From Flare 1. Welcome to the silly, comforting poem. It is not the sunrise, which is a red rinse, which is flaring all over the eastern sky; it is not the rain falling out of the purse of God; it is not the blue helmet of the sky afterward, or the trees, or the beetle […]
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January 12, 2021 – 11:39 pm
When Death Comes When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox; when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, I want to step through the door […]
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February 28, 2019 – 5:27 pm
Days What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over. They are to be happy in: Where can we live but days? Ah, solving that question Brings the priest and the doctor In their long coats Running over the fields. 3 August, 1953 Philip Larkin, from […]
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January 17, 2019 – 6:39 pm
When Death Comes When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox; when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, I want to step through the door […]
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December 30, 2018 – 11:42 pm
Archaic Torso of Apollo We cannot know his legendary head with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso is still suffused with brilliance from inside, like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low, gleams in all its power. Otherwise the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could a smile […]
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Tomorrow They Will Carve Me Death came and stood by me. I said: I am ready. I am lying in the surgery clinic in Krakow. Tomorrow they will carve me. There is much strength in me. I can live, can run, dance, and sing. All that is in me, but if necessary I will go. […]
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January 16, 2016 – 8:18 pm
Oh, I Said My subject is the soul Difficult to talk about, Since it is invisible, Silent and often absent. Even when it shows itself In the eyes of a child Or a dog without a home, I’m at a loss for words. Charles Simic (1938 – ) from THE LUNATIC, HarperCollins Publishers, 2015 Earlier […]
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November 6, 2015 – 10:46 pm
Dedication I sing for you. I am made for song. It is my purpose, to invent new music, as a kind of prayer that everything is, a cane tapping, a child running, the […]
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September 12, 2015 – 2:27 pm
U.S. Poet Laureate Charles Wright WITH EDDIE AND NANCY IN AREZZO AT THE CAFÉ GRANDE Piero in wraps, the True Cross sotto restauro, Piazza desolate edge Where sunlight breaks it, desolate edge Where sunlight pries it apart A child kicks a soccer ball. Another heads it back. The Fleeting World, Po Chu-I says, short-hops […]
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Mid-March. The wild geese are back in the field in front of our house. They remind me of something I wrote back in November when they were heading the other way! Here it is: This morning a flock of more than 150 wild geese flew overhead, the cacophony of their calls a perfected music. And […]
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