{"id":33167,"date":"2016-04-16T20:08:13","date_gmt":"2016-04-17T02:08:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/?p=33167"},"modified":"2018-09-06T02:11:31","modified_gmt":"2018-09-06T08:11:31","slug":"sunday-blog-read-wade-bentley","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/sunday-blog-read-wade-bentley\/","title":{"rendered":"READ LOCAL First: Wade Bentley"},"content":{"rendered":"


\n\"Wade<\/a>SUNDAY BLOG READ\u00a0<\/strong>is your glimpse into the working minds and hearts of Utah\u2019s literary writers. Each month, 15 Bytes offers works-in-progress and \/ or recently published work by some of the state\u2019s most celebrated and promising writers of fiction, poetry, literary non-fiction and memoir.<\/p>\n

Today we are featuring Salt Lake City-based poet C. Wade Bentley<\/strong>\u00a0<\/b>who here provides four poems, two published, and two works-in-progress, ranging from one about poetry itself to the winter scene of wildlife–“a trope that will let this still-life with bowl\/of deer develop some redolent fust and decay.”<\/p>\n

For this self-described “incorrigible introvert,” Wade describes poetry as the language with which he is comfortable “when I want to attempt to say something real to the other humans. In that way,” he continues, the form \u00a0“has saved me from a life of atrophy, muteness, and isolation. I’m not one who believes poetry can save the world, nor that it needs to be evangelized. The world has too much religion. But poetry can save the poet, occasionally. I bear my testimony of that. Amen.”<\/p>\n

15 Bytes has earlier reviewed Bentley’s work, describing how he “tells stories of abandonment in his poems with simplicity and elegance and treats both the need to escape and the pain of rejection with equal compassion.” \u00a0(You can read the full review of his 2013 chapbook\u00a0Askew<\/em>\u00a0here<\/a>.) His full collection What is Mine<\/em> (Aldrich Press), was published in January of last year.<\/p>\n

So curl up with your favorite cup of Joe, and enjoy the work of Wade Bentley!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Not That You Asked<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

No one is asking for another poem. When I walk<\/p>\n

the neighborhood, no one stops me to ask<\/p>\n

why I haven\u2019t shared with them my latest thoughts<\/p>\n

on death, or dogs, or the way a flatworm swordfights<\/p>\n

with his penis. There are no petitions, no Kickstarter<\/p>\n

fundraisers, not even a peaceful march with placards<\/p>\n

and animated crowds asking in a shout, \u201cWhen<\/p>\n

do we want it?\u201d Anyway, the answer would be,<\/p>\n

I\u2019m quite certain, \u201cWe\u2019re good. No hurry, dude. Whatever<\/p>\n

works for you.\u201d It\u2019s okay. I get it. Poets are like<\/p>\n

that lady in your office who always wants to tell people<\/p>\n

her dreams:\u00a0 \u201cThere is no word in the world<\/p>\n

to describe the color of the shirt Ryan Reynolds<\/p>\n

took off before he kissed me. But then I realized<\/p>\n

it was my father<\/em> I was kissing! Don\u2019t even get me<\/p>\n

started<\/em> on what that might mean.\u201d And no one does<\/em><\/p>\n

get her started, but that doesn\u2019t stop her. Point taken.<\/p>\n

I won\u2019t be saddling any of you with how it felt<\/p>\n

this afternoon to find, as I was boxing up my old books<\/p>\n

from college, sandwiched between the pages<\/p>\n

of Herbert\u2019s \u201cBitter-sweet\u201d and \u201cLove,\u201d between<\/p>\n

\u201csour-sweet days\u201d and \u201cusurping lust,\u201d a condom<\/p>\n

wrapped in a square of red foil, as yet unope\u2019d.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

