"











Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
May 2017
SunMonTueWedThuFriSat
123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
28293031
October
>
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
You're not logged in ... login

RSS Feed

made with antville
helma object publisher


Song at the Year's Turning - R. S. Thomas



Shelley dreamed it. Now the dream decays.
The props crumble; the familiar ways
Are stale with tears trodden underfoot.
The heart's flower withers at the root.
Bury it then, in history's sterile dust.
The slow years shall tame your tawny lust.

Love deceived him; what is there to say
The mind brought you by a better way
To this despair? Lost in the world's wood
You cannot stanch the bright menstrual blood.
The earth sickens; under naked boughs
The frost comes to barb your broken vows.

Is there blessing? Light's peculiar grace
In cold splendour robes this tortured place
For strange marriage. Voices in the wind
Weave a garland where a mortal sinned.
Winter rots you; who is there to blame?

The new grass shall purge you in its flame.

New Year's Morning
Got this in the poetry mailing list.




Big Book Of Poetry

... link (no comments)   ... comment


Exile - Hart Crane



My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, --
No, -- nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell',
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.

Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.
A dove's wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone

Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.

I was reading Hart Crane today at Borders even though at the end it was too painful to read the next word in each line. He is a poet I had never read and I think who should be read. Consider these lines and go onto voyages into Crane's poetry and life:

And so, admitted through black swollen gates
That must arrest all distance otherwise
Past whirling pillars and lithe pediments,
Light wrestling there incessantly with light,
Star kissing star through wave on wave onto
Your body rocking! and where death, if shed;
Presumes no carnage, but this single change --
Upon the steep floor flung from dawn to dawn
The silken skilled transmemberment of song;
Permit me voyage, love, into your hands .




Big Book Of Poetry

... link (no comments)   ... comment


Forgetfulness - Hart Crane



Forgetfulness is like a song
That, freed from beat and measure, wanders.
Forgetfulness is like a bird whose wings are reconciled,
Outspread and motionless, --
A bird that coasts the wind unwearyingly.

Forgetfulness is rain at night,
Or an old house in a forest, -- or a child.
Forgetfulness is white, -- white as a blasted tree,
And it may stun the sybil into prophecy,
Or bury the Gods.

I can remember much forgetfulness.




Big Book Of Poetry

... link (no comments)   ... comment













online for 5462 Days
last updated: 8/20/14 4:16 AM
Headers - Past & Present
Home
About

 
Latest:
Comments:
Shiny Markers In The Sea:

Regular Weekend Addas: