December 2008
30 posts
3 tags
Endangered, Billy Collins
It is so quiet on the shore of this motionless lake you can hear the slow recessional of extinct animals as they leave through a door at the back of the world, disappearing like the verbs of a dead language: the last troop of kangaroos hopping out of the picture, the ultimate paddling of ducks and pitying of turtledoves and, his bell tolling in the distance, the final goat.
Dec 31st
3 tags
Mending Wall, Robert Frost
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-sell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I...
Dec 31st
15 notes
4 tags
To Dorothy, Marvin Bell
You are not beautiful, exactly. You are beautiful, inexactly. You let a weed grow by the mulberry And a mulberry grow by the house. So close, in the personal quiet Of a windy night, it brushes the wall And sweeps away the day till we sleep. A child said it, and it seemed true: “Things that are lost are all equal.” But it isn’t true. If I lost you, The air wouldn’t...
Dec 30th
9 notes
3 tags
Unanswered, Rod McKuen
I put off writing then to find you’d put off living in the interval. I have no excuse. My arm well oiled and still working could have written half a page or more. While we were living, face to face, I was willing once to use you as a sounding board. You were my acoustic then. You shame me now. That I would let you letter go unanswered is a loss to me and not a lesson.
Dec 29th
3 notes
3 tags
New Directions, Rod McKuen
If I hold my hand in front of me just so it covers up the moon. I can move from block to block clearheaded, unafraid. If I haven’t charted out the action in advance. Premeditation is the surest enemy I know. Slow I move my hand away uncovering the moon. Slower still Small thoughts widen and stretch out in my head. The moon draws nearer.
Dec 28th
1 note
3 tags
legs, Charles Bukowski
she arrived in a taxi completely intoxicated. it was after one of my long days as a May Co. stock boy and I sat there exhausted and sucking at my beer and looking at her in her rumpled state spread across the bed skirt hiked high. I sucked at my drink then walked over to the bed and lifted her skirt higher: such a sight those glorious legs uncovered and helpless. she was a...
Dec 27th
28 notes
4 tags
Lovesong, Ted Hughes
He loved her and she loved him. His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to He had no other appetite She bit him she gnawed him she sucked She wanted him complete inside her Safe and sure forever and ever Their little cries fluttered into the curtains Her eyes wanted nothing to get away Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows He gripped her hard so that life...
Dec 26th
56 notes
2 tags
This Word Love, Raymond Carver
I will not go when she calls even if she says I love you, especially that, even though she swears and promises nothing but love love. The light in this room covers every thing equally; even my arm throws no shadow, it too is consumed with light. But this word love — this word grows dark, grows heavy and shakes itself, begins to eat, to shudder and convulse its way through this...
Dec 24th
9 notes
3 tags
On the Use of Concrete Language, Diane Lockward
Don’t say love. Say switchblade. -Peter Murphy She remembers the click and the snap of it when he opened the blade, and the black of his eyes when he flipped it through his fingers like some kind of juggler, and the heat of it, yes, the heat of it. She remembers the twinge sharp as the blade held to her throat, dragged down her arm, teasing, circling the breasts, down her...
Dec 23rd
3 tags
Making Love, Rebecca McClanahan
Why make? I used to wonder. Is it something you have to keep on making, like beds or dinner, stir it up or smooth it down? Sex, I understood, an easy creaking on the upholstered springs of a man you meet in passing. You have sex, you don’t have to make it, it makes you - rise and fall and rise again, each time, each man, new. But love? It could be the name of a faraway city, end of...
Dec 23rd
10 notes
3 tags
One Art, Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring...
Dec 21st
9 notes
3 tags
Confirmation, Paul Laurence Dunbar
He was a poet who wrote clever verses, And folks said he had a fine poetical taste; But his father, a practical farmer, accused him Of letting the strength of his arm go to waste. He called on his sweetheart each Saturday evening, As pretty a maiden as ever man faced, And there he confirmed the old man’s accusation By letting the strength of his arm go to waist.
Dec 21st
3 tags
from Love Letter, Melissa Stein
I don’t know when the boys began to walk away with parts of myself in their sticky hands; when loving became a process of subtraction. Or why, having given up what seems so much, I’m willing to lose even more — erasing all this body’s known, relearning it with you.
Dec 20th
14 notes
3 tags
From a Discarded Image, Franz Wright
The world’s wordless beauty’s intact and can never be other than intact no matter what harm we perpetually do and have done and will I can assure everyone do, forever, as they say. World’s wordless beauty, and the word’s worldless liberty The champagne shopping binge is over The check is about to arrive and nobody knows how much it will be I know I don’t...
Dec 18th
3 tags
Goodbye, Franz Wright
But I have overcome you in myself, I won’t behave like you, so you can’t hurt me now; so you are not going to hurt me again and I, I can’t happen to you.
Dec 18th
2 tags
Accepting an Award, Franz Wright
A voice neither cruel nor benevolent said—this was spring in 1996— look at him: he can’t live and pretends he is going to die… One eye in tears and one that’s never going to cry. And who could have foreseen I’d outevil them all, all my old evil friends put together? You, that’s who. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid and her boyfriend...
