OCTOBER 2025: Craig Kirchner
"When I wrote it, I lived in an apartment on a lake in Elkton, Maryland."
For October's Maryland Artist of the Month, Artists from Maryland is featuring Craig Kirchner! Below, you will find three of his poems, and an artist's statement.
Craig Kirchner loves storytelling. He has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. He’s been published in Chiron Review, The Main Street Rag, and dozens of other journals.
Presocratic
The geese-traversed frozen lake,
like a black and white Jackson Pollack,
arbitrary crisp prints on ice,
thawing to smudged lines.
Early spring dissolving winter art
to water supply, reminds me that,
the nutritive capacity to replenish all cells,
mine included, buoys these geese all summer,
touches all things local, is seasoned, by
all it touches, all that dies in its bed come fall.
The geese become me,
and all things are full of the lake god.
Can we dispute the natural philosophy,
that water is the originating principle.
Can we pretend, be so self-centered,
as to believe that our version is the one,
the lubricant of the universe,
the Zen-like moisture of all?
Millions of stars and billions of miles
between them create infinite possibilities.
What of the planet covered
with grape-juice-like oceans,
their plumbing pumping purple staple,
and lilac skinned thinkers,
smelling of fichus and eucalyptus,
sit and ponder the mauve wet as the maker.
Perhaps they are even Pre-Socratic,
possibly one is a Thales.
(Previously published in Quail Bell)
//
Loch Raven
Picture a sportscar, blue sky, a few puffy white clouds,
the road on the side of a mountain,
straight up on the right, straight down on the left.
Green Camaro, 350 horsepower, new Michelins,
cruising at about 70 per, no other cars, no cows -
beautiful, right, wins the commercial Emmy.
Now picture, same mountain, midnight,
trees and brush on the right, lake on the left,
same green Camaro, 70 per, four drunks
come out of a blind curve, a cop
putting up flares in the middle of the road -
beautiful, right, like a Stephen King novel.
Rich and Elf said later they knew they were dead,
Denny in the front looked like a stroke,
as the Camaro plowed sideways into the brush on the right.
Elf threw the Ouzo out the back window,
but the whole car smelled like licorice, and the
metal in the mouth that comes with a crash.
The cop was in shock, pissed, but standing,
he didn’t have far to go to tell us not to move.
The car had a few scrapes, no damage.
The worst was the wait, sitting at a 45% angle.
the accident up ahead needed to be cleared,
the door wouldn’t open, hitting the road.
The damning interview which seemed
would end in jail time, started with -
“This isn’t your car…. it’s your girlfriend’s?
Well, your move…. done any stunt driving?
Look, never come back to Loch Raven.”
Negligent Driving, beautiful right, like an Oscar.
(Previously published in Yellow Mama)
//
Gathering after the melt
Everything tastes like chicken.
All the fruit smells like dross.
Asparagus, makes the endangered species list,
then carrots and mushrooms.
Electric buses from all over the isthmus
bring in the foodies.
Millions of white masks,
all movement is slow, tentative,
alerts are posted red,
the sidewalk griddles the fallen,
like memories of fried egg.
The throng sleeps ten to a pen,
bile in the throat, gas in the lungs,
dreaming of cacciatore and open spaces -
air conditioning, pregnancies,
and a sense of time.
(Previously published in Last Leaves)
//
"Presocratic" is one of my favorite pieces. I went to Towson State and majored in Philosophy, one of the courses was on presocratic philosophers. Thales, one of the most notable, was credited with breaking from the use of mythology to explain existence to that of the ultimate substance, water. When I wrote it, I lived in an apartment on a lake in Elkton, Maryland. It was a landing spot for Canadian geese going both north and south and there was a small island in the center of the lake where they laid eggs. I spent a lot of time watching them from the second story porch.
The poem is an effort to point out that if you believe there are any other thinking beings in the universe, then it is arrogant to assume that our religious beliefs, which are incredibly self-centered, are creditable.
"Loch Raven" — This actually happened. The guys mentioned are still some of my best friends. They were hanging in a bar on Belair Road, the Mayfield. I came in with the announcement that Dee's father had just given her a new Camara with 350 horsepower, and we should take it out and see what it would do. We stopped at Elf's house and got a fifth of ouzo and headed to Loch Raven. The Baltimore County officer was as mad as he was grateful. Dee and I are married 54 years.
"Gathering after the melt" is an effort to put some context and humor to the dystopia of a planet melting and leaders that deny what science is quite sure of.