* When Sappho wrote: “whatever one loves most is beautiful,” she began The poems of heart’s praise That comprise the Book Of the body of the beloved Which is the world. Everything in the Book flows from that single poem Or the countless others That say the same thing In other words, other ways. * […]
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“The Book” and the Art of Poetic Provenance
The Beloved is Dead The beloved is dead. Limbs And all the body’s Miraculous parts Scattered across Egypt, Stained with dark mud. We must find them, gather Them together, bring them Into a single place As an anthologist might collect All the poems that matter Into a single book, a book Which is the body […]
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