Daniel M. Shapiro is the author of several books and chapbooks, including How the Potato Chip Was Invented and Heavy Metal Fairy Tales. He is a special education teacher who lives in Pittsburgh.




Daniel M. Shapiro

Dionne Warwick Records “The Windows of the World”



Clouds set guitars on their sides, cream binding separating sunset from rush-hour gray, the idling of tremolo. Everybody knows the changes, the slip of a slash chord between oil on oil, rain’s final exile. The bluest height holds up a voice that coolly whispers over impatient revs. Everybody knows how easy it is to descend, to crawl down soft hills of strums. It’s impossible to look through a single drop. The drop will bind an entire landscape. Everybody knows what it takes to evaporate, what weaves smog into broken skins of trees.

I've written several poems about Dionne Warwick because I love her as a performer. I don't think anyone else could've sounded like a natural performing the often asymmetrical songs of Burt Bacharach and Hal David — music so complicated, so heartbreaking. It's as good as anything that came out in the 1960s. In this poem, I wanted to mask my unabashed feelings about Warwick by mixing them with nature, a common poetry theme I typically try to avoid, perhaps because nature poems seem to have an unnaturally high bar to be considered good. I suppose I consider songs such as "Windows of the World" as majestic and beautiful as people consider acts of nature. Another thing I wanted to try was to repeat words from the song that bothered me: "Everybody knows." I don't know if David meant the lyric to be ironic, but I don't think there are many things everybody knows. That notion suggests a level of shared comfort I'm not comfortable accepting.



Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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