Authors /
Jeff Gundy
Jeff Gundy’s most recent book is Wind Farm (Dos Madres Press), a collection of lyrical essays about the Illinois landscape of his youth.
Why I Keep Shoveling the Cursed Driveway
Cars waver down the glassy streets,
somebody in a pickup scrapes the parking lot.
Nobody trusts anybody to stop for the signs.
Every cough, mine or yours, might tip us off...
January 6, 2023
Little Bridges
for Mary Szybist, and after Rilke
God is in the space at the hub of the wheel,
but God is not only there....
December 15, 2022
Sunset Hill, Father’s Day
Exercise, observation and contemplation are not mutually exclusive
but may be orthogonal to each other, if I understand that word...
May 26, 2022
Running across the pews
Just once during a potluck I went upstairs with some
of my friends, our parents still nibbling and chatting...
January 28, 2022
Natural theology in the late pandemic
At the National Quarry, aka Cob Lake, a mother and daughter
and their dog stop ahead of me—they want him to chase a squirrel,...
January 14, 2022
Ways to fail to change an American mind, even with a solid hook and a bridge to die for
Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses?
—Glenn Frey and Don Henley
Sing sweetly, sadly, gravely....
September 1, 2021
The wind farmer releases the wind
The strange notion of rûaḥ in the Hebrew Scriptures shatters
taxonomies, leaving us to ask mistakenly, “Is rûaḥ wind? Breath?...
April 14, 2021
Quarry Hollow: Rules and intimations
Three days without news of the campaign is as good as a stiff martini before dinner,
as a long walk in the sunshine, as a long morning in bed with your sweetie....
December 2, 2019
Sunset Hill
The birds are still negotiating, defending their territory,
or just playing with sound and breath. From where I walk...
September 27, 2019
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Determinism on a summer morning in the Midwest
There’s no such thing as free will and that’s bad, or so says / Stephen Cave in The Atlantic.
June 27, 2018
Cold day in the provinces
“I have hardened my heart only a little.”
—Robinson Jeffers
...
October 27, 2017
On the way to Denver
From above, the clouds are always white. Color
is a construct. Words are bricks & mortar, studs
& drywall. Methane is invisible to the human eye....
July 5, 2017
The traveler ponders some rumors that have reached his ears
He’s heard stories of amber, of winter storms that deposityellow knurls and knuckles the length of the long beachthat runs north to Palanga, of roads jammed even in winter...
December 9, 2015