Later by Philip Gross

Later

after the work stopped
          water filled the quarry pit
(just a kerb of raw pink limestone showing
by the cherry-ripe DANGER DEEP WATER sign)
                     then it was available for light

and for transients, drawn
          by its glint from the sky.
The landscaped car park bays are emptying
in the all-at-once late afternoon, a safely-gathered-in
                     of scattered child cries for the night.

A small flock (black
          snags I can't name
in a reflected satin blue) is intent on itself,
its scoots, squabbles and lulls, as busy as a shopfloor
                     at being the species they are

dip-and-shrugging and
          frisking themselves. One
stands up, almost, on the water, up-and-un-
ruffling wings of spray like (from here, with low sun
                     behind) those of a larger

brighter bird than itself
          which is also itself
extended into space around it, the sensible
world. Itself... Yes, maybe that's what self is, not
                     a tight-inside-us nub

but what we are, thrown
          out and off, un-self-seen,
once-for-all, betraying even as it leaves us
our position, giving itself (don't you long
                     to say 'gladly'?) away


PHILIP GROSS
Poetry London
Autumn 2010

http://poems.com/poem.php?date=14978

Later, by Philip Gross, is a work of art. To me this poem seems to be a wild far off memory recalled in vivid detail. From the quarry to the birds to the way in which each line flashes after the last in stanzas of a unique form, it calls to mind two specific experiences from my past. When I was younger I went to a summer camp which took us in school buses every day to an old quarry which had filled with water when the diggers hit an underground spring. That is what I think of when I read the first stanza, as for the rest of the piece I picture the shore town I used to vacation in as a child. There are so many shorebirds there that you can't go 5 feet without almost stepping on one or startling one out of the grass growing on some dune. I loved to watch them when I was little and learned their different names. There is something majestic about birds and I have never quite been able to put it into words. Gross says what I've never quite been able to but always wanted to say.

The poem is informally organized with sparingly placed capitols, off-and-on punctuation, and subtly vivid imagery which give it a simplistic sound building up to a powerful close. I call the imagery subtly vivid because the comparisons used are only partially contrasting and primarily mundane. The descriptions make comparisons to familiar images but the connections made between images are unique. One wouldn’t necessarily say a flock of birds is “as busy as a shopfloor,” but the images are firmly linked by the disjointed motions of unconnected shoppers and the activity of the flock. Both situations have some semblance of a shared purpose yet little to no organization. Gross mentions a “cherry-ripe DANGER DEEP WATER sign,” which is creatively capturing bright red in the readers mind. Another of the colorful comparisons is that of “a kerb of raw pink limestone,” which is not only bringing to mind the color of the stone, but also echoing the freshness of the quary and likening it to a gash in the earth or some other wound which, in flesh, would be more appropriately called “raw.”

In the poem a thing is not just its apparent self, but something larger, stretching beyond what can be seen. This is the subject of the piece and is best illustrated by the bird, singled out from the flock, as the description goes on. I know how easy it is to be struck by the beauty of cormorants (which I'm nearly sure these birds are because of the distinctive way cormorants cluster in small flocks and occasionally rise up out of the water to spread their wings and dry off in the sun) as "One/ stands up, almost, on the water, up-and-un-/ruffling wings of spray like (from here, with low sun / behind).” The bird is more than itself and Gloss attributes its sunlit spread out wingspan to that “of a larger // brighter bird than itself.” This is not just comparison though for the larger bird “is also [the former]/ extended into space around it, the sensible/ world." And if you should ask yourself, so what?, Gross writes, “maybe that's what self is, not / a tight-inside-us nub // but what we are, thrown / out and off,” suggesting that not just the bird, but all of us are larger and brighter than we seem. This is quite a description of something so simple and gives the birds action and manner more meaning than the concrete idea at hand. It focuses the poem on that idea of being more than the apparent self. Gross also begins the poem with a lowercase letter and ends without a punctuation mark, contributing to the idea of greatness and the theme of a larger than life quality in all things. I love this poem because it captures the essence of little things which have a simple beauty and transforms them into something greater.