In 1996 David J. Rothman published Dominion of Shadow (Gardner Lithographs), a book of poems produced collaboratively with photographer Allen Brown, and Hollywood's America: Social and Political Themes in Motion Pictures (Westview), a work of social science which he co-wrote with Stephen Powers and Stanley Rothman. Rothman's poems and essays have appeared widely, and currently (1/15/97) he has poems forthcoming in The Atlantic, The Wallace Stevens Journal, and several other small magazines. He teaches English at Western State College of Colorado, and lives in the small mountain town of Crested Butte.

Their Bodies And Their Voices

Copyright (1995) by David Rothman

In the hot apartment, after dark,
The lovers will quietly sit and smoke
The day's last cigarette. They will mark
The time so many others have marked,
The complaining traffic that soon dies down
And the messy kitchen that stays a mess.
He says he'd like to go to the park
But it's late and the park is far away.
The air stands hot and thick. The town,
Alive but anonymous, like talk
Or so much of what passes for talk--
The strangely satisfying distance
Of other lights, their own resistance
To sadness after sex, an almost
Empty bottle of wine, and the gestures
Of an abandoned game of cards--
Tonight this will have to be enough.
No insight will reveal itself.
No insight will dispel the ritual
Of talk, then silence, then a book, then sleep,
The vague wish to be able to comfort each other
Possessing only bodies and voices,
Such clumsy tools. It is difficult.
And when they stumble again and again
At a thing so quiet but so important,
It makes everything else seem like a joke
On understanding and on work.

Love is a valley cultivated by exiles.
To return we must agree to labor. It is difficult.
The lovers sit and smoke in their apartment,
The windows opened out onto the dark.
A sweet breeze wanders through
As if in search of something.

A Scent Of Lilacs

Copyright (1991) by David Rothman


A man decided to throw himself away.
Someone aboard saw this last choice and yanked
The emergency brake, arresting punctuality
Like a common thief escaping through a field.
We sat and steamed impressively, all power.
There was nothing to do but read, be curious,
And talk. I met a woman. We discussed
The perfection of the shifting summer shadows
On a nearby town. We imagined sitting there,
On the piazza, escaped from this hot train,
And eating gelato in those shadows--facts,
We allowed, that could slowly crawl across a man's
Desperate and similar hunger to depart,
Then take him by the hand out to this place.
Now a line of question marks appeared in windows,
Craning their necks as if at a tennis match.
There was a scent of lilacs on the breeze
As representatives of the local powers
Arrived to take a look and scratch their heads
Before they carefully zipped the sheeted suicide
Into a cloudy plastic bag. They talked,
We tried to overhear their stories. They cracked
His dusty wallet for a history,
But found no words, only a few small men
With crumpled faces. They tried to give a name
To everything but only took it away.
The sun blared like a television sun.
It's always just like this, the sudden departure
From the ordinary back into the ordinary.
In an hour our car complained, jerked twice, lurched,
And punctuated by a metallic crunch
The train moved out while the body bounced off down
The easy road that leads to the house of the dead.
We found our places again. The conductor spoke.
He apologized to us, he thanked us quietly
For all our patience, and then, after a pause,
Announced the dining car was open for lunch.

It Is Spring, Hangzhou

Copyright (1989) by David Rothman


I have worked here long enough.

Spring, auspicious
As Rip Cap American Flange,
Is arriving with its precious
Stuff. The pull ring sticks

Down below the soft lead
Seal and announces PULL OUT
To split and open the serrated
Proclamation: Sogrape Mateus--

Rip Cap US pats. 2760671 & 3
259149, foreign pats.
& pats. pend. Now free
To trade, Vinhos de Portugal, 187 ml.,

Bubbles a bit, happy in its little bottle
That rises through the slapped on label
(Depicting a mysterious manor), to the narrow throttle.
11.5% stands for alcohol,

Poised for import here on the lawn
As the new year rolls over
This People's Republic of Too Many People, gives a yawn
Like a waking tiger--

And twang, twang, goes the traditional music of spring.
This wine should be chilled
Before serving,
Says the sole agent, East Asiatic Co., LTD., Hong Kong,

So helpful to those so far from home, under blossoming cherry.
Little birds are twittering in the sky.
Here we go, won't be long now, it tastes good
Anywhere, sings one of them to me.

I Think Of You

Copyright (1989) by David Rothman


I lie in bed and close my eyes.
I think of you.
I see my failure and hear my lies--

But I was too young, my wise self sighs,
To know what to do.
I lie in bed and close my eyes

But my voice becomes yours, then dies
In my ear--you knew.
I see my failure and hear my lies

Again on the phone, your surprise
That the only one there would be you.
I lie in bed and close my eyes

And then see you alone, affection's ties
Cut into and then through.
I see my failure and hear my lies

About sharing that sweet accident's prize.
But I was scared. But you were too.
I lie in bed and close my eyes.
I see my failure and hear my lies.

There Is A Door

Copyright (1985) by David Rothman


There is a door that she can open now.
On one side are the quiet rooms, prepared
And bright, the windows raised, the space aired
Out, white curtains billowing inward to show
The sea's long breeze. Outside, the grasses bow
Before the prospect of a future shared:
The promise of more days like this. She's pared
Her life to this simplicity. Below,
Their friends wait for the vow each soon will say
To come down from the sky. That vow will follow
Their life until it ends and then go on,
Across the cove and out into the bay,
Arcing around its forked tail like a swallow,
A migratory bird of hope, alone.

Look for David Rothman's books Dominion of Shadow (Gardner Lithographs), a book of poems produced collaboratively with photographer Allen Brown, and Hollywood's America: Social and Political Themes in Motion Pictures (Westview). And don't miss his essay Ars Doggerel elsewhere in this issue.