Posts Tagged ‘ autumn ’

for common tones in simple time by john adams

m i d e l s  for a minamalist

                                                    poet 

,so in a, p i a n o

                                                    is

a special interior held

                                                   from thee.

—————————————————

what sudden leap

from here to there

what sudden leap

a hare

a small wind blows

a small wind blows

a small window closed

5

Someone left the low, awe, lights on the walls.

They leave

noises

with them.

The ceilings are left open.

Not to

mention

you breathing in the stove,

Plath.

Picking apples from

the eating worms

Thinking

what don’t I mean

dirt.

Listening to the radio or

stereo.                                                                                Sounds better.

after cummings and a moon

 

Isn’t it just

A moon?

Varyly big

Is only in sky

Behind the

Glowing and

Unlit clouds

It moves

Through

And all

The color

Now of

Darkest

Blue

On edges

White lined

Seems to,

Little by

Very little

Move.

It is a wish

Unwished

And pulled

From the

Candled now

Of sky

And I have

Given it to

You

And you

Have given

It its name:

A full

And round

And lovely

Moon.

Fanfare for Pouring Rain 2

And now the rain

And now

Now

The rain

            Which is and is

            A thousand things

Falls and falls

Everywhere and all around,

Down through the soft

Movement of trees

And lifting

And touching

Leaves,

Falling and falling

And everywhere and all around

Falling and falling

Everywhere.

thanksgiving

Wind,

Our rooms

Letting in the bending

And leaning trees,

Leaves,

And

All

Fall.

When

Through all

Our arms your pillowed

Self moves and soft

Self rooms,

Our

Warming

Thoughts

Pause.

Then

Needing and

Heavy hearts thaw

Our sudden

And

Gathered

Hall.

Ezra Pound 2

the tree is,

                 grass is,

the sky is not moving

and

wind

everywhere.

The Richest City (A poem about my grandmother for Forough Farrokhzad)

What gives itself to the dawn

Is taken back at night

And given tomorrow again.

What is given to the dawn

Is taken from the night

And what is given to the light

Is given back to the dark

And whatever is taken from one

Is given to the other.

 

Your hands and feet and cheek

Have not withered.

Your arms and legs, my love,

Have not withered.

 

I have followed the soft line

Of your long neck,

Overcome with awe and curiosity.

I have followed the soft line

Of your neck

As if I were on the edge of an ancient city,

A rich city

That is only real

When I press my hand to its side and

It walls rise before me.

 

And wherever I have gone

I have not come back from

Completely.

My love, I have dragged my hand

Through those cities

And pulled you from the walls and streets.

My love, I have

Pulled you from the dirt of those cities

And I do not have to hold your hands

For your hands to be in my hands.

 

Who is it now that rubs their hand against my cheeks

When I am crying?

Who is it now that rubs my cheeks

When I am crying?

 

And if they wilt,

Your hands,

If they wilt

Then they wilt like the flowers wilt.

They wilt like the flowers wilt.

Becoming more, turned against themselves

And pulled away from the light and

Given to the darkness again.

 

What is taken from the light

Is given to the dark

And whatever is taken form one

Is given to the other.

 

Your long neck

Does not wilt.

Your long neck and side

Does not wilt.

But if they do

Then it is like a flower

That has crawled back inside itself.

If they do

Then it is like the flower.

 

Then it is like the dawn

That is taken from the night.

Then it is like my hand

That pulls you from the walls of a rich city.

And wherever I have gone

I have not come back from completely.

And wherever I am

I am not there completely.

Because I cannot,

Because I cannot stop.