Timothy Kerchers Comments
Winter Gudauri, Republic of Georgia
Written one late, insomnia-filled night when my wife and I were
visiting the Georgian ski area, Gudauri.
Written in August of 2008, at the tail end of the Russias invasion
into the Republic of Georgia when sections of Borjomi, a mountainous
national park in Georgia, had been torched and were burning from the
invasion, while in Tbilisi, many of the schools were filled with
refugees from all the affected areas. A Georgian friend of mine who
was working with an international aid organization had just
related several stories of the refugees hed been working with, which
is what inspired the poem.
The Dung Pile
The title on this one came to me first while driving our Lada Niva (a
Russian four-wheel drive) through Eastern Turkey for our fall break.
Many of the villages and stone houses that we drove past had nicely
arranged piles of dry dung, which is what many villagers burn for
heat. Driving through several villages, the dung-smoke was so thick it
felt as if we were driving through a thick fog. I thought these dung
piles ideal images for an ars poetica type of poem.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 30 | Fall 2010