Fredrick Zydek is the author of eight collections of poetry. T’Kopechuck: the Buckley Poems is forthcoming from
Winthrop Press later this year. Formerly a professor of creative writing and theology at the University of Nebraska and
later at the College of Saint Mary, he is now a gentleman farmer when he isn’t writing. He is the editor for Lone Willow
Press. His work has appeared in The Antioch Review, Cimmaron Review, The Hollins Critic, New England Review,
Nimrod, Poetry, Prairie Schooner, Poetry Northwest, Yankee, and others. He is the recipient of the Hart Crane Poetry
Award, the Sarah Foley O'Loughlen Literary Award and others.
Winthrop Press later this year. Formerly a professor of creative writing and theology at the University of Nebraska and
later at the College of Saint Mary, he is now a gentleman farmer when he isn’t writing. He is the editor for Lone Willow
Press. His work has appeared in The Antioch Review, Cimmaron Review, The Hollins Critic, New England Review,
Nimrod, Poetry, Prairie Schooner, Poetry Northwest, Yankee, and others. He is the recipient of the Hart Crane Poetry
Award, the Sarah Foley O'Loughlen Literary Award and others.
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Copyright © 2009 The Honey Land Review All rights reserved.
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All content contained within this site is protected by copyright laws.
Unauthorized use of graphics or literary material is strictly prohibited.
| Trying To Define My Prayers Frederick Zydek |
I’m not sure if what I do is prayer
or simply a kind of swooning.
Sometimes ideas or suddenly
being aware of certain connections
will send me into a state of awe -
a confused and wondrous joy -
an appreciation at learning another
way the world is willing toward me.
There is a kind of music in things
and something that listens in them
as well. Some part of me is in
harmony with those songs; other
parts are often off-key and out
of step, dancing to the wrong tune
and loving every moment of it.
Sometimes I listen, sometimes it
listens, sometimes we listen together.
In still other prayers we both talk
at the same time like old maid aunts
at a family picnic. We seem to have
a great deal of catching up to do.
Sometimes we are strangers to one
another, unknown commodities, wall-
flowers a little shy and suspicious, yet
comfortable with the distance between us.
or simply a kind of swooning.
Sometimes ideas or suddenly
being aware of certain connections
will send me into a state of awe -
a confused and wondrous joy -
an appreciation at learning another
way the world is willing toward me.
There is a kind of music in things
and something that listens in them
as well. Some part of me is in
harmony with those songs; other
parts are often off-key and out
of step, dancing to the wrong tune
and loving every moment of it.
Sometimes I listen, sometimes it
listens, sometimes we listen together.
In still other prayers we both talk
at the same time like old maid aunts
at a family picnic. We seem to have
a great deal of catching up to do.
Sometimes we are strangers to one
another, unknown commodities, wall-
flowers a little shy and suspicious, yet
comfortable with the distance between us.
| The Honey Land Review Fall 2009 Volume 2, Issue 1 |
