Eine Klage-Welt

Two things of opposite nature seem to depend
On one another, as a man depends
On a woman, day on night, the imagined

On the real. This is the origin of change:
Winter and spring, cold copulars, embrace,
And forth the particulars of rapture come.

--Wallace Stevens, "Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction"

-------

If you are a reader of this blog, thank you. Your being here has meant very much to me. Now the Klage-Welt will be silent for a time. I am emptied and have nothing to say. Maybe I never did.....

| 9 comments

| 4 comments

Photo by Roxana Ghita

| 8 comments

the momentary sky
in this drop of dew

will return to the sky,
will be lost there

what is joy --
definition or release?

| 15 comments

| 14 comments

A poem at The Cortland Review.

If you go there and click on the little arrow, you can hear me read it (though the recording is not all that great).

| 8 comments

| 6 comments

| 16 comments

| 22 comments

Walking on the beach, I found -- on pebbles and sand, as if thrown there casually ... but am I really so cruel, that I will make you imagine such a horror? yet, isn't beauty always cruel? -- I found a wing -- not a dead bird, no, a wing of yellow and black feathers, torn from a bird, a white length of bone dangling at one end, discarded....

But beauty is difficult? Is this beautiful?

| 21 comments

A review of Rachel Galvin's Pulleys & Locomotion in The Pedestal Magazine


Trains Pass, Close But Invisible

But isn’t concealment half of beauty?
The air’s tremble as it ungloves
each finger, sets strands

of web to glint. The uplift of cedars,
free of gravitas, their vault
and nave unencumbered

by the unfinished business of the soul,
its shivering coastlines.
Nearby aspens ring their yellow bells,

hungry, uncertain how to spend their days.
But this may be a failure of the eye,
vertex of nerve sewn to world.

The yellow rustle may not be bells,
but a roomful of readers
turning pages of newspaper.

--Rachel Galvin

| 7 comments

Prayer

| 6 comments

| 8 comments

| 8 comments