rose Hunter, first published in Cordite, now part of the collection “to the river” (book link)
–refers from Rose Hunter’s poem Walking into the Wynn, Lass Vegas and You are Stitched Into