(no subject)
Apr. 17th, 2023 09:20 pmMark Strand insomnia poem: https://hocopolitso.org/2020/11/14/poetry-moment-mark-strand-was-feeling-anxious/
Ogden Nash: https://www.best-poems.net/ogden_nash/i_do_i_will_i_have.html "marriage is a legal and religious alliance entered
into by a man who can't sleep with the window shut and a
woman who can't sleep with the window open."
W.H. Auden, The More Loving One
https://poets.org/poem/more-loving-one
Thomas Lux, early collections:
Memory's handgrenade. Cambridge, Mass.: Pym-Randall. 1972. (Can't find)
https://www.pshares.org/issues/winter-1972/rev-memorys-handgrenade-thomas-lux
( Titles )
The glassblower's breath. Cleveland, Ohio: Cleveland State University Poetry Center. 1976.
( Titles )
Louise Gluck wrote two poems called Solstice decades apart and I am furious:
from Firstborn (Part III: Cottonmouth Country): “Solstice” pairs place and time, whipping at the end from summer to winter’s icy sting
And the poem itself
June's edge. The sun
Turns kind. Birds wallow in the sob of pure air,
Crated from the coast...Un-
real. Unreal. I see the cure
Dissolving on the screen. Outside, dozing
In its sty, the neighbor's offspring
Sucks its stuffed monster, given
Time. And now the end begins:
Packaged words. He purrs his need again.
The rest is empty. Stoned, stone-
blind she totters to the lock
Through webs of diapers. It is Christmas on the clock,
A year's precise,
Terrible ascent, climaxed in ice.
Ogden Nash: https://www.best-poems.net/ogden_nash/i_do_i_will_i_have.html "marriage is a legal and religious alliance entered
into by a man who can't sleep with the window shut and a
woman who can't sleep with the window open."
W.H. Auden, The More Loving One
https://poets.org/poem/more-loving-one
Thomas Lux, early collections:
Memory's handgrenade. Cambridge, Mass.: Pym-Randall. 1972. (Can't find)
https://www.pshares.org/issues/winter-1972/rev-memorys-handgrenade-thomas-lux
( Titles )
The glassblower's breath. Cleveland, Ohio: Cleveland State University Poetry Center. 1976.
( Titles )
Louise Gluck wrote two poems called Solstice decades apart and I am furious:
from Firstborn (Part III: Cottonmouth Country): “Solstice” pairs place and time, whipping at the end from summer to winter’s icy sting
And the poem itself
June's edge. The sun
Turns kind. Birds wallow in the sob of pure air,
Crated from the coast...Un-
real. Unreal. I see the cure
Dissolving on the screen. Outside, dozing
In its sty, the neighbor's offspring
Sucks its stuffed monster, given
Time. And now the end begins:
Packaged words. He purrs his need again.
The rest is empty. Stoned, stone-
blind she totters to the lock
Through webs of diapers. It is Christmas on the clock,
A year's precise,
Terrible ascent, climaxed in ice.