A Few Moments The dwarf pine on marsh grounds holds its head up: a dark rag. But what you see is nothing compared to the roots, the widening, secretly groping, deathless or half- deathless root system… -Tomas Tranströmer (translated by Robert Bly)
Archive for July, 2007
Poem of the Day: A Few Moments
Posted in moment, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, Write, Writer on 07/18/2007 | Leave a Comment »
Poem of the Day: At Thirty
Posted in hull, lynda, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, Write, Writer, writing on 07/17/2007 | Leave a Comment »
At Thirty Whole years I knew only nights: automats & damp streets, the Lower East Side steep… -Lynda Hull
Poem of the Day: The Joy of Writing
Posted in joy, poem, poem of the day, poetry, power, Symborska, Write, Writer, writing on 07/16/2007 | Leave a Comment »
The Joy Of Writing Why does this written doe bound through these written woods? For a drink of written water from a spring whose surface will xerox her soft muzzle? Why does she lift her head; does she hear something? Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth, she pricks up her ears beneath [...]
Poem of the Day: Print
Posted in jil, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, print, Write, Writer on 07/13/2007 | Leave a Comment »
PRINT i. bloodred plate ii woodblock cut and inked brazen with thick color pressed to a blanket of paper so the fine calligraphy of scars marks a textured sheet iii swapped left to right not the line but the line the line leaves otherhanded iv i leaned close over the page tracing light as dark [...]
Poem of the Day: HERE
Posted in here, paley, poem, poem of the day, poet, Write, Writer on 07/12/2007 | Leave a Comment »
HERE Here I am in the garden laughing an old woman with heavy breasts and a nicely mapped face how did this happen well that’s who I wanted to be at last a woman in the old style sitting stout thighs apart under a big skirt grandchild sitting on off my lap a pleasant summer [...]
Poem of the Day: The Baite
Posted in donne, love, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, Write, Writer on 07/11/2007 | Leave a Comment »
The Baite Come live with mee, and bee my love, And wee will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and christall brookes, With silken lines, and silver hookes. There will the river whispering runne Warm’d by thy eyes, more than the Sunne. And there the’inamor’d fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray. When [...]
Poem of the Day: The Long Line, Breton
Posted in breton, long, Nina Alvarez, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, Write, Writer on 07/10/2007 | Leave a Comment »
The Long Line, Breton We write because We write because It is expected of us (as is love) Listen, you conspirators Armed with sheets I’ve taken it all too literally Wrapped in dummy blanket Goethe never had a request Like yours He told himself what was enough We write because We write because The sound [...]
Poem of the Day: Pythagorean Silence
Posted in by Susan Howe, howe, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, silence, susan, Write, Writer on 07/09/2007 | Leave a Comment »
Pythagorean Silence (an excerpt) 1. age of earth and us all chattering a sentence or character suddenly steps out to seek for truth fails falls into a stream of ink Sequence trails off must go on waving fables and faces War doings of the war manoeuvering between points between any two points which is what [...]
Poem of the Day: If
Posted in if, kipling, man, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, rudyard, Write, Writer on 07/07/2007 | 1 Comment »
If— If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or, [...]
Poem of the Day: The More Loving One
Posted in auden, love, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, star, Write, Writer on 07/06/2007 | Leave a Comment »
The More Loving One Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not [...]
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