Dec 16th
2 tags
If All the Unplayed Pianos, Winfield Townley Scott
If all the unplayed pianos in America— The antimacassared uprights in old ladies’ parlors In the storehourses the ones that were rented for vaudeville The ones where ill fame worsened and finally died The ones too old for Sunday School helplessly dusty The ones too damp at the beach and too dry in the mountains The ones mothers used to play on winter...
Dec 15th
2 notes
3 tags
The Man in the Dead Machine, Donald Hall
High on a slope in New Guinea the Grumman Hellcat lodges among bright vines as thick as arms. In 1943, the clenched hand of a pilot glided it here where no one has ever been. In the cockpit, the helmeted skeleton sits upright, held by dry sinews at neck and shoulder, and webbing that straps the pelvic cross to the cracked leather of the seat, and the breastbone to the canvas cover...
Dec 14th
1 note
3 tags
Traveling Through the Dark, William Stafford
Traveling through the dark I found a deer dead on the edge of the Wilson river road. It is usually best to roll them into the canyon: that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead. By the glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car and stood by the head, a doe, a recent killing; she had stiffened already, almost cold. I dragged her off; she was large in the belly. My fingers...
Dec 12th
2 tags
Two Friends, David Ignatow
I have something to tell you. I’m listening. I’m dying. I’m sorry to hear. I’m growing old. It’s terrible. It is, I thought you should know. Of course and I’m sorry. Keep in touch. I will and you too. And let me know what’s new. Certainly, though it can’t be much. And stay well. And you too. And go slow. And you too.
Dec 12th
2 tags
Fable, Merrill Moore
Does everyone have to die? Yes, everyone. Isn’t there some way I can arrange Not to die—cannot I take some strange Prescription that my physician might know of? No. I think not, not for money or love; Everyone has to die, yes, everyone. Cannot my banker and his bank provide, Like a trust fund, for me to live on inside My warm bright house and not be put into A casket in the...
Dec 11th
2 notes
2 tags
Visit to St. Elizabeths, Elizabeth Bishop
This is the house of Bedlam. This is the man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is the time of the tragic man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is a wristwatch telling the time of the talkative man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is a sailor wearing the watch that tells the time of the honored man that lies in the house of Bedlam. This is the roadstead all of board...
Dec 10th
3 tags
Divorce, Jack Gilbert
Woke up suddenly thinking I heard crying. Rushed through the dark house. Stopped, remembering. Stood looking out at bright moonlight on concrete.
Dec 8th
3 notes
3 tags
When You Are Old, William Butler Yeats
When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false and true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the...
Dec 7th
8 notes
3 tags
Nothing But You, S. B.
We spent fall comparing guns and graffiti and wearing diamonds around our necks. I felt like you weren’t supposed to become a man. Not now. Not at all. I learned too soon about the tainted bodies and faces covering your wall and that if you did become a man I would join the ranks of those girls no matter how hard I tried to stay barefoot and dreaming. You told me that I...
Dec 6th
2 notes
6 tags
Duel, Jane Wong
I A history slips through these elms, presses our mouths together like books. In October, you showed me hoof marks, cupped your ears and listened for gulls. We are too far off, I told you you who never listen II Wells deep and full of copper draw winter closer still. III You fell off your bicycle – mouth of blood and rot. Mothers ran, swore low and kicked all the rust beetles in the...
Dec 6th
2 notes
3 tags
Untitled, Franz Wright
She undressed looking into my eyes like someone about to go swimming at dawn alone quiet heart attack Thirst is my water Some say the more you stray the more you’re saved, I wouldn’t be surprised Snow falling on my bedclothes Set the mind before the mirror of eternity and everything will work
Dec 5th
6 notes
4 tags
Suffering, Joe Weil
No one ever gets good at it, and, if they should, then something must up and die, something warm and familiar that crawls to the center line of a life and gets hit. Excellence isn’t necessary. One must respect the professional martyr, the asshole all hot for it. What I like about Christ is he wanted to pass. What I like about people is the way they just keep living,...
Dec 4th
5 notes
4 tags
Winter Poem, Frederick Morgan
We made love on winter afternoon and when we woke, hours had turned and changed, the moon was shining and the earth was new. The city, with its lines and squares, was gone: our room had placed itself on a small hill surrounded by dark woods frosted in snow and meadows where the flawless drifts lay deep. No men there—some small animals all fur stared gently at us with soft-shining...
Dec 3rd
1 note
4 tags
American Sonnet, Billy Collins
We do not speak like Petrarch or wear a hat like Spenser and it is not fourteen lines like furrows in a small, carefully plowed field but the picture postcard, a poem on vacation, that forces us to sing our songs in little rooms or pour our sentiments into measuring cups. We write on the back of a waterfall or lake, adding to the view a caption as conventional as an Elizabethan...
Dec 2nd
16 notes