Unsolicited Survey Unsolicited Survey
Have you been there? If so, can you describe the shape of the shadows? When you entered, did anyone greet you? Did the moss hug your foot or a jay screech in your ear? Were you afraid you would not get back? Did they ring a bell? How many times, and what did it sound like? Did a horse bow its head by the side of a road? Did a single feather lie at the clearing? Did a green wave cascade into a grove? Did the flavor of light infect your sleep? Did a toad leap from the dust onto a twig? Did deer turn in terror as you passed? Did a doe lick your hand and find you wanting? Did you behold a flower that cannot fade? Was the sky so empty that you fell upward? Did the needles of a pine tickle your nose? Did you sniff the ghost of the cedars of Lebanon? Did you follow a petal blown to the edge of the sea? Did you wake with a sheet twisted around your throat? Did you call out? Did you kneel at a blade of grass or at the mound of an anthill? Did you ask for a way in or a way out? Did a bough sway imperceptibly? Did you rest your hand on the shoulder of a god? Did you open a piece of fruit and offer a portion of it to the sun? How long did it take to finish, and were you satisfied? Did a fly sip some water from a stone? Did you touch the haze on a plum, its blue cloud? Did you rub its skin until it lost its bloom? Did the day burn in a crow's eye? Were the stars so clear another heaven appeared behind them? Did you hear the wind consoling the leaves? Did you look inside the cap of a mushroom, and part the curtain of disbelief?
Dec 22, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Phillis Levin
The Fish in the Window The Fish in the Window
"The fish are in the fishman's window," the grain Is in the hall, "the hunter shouts as the pheasant falls." That shout rises from deep in Adam's chest. The great trawlers pull in the shining bodies. Horses' teeth rip night from sleepy day. We are all like Nebuchadnezzar on his knees. Because the greedy soul gained its teeth in the womb, More than one twin died in the safest place; We fell into the doctor's hands with haunted eyes. We inherited much when we inherited teeth. We will never have one whole day of peace. An old horse will die or a house will burn. Each evening we reach for our neighbor's food. Each night we crawl into imaginary beds; Each midnight we visit the darkness with Saturn. We can go on sitting in the Meeting House, But the greedy one in us will still survive. One cry from the crow contains a thousand more.
Dec 15, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Robert Bly
Life in Fluxus Life in Fluxus
John Lennon once characterized his wife, Yoko Ono, as the world's "most famous unknown artist. Everybody knows her name, but nobody knows what she does." What she was famous for,...
Nov 30, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Arthur C. Danto
Seducing the Sparrow (poem) Seducing the Sparrow (poem)
Why must the noble rose bristle before it blooms, and why must the frost declare allegiance to the dew? Don't tell me the robin's forlorn invit...
Nov 2, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Sam Hamill
Green Bee Green Bee
It was curled on the pavement, forehead to knees, as if it had died while bowing. Its stripes were citrine-yellow, and the black of a moonless starless, clea...
Nov 2, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Sharon Olds
My Crow, Your Crow My Crow, Your Crow
Crow light: I call it that at dawn when one wing, then this other, bursts in flame, catching the sun's rising. The stupid bird, dipping his hunk of bread into the water, does...
Oct 26, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Peter Cooley
Orient Expressed: Imagism Orient Expressed: Imagism
However varied their styles, poets writing in English today still rely on the early-twentieth-century Imagist principles of clarity, directness, presentative imagery and rhythm b...
Oct 12, 2000 / Books & the Arts / Grace Schulman
House Finches House Finches
To watch the pair of house finches that frequent the neighbor's feeder, I leave the charcoal blinds pulled up. The berry-splashed chest of the male-- each morning--make...
Oct 5, 2000 / Books & the Arts / John Poch
Rereading Old Writing Rereading Old Writing
Looking back, the language scribbles. What's hidden, having been said? Almost everything? Thrilling to think There was a secret there somewhere, A bird singing in the heart'...
Sep 28, 2000 / Books & the Arts / David Ferry
Nocturnal Nocturnal
It is always among sleepers we walk. We walk in their dreams. None of us Knows what he is as he walks In the dream of another. Tell me my name . Your tongue is blurred, ho...
Sep 28, 2000 / Books & the Arts / David Ferry