Siste, viator Bereaved of mind by a weird truck, Our fraternal philosopher To whom a Spring snow was mortal Winter— a wild driver in the best Of cases, on the margins of Communicability— exchanged a bad Appointment in New Hampshire For a grave in the Jewish Cemetery In Waltham, Massachusetts. Across The street…
My mother was dying. I didn’t know that, didn’t know why I couldn’t be at home when she had left the hospital to be there. He would take me to Lucile’s and leave me and I’d hate it. I’d worry that I’d have to stay and go on living there like one of hers, like…
In all the cathedrals of Europe I’ve seen only one smiling angel, feathered wings like the others, blasted by war. She’s famous not only because she’s smiling but because of the smile. It might be that the harvest is fine, but I don’t think so: too much reflected mischief in her face. As if a…
for Louis, my father As God knows, the child sees, in middle age The strewn windfall of the befallen. Today I am reading the poems written when I was a child (the cobalt tower text Of Hart Crane; spinster Stevens’ intricate Book of needles; oracular Yeats, Unkind). And I am writing a…
Doniphan Louthan, 1920-1952 I do not remember the day you disappeared. I was too young to understand, still small enough to curl up in your hat. When I questioned mother years later, she told me you had gone to heaven, but I knew better. You were in her heart, and kept it beating by pacing…
Art Note Painting a pear today, it occurs to me that what painting is really all about for me (at its best) is "discovery". The discovery of that third slight "bump" along-side the disappearing edge of the pear, which I had originally assumed was an almost straight line. However – the work itself eventually involved…
One night there was no moon, and never had been. In the space where the moon was the weather Stopped, everything happened for The first time. I cannot imagine space As it then was, the cradle unrocking In the tideless air. The man stopped, the shadow vanished, There was nothing to read. In their…
I took the last dusty piece of china out of the barrel. It was your gravy boat, with a hard, brown drop of gravy still on the porcelain lip. I grieved for you then as I never had before.
“In business you have to know people. . . Try selling frozen pizza in the North End—it’s like shoveling shit against the tide; the more `ethnic’ the neighborhood, the more they like to start from scratch. Everything fresh! Wait a generation, they’ll change. . . Then, move in.” * * * “Are you saying it was…
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