I was born and raised in Normal, Illinois, and this poem, I thought, might best introduce me to strangers. My mother grew up in and near Danvers, and several relatives farmed near there.
The term “rolled glass” may be unfamiliar to some. It’s an old process for making window glass, and I first saw it done on a field trip to New Salem, Illinois, the town where Lincoln spent his young manhood, when I was in eighth grade. Once the glass is molten and uniform, it is poured onto a metal sheet with a lip like a cookie tray. A metal hand roller is used to spread the glass out evenly. When the glass hardens, the resulting pane can be easily popped out of the tray. Glass made this way is transparent but distorted by swirls and bubbles.
“Danvers, Illinois” was first published in the journal Poetry.
Danvers, Illinois
There were words straight as corn, simple to the tongue as corn, sentences seried like a field in neat geometrics; And there were moments when the wind stopped and the corn stood silent and heat etched whorls like rolled glass above the road, when we lifted our heads and listened.
Richard Spilman 