February 2012
9 posts
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Interview with Mary Oliver →
I’m going to post the link to the interview in O Magazine with Mary Oliver because I really think you should read it. (And you should read her poetry.) I think the interview is pretty interesting, but I also just wanted to say how glad I am that Rebecca posted “The Journey” because it’s one of my very favorite poems. Oliver’s Dream Work came into my life at a...
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The Journey
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice— though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though...
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Getting It Right
Your ankles make me want to party, want to sit and beg and roll over under a pair of riding boots with your ankles hidden inside, sweating beneath the black tooled leather; they make me wish it was my birthday so I could blow out their candles, have them hung over my shoulders like two bags full of money. Your ankles are two monster-truck engines but smaller and lighter and sexier than a...
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Lady Lazarus
I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it—
A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade, My right foot
A paperweight, My face a featureless, fine Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin O my enemy. Do I terrify?—
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh The grave cave at will be At...
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Self-Help for Fellow Refugees
If your name suggests a country where bells might have been used for entertainment
or to announce the entrances and exits of the seasons or the birthdays of gods and demons,
it’s probably best to dress in plain clothes when you arrive in the United States, and try not to talk too loud.
If you happen to have watched armed men beat and drag your father out the front door of your house...
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Holly
It rained when it should have snowed. When we went to gather holly
the ditches were swimming, we were wet to the knees, our hands were all jags
and water ran up our sleeves. There should have been berries
but the sprigs we brought into the house gleamed like smashed bottle-glass.
Now here I am, in a room that is decked with the red-berried, waxy-leafed stuff,
and I almost forget what...
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“This is actually a really old discourse. From Plato’s banishment of poets...”
– Ben Lerner, “on why people hate poetry” (Minnesota Public Radio)
A friend posted this on facebook, and I think it rings true. How many people do you know who hate poetry? I know quite a few. I try to love poetry just a little more, in order to make up for them.
-R
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Desert Places
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast, In a field I looked into going past, And the ground almost covered smooth in snow, But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it—it is theirs. All animals are smothered in their lairs. I am too absent-minded to count; The loneliness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is, that loneliness Will be more lonely...
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Phenomenal Woman
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size. But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say, It’s in the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
I walk into a room Just as cool as you...