Each Thing Measured by the Same Sun Nothing to tell. Nothing to desire. A silence that is not unhappy. Who will guess I am not backing away? I am pleased every morning because the stones are cold, then warm in the sun. Sometimes wet. One, two, three days in a row. Easy to say yes […]
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March 18, 2019 – 10:29 pm
Two exquisite, yet for me enigmatic, poems by the Canadian poets Lorna Crozier and Patrick Lane, partners for more than forty years before Patrick’s death eleven days ago. This broadsheet hangs in my home office and I revisit it now again. And every time I feel happily lost in a lyric mysteriousness, much the way […]
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March 16, 2019 – 10:09 am
The benefit of cleaning up a chaotic office! Finding this exquisite small poem by Patrick Lane. As I remember him telling me, and here my memory may be a touch thin in places, this poem was part of a larger piece and his “Beloved”, Lorna Crozier, told him this was the poem! I appreciate the […]
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March 15, 2019 – 10:59 pm
EARLY ONE SUMMER Years from now someone will come upon a layer of birds and not know what he is listening for these are the days when the beetles hurry through dry grass hiding pieces of light W.S. Merwin from Migration: New and Selected Poems, Copper Canyon Press, 2005 What a great poem to celebrate […]
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ASSINIBOINE Deep summer nights and you, far off, quiet in the dawn. That last morning the mute swans were on the river and I was unclean. I placed hot stones in water as you told me of the old people beside the slow current singing. If I look hard enough I believe I can see […]
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Half-Hearted Moon Sometimes I don’t feel anything. It’s best to be with people when I do. I stare across the coke and whiskey at Jimmy and Moon. We are talking about nothing. The half-hearted night stumbles up the cracked pane and no one cares. Moon is crying and there is nothing I can do. She […]
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Fear and Reading Reading Patrick Lane again, hearing Faulkner: Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! So I read Lane’s lines, and wander behind them, not like a soldier, rifle at the ready, not sure of friend or foe, but curious about an image I fear. Lane, talking […]
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When I Sleep When I sleep the birds come to the garden With their gifts of seeds out of ice Last year’s leaves of grass lift into night. All my songs have been one song. The palm of my hand and the sole of my foot remember everything I have forgotten. The old lantern by […]
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