June 20, 2003: Difference between revisions

From Gerald R. Lucas
m (Format tweak.)
m (2022 Update.)
 
Line 1: Line 1:
<blockquote><blockquote>
{{Jt}}
{{Large|Keeping Things Whole}}<br />
<div style="padding-top: 30px;">
By: [[w:Mark Strand|Mark Strand]]
{{Center|{{Large|Keeping Things Whole}}<br />
 
By: [[w:Mark Strand|Mark Strand]]}}
<div style="display: flex; justify-content: center; padding: 25px 0 25px 0;">
{| style="width: 400px;"
|
<poem>
<poem>
In a field
In a field
Line 24: Line 27:
to keep things whole.
to keep things whole.
</poem>
</poem>
</blockquote></blockquote>
|}</div>


{{* * *}}
{{* * *}}
 
{{Anchor|Eating}}
<blockquote><blockquote>
{{Center|{{Large|Eating Poetry}}<br />
{{Anchor|Eating}}{{Large|Eating Poetry}}<br />
By: [[w:Mark Strand|Mark Strand]]}}
By: Mark Strand
<div style="display: flex; justify-content: center; padding: 25px 0 25px 0;">
 
{| style="width: 500px;"
|
<poem>
<poem>
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
Line 57: Line 61:
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
</poem>
</poem>
</blockquote></blockquote>
|}</div>


{{2003|state=expanded}}
{{2003|state=expanded}}


[[Category:06/2003]]
[[Category:06/2003]]
[[Category:Poetry]]
[[Category:Mark Strand]]

Latest revision as of 10:09, 29 May 2022

Keeping Things Whole
By: Mark Strand

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case. 5
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always 10
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.

We all have reasons
for moving. 15
I move
to keep things whole.

Asterisk-trans.png          Asterisk-trans.png          Asterisk-trans.png

Eating Poetry
By: Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad 5
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll, 10
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams. 15

I am a new man.
I snarl and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.