Drums of the early evening wake The mountain full of ore, and the canebrake. Up at Cobre tall tambores call One who rings gangarias with a nail, One with feathers for sleeves, One whose arms are birds, One with a mouth full of great fires And lights instead of words. Excerpt of La Comparsa En…
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Poetry
New Poem: Conceptual Volition
Conceptual Volition Sometimes the nicest thing anyone can say is, ‘I’m thinking of you.’ What this means is that at this very moment an image of you has appeared in anothers mind. Their heart strings–which extend from the chest up through the neck and attach above the corners of the mouth– have been stretched tightly,…
Someone, and no matter
Someone, and no matter who, inhabits my head like it’s an empty house, he enters, he leaves, he bangs each door behind him, powerless I put up with this ruckus. Someone, and maybe it’s me, palms my most private thoughts, he crumples them, returns them to dust. Someone, and it’s much later now, slowly walks…
So what is your poem about?
In “The Well Wrought Urn” — that well-known and well-wrought book of literary criticism — Cleanth Brooks described what he called “the heresy of paraphrase.” The main idea — that efforts at paraphrasing poetry into prose fail in ways that parallel attempts for prose do not — was not new. It has been generally agreed…
Juhan Liiv: Poety of Great Depth and Mystery
Music It must be somewhere, the orginal harmony, somewhere in great nature, hidden. Is it in the furious infintie, in distant stars’ orbits, is it in the sun’s scorn, in a tiny flower, in treegossip, in heartmusic’s mothersong or in tears? It must be somewhere, immortality, somewhere the original harmony must be found: how else…
Making Bold Statements And Being Totally Right
I think every bold statement we’ve ever made Should be qualified by the words, “I think” or “That’s how I see it right now,” or “But I could be wrong,” or “Maybe.” After all, how many times now Has it been brought to light That we were at least partly wrong When we knew for…
I’m a big Franz Wright Fan
Wheeling Motel by Franz Wright The vast waters flow past its back yard. You can purchase a six-pack in bars! Tammy Wynette’s on the marquee a block down. It’s twenty-five years ago: you went to death, I to life, and which was luckier God only knows. There’s this line in an unpublished poem of…
The Prodigal Shepherd by Mike Fiala
This poem comes via Jesus Radicals. Mike Fiala dedicates this poem to the late Joe Lehner, who birthed the Cleveland Catholic Worker into existence in 1984-85.
Gerard Manley Hopkins: As Kingfishers Catch Fire
As king fishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name; Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; Selves — goes…
Good Friday Poem: Terrible Beyond
Terrible beyond despairing walk, Menacing cold clutches its stalk. Fevering swells its crippling tense, Sickness untold unfathomed suspense. Destruction impending unjust disguise, Terrifying deceit in tearful reprise. Engulfed horror at trauma pursuit, Disease stricken by powers’ salute. Fleshly shudders panicking fright, Nightmares entranced by visible light. Ghastly quakes punish the soul, Spirit painstakingly swallowed in…