correction on the one last redox for the night. James Wright, 1964 a memory Neige, neige, Du Ohnegleiche, Du Strahlenriche, Dein Antlitz gnädig meinem Glück! Der früh Geliebte, Nicht mehr Getrübte, Er kommt zurück. Maybe 45 years have gone or remain. But what do I know of these things? When I met you we were drunk, I confess, three times in arguments at Dickeys chocking laughter urging the valley boy to leerzeichen slurs of German masters: Goethe, Heine, Trakl, Swain of Duino. you were unmatched by the lowborn swans who came to feed at your fame. You saw everything through in poetry and left behind silence by the ashtrays, beer cans, and disordered cheese. Your right shoe was scuffed, Turned up at the toe. You knew kicking cans from experience, not uncommon among poetic men. But, all is fair for the soft-soled academics Who gathered in the garden To further fain poetic careers. From memory, he filled the room With words easy as water Pressed in the ordered air. At the margin of sound we met the heart of language, that touched our ears and the air he breathed. We were frames-fleeting with his words. And glowed for seconds in poetry: This color never fades. Stars startled from the pyracantha In Dickeys back yard. There are more poems than narratives, but the poet finds one. s swc
Posted on: Fri, 18 Oct 2013 02:07:48 +0000
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