Herbert's poetry is an imitation of an action. Or rather, it is an imitation of a transaction. Usually, it goes beyond imitation to engage in the transaction. My critical point of departure is gift-giving, and I have chosen gift-giving not simply because it is a recurrent image or motif in Herbert's poetry but because it…
It is an early autumn Sunday evening. Still warm and Michael has not made love to me since August. Each night he sleeps as he sleeps tonight, facing the window with his knees drawn up away from me. This lack of attention is not, he says, because he doesn't want me; it is, he says,…
Life was cheap in South America. Anything could happen there. That was one way. He was tired. That was another. So many of his erotic daydreams began that way. He’d lie in his bed and masturbate, usually just before he got up. Many of them had to do with the way they’d survive after an…
I listen at the door. Who’s dying, then? It’s like bird-watching. Who’s going to die next? Birds in the nest. Who knows about all this?
* Euclid, alone, who looked in beauty’s heart, Assumed the whole was greater than the part; But Cantor, with the infinite in control, Proved that the part was equal to the whole. *Cantor’s Theorem: In an infinite class the whole is no greater than some of its parts.
She sat on the ledge of the sun porch reminiscing about O. In three minutes the sun would slide into the sea at the beach a few miles away. When you've seen sunsets, as he had, from the southern tips of continents and the lips of volcanic lakes, where would the patience come from to…
“It is a beauteous evening, calm and free” My child and I Are walking around the block. No sea heaves near. No anger Blooms through the perfect sky. The flashing of the wheels Of a passing car is not The flashing of that fate I might have feared, not this Sunday. A page from a…
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….
No products in the cart.