(appeared in Pembroke Magazine<\/em>, 2016)<\/p>\n

*\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Strong Force<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My father had begun to suspect that things were no longer<\/p>\n

what they seemed to be.\u00a0 This was not your garden-variety,<\/p>\n

tinfoil-hat, alien-probe paranoia.\u00a0 Nor had his mind taken on<\/p>\n

the protective coating of dementia, none of the Swiss-cheesing<\/p>\n

of the brain that might have deflated him into dispassion.<\/p>\n

If anything, his senses were now increasingly aware<\/p>\n

of the ground becoming less firm beneath his feet, as if<\/p>\n

one could no longer count on the quarks to link their tiny<\/p>\n

hands and bind up all the empty spaces with chromodynamics<\/p>\n

and baling wire.\u00a0 It was Death he saw coming, of course, close<\/p>\n

enough now to hear the folds of the black cloak whispering<\/p>\n

past him at night, smell the carrion on His breath.<\/p>\n

This was not the abstraction against which he had stockpiled<\/p>\n

faith for eighty years, testifying when he was younger that death<\/p>\n

held no fear for him.\u00a0 Just yesterday, when we saw a junco<\/p>\n

pulling at the decay of a fallen spruce, early light turning the orange<\/p>\n

of the tree and the white-tipped tail feathers of the bird to fire,<\/p>\n

he asked me how he could be expected to let any of it go,<\/p>\n

to just move on, and I knew he meant that, whatever might be<\/p>\n

ahead, it seemed incredible now, impossible to believe<\/p>\n

it could ever atone for all he would soon leave behind.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

(appeared in The Timberline Review<\/em>, 2015)<\/p>\n

\u00a0*<\/strong><\/p>\n

Building Up the Kingdom<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Some Saturdays Dad hauled me early<\/p>\n

out of bed to help build the new church.<\/p>\n

He said it would help me appreciate it<\/p>\n

more, make me feel like I had a stake<\/p>\n

in it. At first the work involved hod<\/p>\n

carrying for the masons, picking up<\/p>\n

loose nails, putting scraps of wood<\/p>\n

into the barrels for burning. But then<\/p>\n

they began to give me increasingly<\/p>\n

complex tasks, jobs that required some<\/p>\n

actual skill and acumen: hammering<\/p>\n

electrical boxes into the studs, running<\/p>\n

wire, drilling holes for plumbing lines.<\/p>\n

Instruction consisted of, \u201cLike this, kid.\u201d<\/p>\n

It might be better for a kid not to know<\/p>\n

what goes on behind the scenes, behind<\/p>\n

the dry wall and insulation and mortar.<\/p>\n

Better he thinks God was the foreman<\/p>\n

and angels supervised the consistency of cement,<\/p>\n

the whole level-and-plumb of things.<\/p>\n

I only know that when I sat in that church<\/p>\n

for meetings, some months later, I sat<\/p>\n

in the pew furthest from the section of roof<\/p>\n

sheathing I had helped lay, and that it was not,<\/p>\n

in fact, piety that had me always looking up.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0*<\/strong><\/p>\n

Browse<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I wanted to write about the deer who slip<\/p>\n

into my yard most winter nights to nibble<\/p>\n

on the aspen and flowering plum, but is it<\/p>\n

enough to simply say how beautiful they are\u2014<\/p>\n

yada, yada\u2014those grey ghosts with their long<\/p>\n

dark tongues? They are, it must be said, stripping<\/p>\n

the bark and tender twigs, so I know<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

the aspens will be bare of leaves, come spring,<\/p>\n

at least as far up as the reach of a deer,<\/p>\n

and the plums are young enough they might<\/p>\n

not survive this grazing and girdling. Still,<\/p>\n

it\u2019s not as if the deer are packing on the fat,<\/p>\n

dimpled gluttons who delight in gorging<\/p>\n

on the horticultural efforts of this new<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

neighborhood carved from the foothills.<\/p>\n

No, when the security lights come on, the deer<\/p>\n

are too exhausted from the months of mostly<\/p>\n

fruitless foraging to do more than rotate<\/p>\n

their ears and flash their bright eyes, while I<\/p>\n

note each rib cage with its ribs like a stove-<\/p>\n

in boat. I know I should adopt a tone, here,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

a trope that will let this still-life with bowl<\/p>\n

of deer develop some redolent fust and decay,<\/p>\n

but I am distracted, at the moment, by a ruffle<\/p>\n

of snow falling from the powerline to crown<\/p>\n

a yearling doe who merely shakes her mule-ish<\/p>\n

ears and capers, briefly, like a mythical faun,<\/p>\n

perhaps, before nosing her mother\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Copyright by C. Wade Bentley<\/p>\n

