Folks have beenDigging and working and firingClay here for hundreds of years.The story of how the clayCame to be though,How it arrived here is, of course,–A long story.–It is also a violent andEternally silencedBy time story.–(Violence is not always full ofSound and speed—The most violentthings—things that can push upAnd pull apartGeography are usually–Silent and slow.)–Before […]
Larry
Larry was the caretaker,And he smoked Malboro Lights like they were necessary sustenance,and he said you’ns instead of y’all or you all or you.–These are things he was likely to say:You’ns go on up and hammer nails at the barn.OrYou’ns stop doing nothing and get back to it.–Holding it between his thumb and pointer finger,He […]
Through the Balustrade
(Back in the spring I wrote about an early memory I had of being in St. Mary’s’ Episcopal Church in Richmond, Va and having the rector give me communion through the balustrade (“Showing Grace and Coming to Communion”). In the post that follows, I have gone back to that experience and tried to represent it […]
Finding My Line
[googlemaps http://maps.google.com/maps?gl=us&ie=UTF8&ll=37.937352,-79.42115&spn=0.08218,0.163422&t=h&z=13&output=embed&w=425&h=350]–From Concourse As to EsAnd from moving sidewalksTo gray carpeted walkwaysTo clickclickclick rolling suitcasesOver tiled routesThrough security andThrough revolving doors,I have been finding my line,And I have been walking a long way throughOne inexhaustible place, a discipline of malaise,-Full of exhaustible people dressedLike people who have forgotten where they used to live:-One more drinkers, […]
Art and Craft
Her left hand is in mine as weAre awkward and in aSlow-motion dodge and weaveThrough what the kiln delivered-now set in loose rowson the sparse grass lawnunder the nine-thirty a.m. white oak trees behind the white house.-E runs her right index finger around the mouth of a big brown potWith four lug handles.She can reach […]
The Reader is the Part of the Poem the Poet Cannot Write
The reader is the part of the poem the poet cannot write.The poet chooses the words and places and replaces them,hides them in the basement,slides them between photographs in the attic,brings them out for anoccasion.-The poet finds sequences of words—She feels she has discovered them, as if they wereAlready made and waiting to be found.Sometimes […]