famous rungi
Acrobat
Seeing for a Moment
Denise Levertov
I thought I was growing wings--
it was a cocoon.
I thought, now is the time to step
into the fire--
it was deep water.
Eschatology is a word I learned
as a child: the study of Last Things;
facing my mirror--no longer young,
the news--always of death,
the dogs--rising from sleep and clamoring
and howling, howling,
nevertheless
I see for a moment
that's not it: it is
the First Things.
Word after word
floats through the glass.
Towards me.
Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry
Howard Nemerov
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white , and slow.
There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
Storm Windows
Howard Nemerov
People are putting up storm windows now,
Or were, this morning, until the heavy rain
Drove them indoors. So, coming home at noon,
I saw storm windows lying on the ground,
Frame-full of rain; through the water and glass
I saw the crushed grass, how it seemed to stream
Away in lines like seaweed on the tide
Or blades of wheat leaning under the wind.
The ripple and splash of rain on the blurred glass
Seemed that it briefly said, as I walked by,
Something I should have liked to say to you,
Something... the dry grass bent under the pane
Brimful of bouncing water... something of
A swaying clarity which blindly echoes
This lonely afternoon of memories
And missed desires, while the wintry rain
(Unspeakable, the distance in the mind!)
Runs on the standing windows and away.
--------------------
Nothing like a dose of some great poets to refresh oneself.
foray
Denise Levertov
I thought I was growing wings--
it was a cocoon.
I thought, now is the time to step
into the fire--
it was deep water.
Eschatology is a word I learned
as a child: the study of Last Things;
facing my mirror--no longer young,
the news--always of death,
the dogs--rising from sleep and clamoring
and howling, howling,
nevertheless
I see for a moment
that's not it: it is
the First Things.
Word after word
floats through the glass.
Towards me.
Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry
Howard Nemerov
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white , and slow.
There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
Storm Windows
Howard Nemerov
People are putting up storm windows now,
Or were, this morning, until the heavy rain
Drove them indoors. So, coming home at noon,
I saw storm windows lying on the ground,
Frame-full of rain; through the water and glass
I saw the crushed grass, how it seemed to stream
Away in lines like seaweed on the tide
Or blades of wheat leaning under the wind.
The ripple and splash of rain on the blurred glass
Seemed that it briefly said, as I walked by,
Something I should have liked to say to you,
Something... the dry grass bent under the pane
Brimful of bouncing water... something of
A swaying clarity which blindly echoes
This lonely afternoon of memories
And missed desires, while the wintry rain
(Unspeakable, the distance in the mind!)
Runs on the standing windows and away.
--------------------
Nothing like a dose of some great poets to refresh oneself.
foray
