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(The Ribbon to Norwood, January 5, 1971) Will all be well? To outfly the snow. Waking in the dark . . . . He kneels at the hearth, Radiates the ceiling . . . . No. Older than that. Old. My father lights no fires; I expect no hearth. But today I go, My day…
For me it might be fine to wake up and weed the garden play tennis or lift a chair over my head but what about the man who moves pianos for a living or the woman who at last gives birth to one too many children what does she think of breakfast brought to her…
EDITORIAL BOARD Directors DeWitt Henry Peter O'Malley Coordinating Editor David Gullette Associate Editors Norman Klein Lloyd Schwartz George Starbuck Contributing Editors Fanny Howe Robert Pinsky James Randall Jane Shore Ellen Wilbur CONTRIBUTORS JONATHAN AARON has had poems in The New Yorker, American Review, Esquire, Kayak, etc. He teaches at Williams and will enjoy an Amy…
In the dark, I picked up a nail to write you a letter on a piece of wood. The iron point of midnight will failed me, I couldn’t send it. I am brave like Joan of Arc in dreams, but things shrink back into place when I awake. There are some tired flowers here with…
Time “at a premium as usual” and me drunk in the garden the birds bearing their perfected frames down the creekbed walking as straight as I can I only intersect myself Even the gardeners are drunk today their rakes fly out of their hands they hide their bottle in the hedge their pile of petals…
CHARLES and XENIA are discussing them At her place. Interrupted solitaire, Fern, teapot, humdrum harmonies from where Blinks a green cat’s-eye, the old FM. XENIA: Now no. But when I am child my parents Are receiving them. Emigrés I think very old, Distinguished. Spectacles with rims of gold. Clothes stained by acid of expérience. Forever…
1. Georgia Black train flying north, Rita’s hat Awfully large and with a white ribbon, Legs crossed, cheap novel in her lap, Fingers casual on a bright necklace; Someone across the aisle is snapping Newspaper pages and blowing cigar smoke— This game of American spaces is tiresome: Trains may pound paradise into honeymoons And politics,…
—for Ricardo Sternberg Shaped like a bureaucratic grin It floats Unseen Past the general’s head As he sits Studying an old newsreel of Peron’s exile. Even the palace guard Daydreaming About the young girl in the marketplace Thinks it only A phallics spectre Thrown up in the mind’s eye Like The curvaceous angel The boxer…
A dramatic necessity goes deep into the nature of the sentence. Sentences are not different enough to hold the attention unless they are dramatic. No ingenuity of varying structure will do. All that can save them is the speaking tone of voice somehow entangled in the words and fastened to the page for the ear…
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