Poetry

This morning was something. A little snow lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green, as far as the eye could see. Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I dressed and went for a walk. Determined not to return until I took in what Nature had to…

trans. Greek Edmund Keeley Invulnerable body all naked so point-blank naked with the nipples still erect invulnerable to interior or exterior gunfire and that blue triumphant cunning and the wide trowel in hand covering the cement the smile of the second Christ. *     *      * Hidden behind the massive statue of Zeus he waits for the…

In those days, we were going places. But that Sunday afternoon we were becalmed. Sitting around a table, drinking and swapping stories. A party that'd been going on, and off, since Friday a year ago. Then Guy's wife was dropped in front of the apartment by her boy friend, and came upstairs. It's Guy's birthday,…

I can't stand it, he said. What other road? Season of the hungry dogs season of forgetfulness and memory season of disguises season of swindlers season of broken doors. I gave a penny to the blind man I climbed down from the stands stooped over unbuttoned my pants season of no raised flags. *     *     * That…

They waited all day for the sun to appear. Then, late in the afternoon, like a good prince, it showed itself for a few minutes. Blazing high over the benchland that lies at the foot of the peaks behind their borrowed house. Then the clouds were drawn once more. They were happy enough. But all…

I signed the letter, Mary then noticed my mistake and added: As you can see, I am going crazy, I think I am a virgin. Love, Mary. There was nothing to feel guilty about, it wasn't a bad letter. I spoke some of my children, a little of my husband. While serious, it said nothing…

Survivors return to the place where something terrible happened, crippled and set free by the deaths around them. They know they'll go too someday so they won't go quietly, and in this knowledge they stand out like trees you never notice until autumn, when the plain ones rage and the common maple seems to set…

I think of my father Working quietly at an easel, With small strokes globing The fruit and wine bottles. How many breasts he painted In pears and oranges and green glass, Getting inside the blouses of things Twice a week in the rented studio He shared downtown. The stillness of the subjects, And their reticence,…

Rain falls on the carnival grounds, the rides, motionless, loop the gray sky with painted iron & height that would impress Paris a hundred years ago. They keep to themselves what death must seem like when the soul leaves the body. No one will make their money. With the flat of his hand a drunken…