I. Invocation It’s crazy to think one could describe them— Calling on reason, fantasy, memory, eyes and ears— As though they were all alike any more Than sweeps, opticians, poets or masseurs. Moreover, they are for more than one reason Difficult to speak of seriously and freely, And I have never (even this is difficult…
On a May morning when the sunlight fell thru the window of her Cambridge walk-up and lay like an extra blanket on the narrow daybed, Natalie Imray awakened from a nightmare. She lay quite still and cautiously, slowly, began to reconstruct the content of the dream behind her eyes, her mind reflecting it into words….
I read the brown sentences of my great-grandfather, As if—not even as if—but actually Looking into a brown photograph as old As his writing is. In his sentences Two innocent naked young men, Methodists, Bathe in the morning in the Rapahannock River. Fredericksburg, Virginia, Eighteen Sixty-Four. Brother Pierson and I went out and bathed in…
Urn that my aunt carried through Brazil with the ashes of her love turned pure mixed with the black dress the white apron the dark lips crystal urn sidesaddle urn sand urn eighteenth century urn urn wet with big tears and rain from the road crude urn carved by Andrade passion without peace or letup…
If it were possible, I'd lead you out of this room to another room or similar moment. Above a quiet meal, beside a candle, I'd have you repeat what you were saying which I was trying hard to hear. Your idea was so beautifully put it took my breath away. But Polly wouldn't let you…
* I 1 Dear little insect —they called you Mosca, I don’t know why— this evening as I was reading Deutero-Isaiah in the near-dark you reappeared beside me; but you didn’t have glasses, you couldn’t see me, and I couldn’t recognize you in the dusk without their glitter. 2 No glasses or antennae, poor insect,…
There was in the corner of the living room an album of unbearable photos, many meters high and infinite minutes old, over which everyone leaned in the joy of mocking the dead in frock coats. A worm began to chew the indifferent frock coats and chew the pages, the inscriptions and even the dust of…
"Talent," Robert Blaine said in his slow, invalid's voice, "is simply a matter of knowing how to handle yourself." He relaxed on his pillow; eyes gleaming, and shifted his skinny legs under the sheet. "That answer your question?" "Well, now, wait a minute, Bob," Jones said. His wheelchair was drawn up respectfully beside the bed…
On Boul Miche Idling at the curb In a rented car, Ready to go. But I have forgotten something! It’s my hat, of course: “Of all things Why would Daddy forget His darling hat?” I leave the motor running, Bolt through the great doors And past the concierge. Horns are blowing Out there where I…
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