\"What<\/a>C. Wade Bentley<\/a> lives, teaches, and writes in Salt Lake City.\u00a0 For a good time, he enjoys wandering the Wasatch Mountains and playing with his grandchildren.\u00a0 His poems have appeared in Green Mountains Review<\/em>, Cimarron Review, Best New Poets, New Ohio Review, Western Humanities Review, Rattle, Chicago Quarterly Review, Timberline Review, Reunion: The Dallas Review<\/em>, Pembroke Magazine<\/em>, and New Orleans Review<\/em>, among others.\u00a0 A full-length collection of his poems, What Is Mine<\/em>, was published by Aldrich Press<\/a> in January of 2015.<\/p>\n

Past featured writers in <\/em>15 Bytes\u2019 Sunday Blog Read:\u00a0Katharine Coles<\/a>, Michael McLane<\/a>, Darrell Spencer<\/a>,Larry Menlove<\/a>,Christopher Bigelow<\/a>, Shanan Ballam<\/a>,Steve Proskauer<\/a>, April Wilder<\/a>,Calvin Haul<\/a>, Lance Larsen<\/a>,Joel Long<\/a>,Lynn Kilpatrick<\/a>,Phyllis Barber<\/a>, David Hawkins<\/a>,Nancy Takacs<\/a>,Mike Dorrell<\/a>,Susan Elizabeth Howe<\/a>, Star Coulbrooke<\/a>, Brad Roghaar,<\/a>Jerry Vanleperen<\/a>,Maximilian Werner<\/a>, Markay Brown<\/a>, Natalie Young<\/a>, Michael Sowder<\/a>, andDanielle Beazer Dubrasky<\/a>,\u00a0Kevin Holdsworth<\/a>,\u00a0Jacqueline Osherow<\/a>, Stephen Carter<\/a>,\u00a0Alex Caldiero<\/a>,\u00a0Stephen Tuttle<\/a>, Raphael Dagold<\/a>, David Lee<\/a>,\u00a0Lisa Bickmore<\/a>,\u00a0<\/em>Kirstin Scott<\/a>,\u00a0Jesse Parent<\/a>,\u00a0Craig Dworkin<\/a>,\u00a0<\/em>Laura Stott<\/a>,\u00a0Jana Richman<\/a>, and Melody Newey Johnson<\/a>.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

SUNDAY BLOG READ\u00a0is your glimpse into the working minds and hearts of Utah\u2019s literary writers. Each month, 15 Bytes offers works-in-progress and \/ or recently published work by some of the state\u2019s most celebrated and promising writers of fiction, poetry, literary non-fiction and memoir. Today we are featuring […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1566,"featured_media":33169,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_piecal_is_event":false,"_piecal_start_date":"","_piecal_end_date":"","_piecal_is_allday":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[69,35,2513],"tags":[26,2864,1811,1301,2865],"class_list":["post-33167","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-daily-bytes","category-literary-arts","category-read-local-first","tag-15-bytes","tag-aldrich-press","tag-c-wade-bentley","tag-sunday-blog-read","tag-what-is-mine"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/Wade-Bentley.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"publishpress_future_action":{"enabled":false,"date":"2026-05-10 03:33:35","action":"change-status","newStatus":"draft","terms":[],"taxonomy":"category","extraData":[]},"publishpress_future_workflow_manual_trigger":{"enabledWorkflows":[]},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33167","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1566"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=33167"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33167\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":35432,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33167\/revisions\/35432"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/33169"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=33167"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=33167"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=33167"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}